I don’t know how people can get through life having NO FUCKING CONCEPT of subject-verb agreement. I mean, what is the point of your existence if you can’t communicate in it?
So let’s say in a hypothetical Bizarro world, someone thought it would be a good idea to have their lawyer threaten you because, say, you don’t have enough time to parse their incoherent bullshit.
But when you, say, propose nicely how to transform it into mildly coherent bullshit, you get publicly excoriated …
Wouldn’t it make sense to file a counter-claim to say, “Stahp it with the bullshit already”?
There was a trending Twitter tag recently, #imsavingfor. I listed mine as “Bail Money.” I got some retweets from fellow sufferers. And some others are ready to chip in for my defense fund.
I’m trying very hard not to stress out. But damn, people. You’re lucky I’m not Olivia Pope. She’d extradite your ass to Iran or something. Or sic Huck on you.
I think I need to hire Olivia ….
I don’t mind correcting the grammar of super-intelligent people who are amazing at other things.
But constantly correcting grammar of someone who somehow graduated from J-School?
It seems the only people I know with journalism degrees who actually have a grasp on style, grammar and sense came from my college.
Editing edits continues to shorten my lifespan. Dramatically.
I like to use the phrase “bread and circuses.” Well, I really like to use the phrase “OOOH SHINY.”
In any event, there’s a disturbing pattern in my world that can be traced back to Ancient Rome. And it’s that, when things go to shit, we have to distract ourselves with shiny and fun things.
In Ancient Rome, it was the government providing the shiny things. Here in my world, sometimes you have to provide it for yourself.
I have this recurring nightmare. It’s a circus filled with assclowns that I cannot escape. I try so very hard to run this circus and make all the performers happy. Yet they all declare mutiny and run their clown car over me.
It’s a daily nightmare lately. And the amount of mental calories it burns, if translated into body calories, would put me back at birth weight.
I don’t want to burn any more calories this way. This shit is sending my cortisol through the roof. Even when I eat right, I put on pounds. And while I don’t want to assign the blame to this recurring nightmare, I don’t think it can be denied that I am going to want to find a way to NEVER HAVE IT AGAIN.
Eternal sunshine, anyone?