A word about choices

Inspired by my recent Covid-related garage overhaul, some good friends of ours, longtime friends of ours, recently tore apart their car storage unit and uncovered some treasures. Including this picture of my wife and I from the early 90's. The early 1890's.

Thankfully, that awful pebbly sweater no longer exists. I believe it was donated to Goodwill or cut into pieces and turned into car washing rags.

It was stark reminder of a past life. Including my checkered hit or miss dating days. Clearly I won the jackpot when I met my wife, because let's face it, I'm not everyone's cup of tea. Frankly, I'm always surprised that I'm anyone's cup of tea.

That was made apparent last week as my long running social media political commentary came under attack. Not from some anonymous snaggled toothed hillbilly in Alabama, or even some pathetic clueless "doctor" from Kansas, but from people who I know and think highly of.

Or did.

You see, had they questioned my data or my sourcing or how I reached a certain opinion regarding the failed economy, the president's feckless mismanagement of the coronavirus crisis or even my assessment of GOP malevolence, that would be one thing. But, and I may be wrong here, they seemed more perturbed with my relentless hounding of one candidate to the exclusion of the other.

One former colleague even suggested that while I was, at one time, a good advertising writer I should not venture into politics because I didn't know what I was talking about. My robust data bank on the foibles of Commander Fuckknuckle suggest otherwise.

Indeed, they (meaning more than one) audaciously suggested how I could temper my position with posts about this, that and the other thing.

I think you can probably guess how that turned out.

I'm pretty thick skinned. In fact I'm thick everything. I have a thick neck, a thick nose, a thick waist, everything about me is thick. Except for my hairline. And so that type of criticism runs off me like water off my thick back.

I'm also of a certain age and a certain stage in my life, when I don't really care what others think of me. I'm not doing any of this to change votes or sway political opinions or win the most important election this country will ever face.

I'm simply venting.
I'm exercising my creative muscle.
And I'm expressing myself. And getting a few good laughs from the endeavor.

You don't have to like it. You don't even have to read it.

The mouse on my computer has a scrolling function. It allows me to skim past crap I don't want to see. If your mouse has the same capability, I suggest you use it.

Failing that, the stinging rebukes of the stupidest man on the planet will continue. And with every "Person Woman Man Camera TV" or "It is what it is" stumble, will no doubt increase in frequency up to the election.

Or, in the incomprehensible vernacular of Reese's Peanut Butter Cup: Sorry, not sorry.