Maybe my level of tolerance is intolerably out of date. HAHAHA! Good one, Blue! Now, let's talk fat women. Who cares you need to get up at seven because you've got a job. We don't, so screw ancient decency. Could that be it? Do I need to reexamine my definition of common decency and shut my trap? Should I welcome the ME age like an old friend? Should I say, Hello neighbor, good to HEAR you again? Should I buy a gun and shoot everyone because I think I I I I I I I I I I deserve some peace and quiet—you know, a bit of ME time?
I didn't think so. But I still believe some folks out there are eligible for a year of blue boot camp in my book. My Momma taught me to respect my elders, to respect people in general and to not look down on those who are either less intelligent or less fortunate. She didn't tell me not to look down on people who pretend they own the planet—people who don't give a rat's ass (pardon my French, Mary) about you needing some sleep, who party all night so that when you're dead tired and extremely bleary-eyed beyond belief and then some in the early morning, they can go to bed and snore to their heart's content.
The ME age. The read my tweet age. The I've got 2,000 friends age. The I want it all and I want it now age. The like or don't like age. Thumbs up... thumbs down. ME ME ME. It is all connected.
Or is it me? Do I need a doctor?
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