I am doing the best I can to follow the Bushido.
But I get angry on occasions.
The asshat in Virginia who killed two people because he was fired. Then blamed his actions on being fired, because people were mean to him. Because he was black and gay.
Fuck you asshat. Plenty of black gay men don’t go around killing former coworkers.
Then.
As expected in liberal-run news outlets. The discussion is immediately gun control.
I would argue that the issue is HIPAA.
Because of HIPAA, nutcases are running around out there. Like the infinite monkey theorem, a crazy person will eventually get a weapon. And because of HIPAA nobody in healthcare can call the cops and say “That guy is nuts!”
I have two off the charts crazy people in my life. My first ex-wife, and my brother.
X1 is diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic and bipolar. My brother is not currently diagnosed as far as I know. And while not an academic expert on the DSM-IV, I would guess he is probably a sociopath.
They are both batshit crazy.
Fuck all this politically correct “destigmatize” mental illness crap. They are scary as hell.
They are scary as hell because you can’t predict what they are going to do next.
Every time I hear of some crazy ass crap here in Maine my first prayer is that it doesn’t involve my brother.
Every time I get a series of phone calls that seem to be moving from the west coast to the east coast I go into PTSD mode. Assuming nutbar X1 is working her way toward me. There is little chance that is the case, nevertheless I have a baseball bat (40” aluminums if you have to know, the last bat I hit a home run with) behind every door.
Striking is the dead fucking silence from the White House regarding two white people murdered by a black man. In the Obamanation fucking thugs get news conferences and attendance by dignitaries at their funerals. Little black girls murdered while doing their homework don’t even break squelch.
Up in my bedroom closet I have what was referred to as a “cross country nametag.” Just in case you did something stupid while flying cross country.
If I ever met King Barry, I’d wear mine. “Heywood Jablome.”
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