The writers conference starts tomorrow, and I just might make it through without weeping hysterically or collapsing into manic laughter.
What really overwhelms me is what happened in Boston. Senseless, anonymous violence.
If you’ve got a complaint, have the balls to stand up and say so. If you want to point your finger at someone, do it loud and in public. But setting off bombs at a marathon, killing and injuring innocent people? That’s the act of a coward. A spineless, craven, numb-nuts, shit-stupid coward. In fact, I may have just insulted shit with that comparison.
As I write this, we don’t know the extend of all the injuries or who is responsible. We’re faced with that brutal, heart-breaking uncertainty of not knowing if the attack came from within or without our country. Neither answer will make us feel any better. Neither answer will bring back the dead or heal the wounded.
I can only hope the perpetrators find themselves, some day, in a prone position with a lot of pressure being applied with a very blunt knife to their testicles. I hope someone puts their tongues in a panini press set on “vaporize.” I want rabid badgers stuck down their trousers, and fire ants released into their nostrils.
Mostly, though, I wish we’d figure out how to get along with other human beings on a regular basis. Wouldn’t you rather see a hand extended in friendship than a fist clenched in anger?