Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Twitter? . . . duh

Till recently I hadn't been back on Twitter - after all, 140 characters don't give much room for any but the most basic thoughts and/or a passel of swearwords. But they doubled the length. As usual there were many Daesh accounts faking "normal" twittereers - giving themselves away with black flags and violent imagery. And the "love me, follow me, watch me sell my (book/advice/body - tho in a non-prurient way). Rump and supporters. Angry campers. And kids depressed because the country's going to hell in a handbasket while el presidente warbles and tweets.

Those Rumpian blasts were irksome. Why doesn't he get a job? . . . oh yeah, he has one. Rump is under the impression thath his job is to fling insults over everything. Always. His favourite insult? "sad" - the non-weepy, maximal-loser type. Just like him. He carps about Obama? Sad. He blasts forth with a million wounded responses when criticized? well, he put himself into that spot. Sad. Rump is just plain sad, after all, a man at the end of a tether wrapped around himself with his own two tiny hands.

So sad. And Twitter suspended my account. My account isn't spam, it isn't fake.
I'm not fake. I haven't been hacked, I haven't been abusive, haven't threatened or impersonated anyone.
But I'm not handing you my phone number. There are very good reasons for that. If that keeps my account suspended, so be it. You just made it easier to leave.

Saturday, August 24, 2019

I'm Back

Two and a half years ago a woman speeding through a red light to turn left, illegally, hit my car diagonally. It's been a long haul but I am back. My old posts may materialize or not. We'll see.

How I felt two days later:


Trump . . . .Don't That Beat All?

His Imperial Majesty Donald Trump yesterday ordered US companies to cease and desist all trade with China. Picturesquely he Hereby Ordered them. A few days ago he announced that he was The (self-appointed) Chosen One.

you've got the eyes of a . . . (insert own description here) image (c)
HIM is a massive, all-encompassing, strutting, fire-breathing mass of insecurities and an inferiority complex about as big as a hole created by all the nuclear weapons on the planet. He has a bit of the black hole about him, sucking everything and everyone around him in, never to escape unscathed, if at all. That he spits 'em out merely indicates that they didn't help, either.

His complexes are so deeply rooted, so long-standing, that they never can be satisfied. No matter what he says, how grandiose the delivery, how sweeping the braggadocio, HIM will, at the end of the day, collapse into a quivering heap in front of his beloxed squawk box, FOX-TV, which will amplify and regurgitate his image du jour till 3 a.m., when the realization invariably hits, that it didn't work, it never will work, and he's got to expel his self-loathing and incompetence out in another foul Twitter stream.

(c)2019daisy morant

Labels: , ,