So yesterday I wrote this article for American Chronicle — one of my better pieces, I think. This morning someone emails me to bitch about it. Their objection? My definition of morality? My taste in authors or philosophers? Nothing so insignificant. This dude/dudette took issue with the fact that I spent two paragraphs picking on poor defenseless Rush Limbaugh. Well fuck that noise, jack. Writing that article took me forever (i.e. one hour) and all this touchy little sheep gives a shit about is that I took a couple 'a shots at his/her favorite natural satellite.
On a completely unrelated note, I'm fascinated by the men's room graffiti at HCC. Apparently if I'm "hard," all I have to do is go to City Park and "touch [myself] by the tennis courts," after which I presume some solicitous, possibly unkempt wayward youth will approach and offer to perform some personal service not explicitly defined on the wall next to the toilet, but strongly implied nevertheless. Contracting multiple sexually transmitted diseases isn't my cup of tea, but if you're the type to cruise the tennis courts, maybe you ought to check it out.