Why does the phrase "supportive comments" sound to me like it was written by a 17 year old? It has a "friends on a MySpace" sound to it. I hate to break a preconceived bubble, but quite honestly I could do this blog with no "supportive comments." Flattery in commentary is meaningless to me. I don't need the applause. I don't need sycophants.
Some people need to grow some good self-esteem. They project all their needs onto an old coot. I been to the rodeo before many times, sweetie. I took on a boat load of critics and I won. And it made the front page of the "Village Voice" in 1985. I don't have a diminished mind. I am an old battleax that makes Joan Crawford look weak when she took on the Pepsi board. And it's not "computer courage" like a coward who writes anonymously at a blog. I took the podium in front of hundreds and made a speech about "principals from hell" and I got a standing ovation.
The only thing I didn't win was getting back on TWoP. But I did get to go to the Friars' Club and that had oh so much more meaning to me. Those idiotic mods can only control so much in their limited world.
I am still fixated on that ban. Yes, indeed. Because... all they had to do was put me back. But now I am so depressed over something much greater. My anonymous commenters don't want to play with me any more. I waited for those special brands of love letters, but alas none arrived. I cried. Boo hoo hoo.
I NEED to be called a f**king old c**t. Why? I am demented.
Motto for today: CALL ME THE NAME, I PLAY THE GAME
Try it; it's empowering.
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