One man's hate-filled terrorist scumbag, is of course, in the vernacular, another man's altruistic child-petting freedom fighter.
If you put each in a bag and dropped them at the same time from a great height, the splatter would probably be the same, like microwaving an egg or something in the gas station sandwich burner.
Such is the way, gratitude being expensive, and Liberators and so forth roaming the countryside, in the name of one Ross Walter Sanderson.
Hederbohr Saint-Senz and other pundits, holding the line, the balanced narrative between chronic dissipation and the lesser evil of murdering the unhappy, such called, "Good Versus Evil", and in the name, one motorist slapped, like a bitch, by a cop, and so forth, slapped like a punk, without even the ethereal compliment of Dan Abrams commentary.
Morning Mika and Little Dana wearing red sashes, as if they were freedom fighters, like the old English queen affecting a red rose during her menstruation, Ross Sanderson had a trail of blood from his nose, his shirt-front dyed red from his expelling life blood, and given one toilet paper square by the proctor of the peace, the deputy without a bullet, whipped unmercifully, pistol-whipped, screaming "Mommy, Mommy".
(Ohtani is a bro, and a team player.)
I remember in the day, being one Kim's only hope for peace of a mind, for however many days or weeks, and then later, another Kim's only hope for recompense, and then so forth, other sundry characters, barking in the grill, and Crystal, knowing she wanted a Douglas X-Trac II on the rear of her car, and the Douglas being suspiciously similar to my own sex member.
Times like this, one can forget what he's talking about, and default back to his own libido, and Crystal, hiding under the bed, thinking, doubting herself, that she's just not up to it.
We're only equal to the dissipation we make in life, and the crater we leave when we die.
Such as it was, if you wanted another's success, you have to put in the diligence that they invested in their outcome, that it's only a certain time and place, effort, that diligence, and if you were not equal to that, take it as an item of admiration, and put it in your pocket, so to speak. You'd have to strengthen your thighs, do cold water-dousing or sell your soul to Paramount or something, whatever the cost, that the surest path is to pay the ferry man, if one wants the ride.
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