|Cats are a sign of Kindness. You have to love cats or you embody Hate.|
I see. So that new co-worker who told you he hates cats, that sent you into a rage? Is it like this every time someone holds a different opinion? You rage, you fume, you seethe, and then you put on your sandpaper glove and wank your little thimbledick until it bleeds profusely -- on the internet?
|The only valid opinion is the one I hold. I alone see the truth of reality.|
Verily, I say unto thee: thine art an exemplar, and an extraordinary one at that, of the unhinged! But let us try a different tack. Sorry, that's sailing talk there, Jeff. You're not a sailor; you're an armchair athlete who still harkens (and/or hearkens) back to his 10th grade soccer exploits every time athletic feats are in question, eh? Anyway, a "tack" is a direction of a sailboat, it depends upon the wind at play at the moment of description, and the sailor's ability to harness that wind with the available mix of sails and the ropes which tension those sails. So we'll try a different tack here. HARD-A-LEE! Okay, now we're moving to starboard. Might you actually hate progressives with a vengeance, and you embody the progressive view on your BLCKDGRD blog just as a sort of weak-tea attempt at parody?
|My tea is never weak, bro. I don't want to have to repeat that, bro.|
It's incredible the way you seem to know the hipster lingo of two or three trends ago, and use it with such aplomb. It's almost -- well, I don't want to get carried away with this theme, but -- it's almost reactionary. "Bro." Sure, we can work with that. "Bro." Did you actually call your friends "bro" back in 10th grade when you still thought you would be the Diego Maradona of your high school?
|I bet you are a hunter. Or were a hunter. You are quite uncouth.|
Deftly our Popovichian Poetastery Practitioner switches topics when the discussion moves into an area of ego brittleness. If only he had the same feinting, dodging and juking skills displayed bipedally in 10th grade, he might actually have become that fantasized Maradona-of-his-own-HS. So what's up with the hatred of hunters, Jeff? You'd prefer that your comestibles of the animal carcass variety be brought to table through the vehicle of a factory farm?
|I don't eat meat. Well, other than Tarzie's wang, which I only suck and don't literally eat.|
Aaaaahhh. So you have tits and withdrawn, retreated balls because you gobble the tofu in place of meat? Do you also take estrogen therapy? Are you in the early stages of transgender assignment surgery?
|Maleness = EVIL. Any good feminist will confirm this assertion for you, you ridiculous misogynist.|
So in Jeff Popovich's world, men should hunt fine Italian shoes, swanky Egyptian cotton bed linens, and the penis and anus of other like-minded men -- or else not be real men? Is that the gist of your position, Jeff?
|My position is bottom. Always. I take, I take, I take. I'm a taker.|
How do you reconcile this male-hatred with your sexual lust for same-sex XY chromosomal males, Jeff? Is that just what The Modern Androgyne is expected to do? Is there some online or in-print manual you follow for this strange hypocrisy you embody? Does it contain the journal entries of Ernst Rohm?