We lost, we have to put on our big boy pants and move on and deal with it. Life is not over, if it is for you, than you let them win. I for one refuse to wallow in self pity and rock back in forth crying in my bathtub. Life is too precious and too short.
How inspiring. And not the point. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. Great. Except life didn't hand us lemons. It handed us a flaming bag of dogsh*t. And you're drinking it. We're not.
You are the kind of people who would ask, "Other than that, how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"
Actually, to me, it's more akin to saying, "But you have to admit, Jeffrey Dahmer was pretty hot".
Personally, I'm wearing my big boy pants. The ones I wore when I marched in the protest in Chicago last weekend. I wasn't wallowing in pity or rocking and crying. I just don't happen to see anything to admire in this monstrous Last Family. I see their fashion as examples of What Not To Wear because I don't think ANYTHING about them should be admired or glorified in any way. Everything about them disgusts me. I feel the same way about the musicians being discussed to honor them by performing at the inauguration. Pretending a flaming bag of dogsh*t smoothie is a delicacy isn't an example of "moving on" or some show of superior maturity. I thought fooling people into admiring the Kardashians was the worst trick the entertainment industry pulled on this country, but that's nothing compared to this insanity.
It's grotesque.
"What can you expect from a bunch of seitan worshippers?" - Reginald Tresilian