The W.O.R.M. is supposed to love everybody. It’s a religion thing.
But it’s hard to love someone for whom you have utter contempt. And it’s hard to hear anything Thomas Friedman says or does without contempt growing. Failing to overcome hatred, I try to shift it onto the abstract evil that is the Democratic Party. You know, poor lil’ Tommy as a cult brainwashing victim. I tell myself that.
But c’mon. Thomas Friedman can’t really exist, can he? It’s not possible for a male animal, theoretically in possession of a “Y” chromosome, to be that pathetic. Is it? Ann Althouse is most obviously a woman, yet she utterly eclipses Tommy’s supposed masculinity. Is that right?
Take a step back and look at the “men” of the Democratic and progressive movement. Marvel at their stoicism, their pain thresholds, their long-suffering silences. The only way I can avoid hating them is to regard them as retarded children. To acknowledge them as “men” is to judge them evil.
Sorry, had to vent.
Which is whining. Which isn’t very manly itself. But at least I’m aware of it. Thomas Friedman, who feels he’s a paragon among men, is at best a thumb-sitting, thumb-sucking child.
“Thumb-sitting, thumb-sucking”. Nice, eh? Conjures up a real mental image. Explains a lot of progressives’ language, too.