AMEN!

I am so sick of him. I am sick of the sound of his voice, his whining, his grifting, his mere existence. I just want him to disappear and return to the pits of hell from which he came.

Don't Shit in the Swimming Pool

From Greg Fallis:

Okay, here's an analogy. Twitter is a swimming pool. A large pool, an Olympic-sized pool. It's privately owned, but open to the public.

People come. Some just want to splash around, some want to swim laps, some just want to hang out poolside, some want to train for a swim meet, some want to cannonball into the pool and make a big splash, some want to practice diving. It's a big pool, so even if some jackass is playing Nickleback on a bluetooth speaker instead of using headphones, you can move to the other end where it's less annoying. It's far from perfect, but you still come because it's the biggest pool around and all your friends hang out there.

The pool has a few loose rules. You break the rules, you can get your ass booted out of the pool. One of the fundamental rules: Keep Litter Out of the Pool. Nobody wants to swim in a pool that has old candy wrappers and cigarette butts floating around in it.

That's Old Twitter. New Twitter is different.

New Twitter is owned by a rich, arrogant, bone-ignorant narcissist who thought it would be fun to own his own swimming pool. To save money, he's fired the concession stand workers, the maintenance workers, and the lifeguards. He also feels some folks who've been evicted for littering were treated unfairly. He feels they contribute to the swimming pool community, that perhaps the litter makes swimming more challenging and immediately vital.

So he's re-invited them back.

Now, feeling vindicated for littering, they're gleefully shitting in the pool.

And the new owner suggests folks who are reluctant to swim in the pool now aren't really committed to swimming.

Right?!

Certain dates stand out in our minds. December 1st is one of mine, and for the most ridiculous reason: it was the day my class made a field trip to the Phoenix Zoo. What grade? Second? Third? No idea. All I remember was the date. And the giraffe strutting around with anĀ enormous erection.