My better judgment compels me to sign off for this evening. I am to the point where I simply [View all]

[Atticus]

cannot move past the VERY strong desire to slap the livin' shit out of a LONG list of people, beginning, of course, with that putrescent maggot in the White House.

My blue collar south-of-the-tracks roots keep causing my fists to clench, eyes to narrow and lip to curl. Where I grew up, the next phase involves hair, teeth and eyeballs and I KNOW I cannot and should not go there.

Maybe some merlot will help. Tomorrow will be another day.