March 31, 2005

Yes, goddamn you all, it's another Schiavo post.

If you can't read anymore about this--and Goddess knows I damn near can't, so don't feel bad--go look at some cute kittens or read something funny or something.

Ever write a super-long, brilliant post, post it, and then find out the comments were closed, apparently right before you posted? [sorry rori, I think I got there too late]

I think the universe is getting back at me for not having working comments here.

So everybody, come and work my goddamn shift for me so I can sleep enough to have enough energy to give a shit about changing domains. [Yeah, I didn't think you would. 'sokay.] Because right now, I sorta don't care, frankly. I could do without comments forever. I could damn near do without this blog right about now.

I sure know I could do without closed posts stuffed full of trolls whose idiocy I'm prohibited from responding to [which I view not as rori's fault but the fault of the trolls whose semi-literate yammering surely forced her to close the thread out of self-defence]. Not that it would do any good. It's not that I want, necessarily, to reason with people who think Terri Schiavo is actually alive in that shell somewhere and that removing her feeding tube is murder; I know they can't be reasoned with. If they were using any logic at all instead of letting their emotions assrape their opinion-forming process, many of them wouldn't have that opinion about it in the first place. No, what I really want to do is beat them senseless. Why? Because people who can ignore indisputable facts [e.g. 8 neurologists* said she won't recover; her husband is her legal guardian and he's the only person who has a right to decide what to do with her anydamnway] in favour of the sort of hyper-emotional blubbering stupidity that floods the message boards frighten me. They frighten me because they can vote, and because they CAN'T be reasoned with. They can, however, be repeatedly and reliably led around by the dick by whoever can push the right emotional buttons on them, which is exactly what the Schindlers** and the Operation Jerkoff Rescue people are doing. And they can claim that I'm a godless buzzard with a shriveled moldy raisin in her chest where her heart should be, and that that's why I don't agree with their extravagantly emotional and logically bankrupt arguments. And that will sound totally believable to them, because they think that any tempering of emotion by reason is the same as not having feelings. Either that or Christianity has done such a good job of teaching them to be unquestioningly faithful that they're afraid to reason, as if the words "if," "then" and "therefore" were the three tines on the pitchfork of Satan.

I'd provide links for most of this, but you can find it all in Yahoo news, I'm sure, just by putting "schiavo" in their news search engine and clearing your calendar for the rest of the day so you can slog through it. I can't look at it anymore. I have a headache.

I will say this: If you think that somebody who's doped up on morphine and whose brain is largely disintegrated is capable of suffering, you have a very vivid imagination and are making full, though not terribly productive, use of it. Take your shitty picket sign and go write a novel instead of clogging up the forums.

I'm going to bed.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...
*Yes, eight [8]. Which begs the question: HOW MANY FUCKING NEUROLOGISTS HAVE TO DECLARE HER A CABBAGE BEFORE YOU'RE CONVINCED? DO WE NEED A PAPAL DECREE? Under the circumstances, I doubt you'll get one.
**Who, oddly, have been told by the federal court--twice now--to go pound sand. Which begs the question: HOW MANY FUCKING JUDGES...oh, never mind.

Posted by Frida Peeple at March 31, 2005 10:20 AM
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