Witness:
A fucktard writing for a gossip rag takes umbrage with someone who uses his brain for a living.
Here’s a clue for you, Mr Wolcott: When you have spent a MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE producing something useful- say, a toaster, or a chair, or a piece of computer code that someone finds useful, you have business criticising those of us who do. Until then, let me remind you of something my father- a man whose ball sweat you are unworthy to sample- told me years ago: “Them who can’t do, teach. Them who can’t teach? earn their living writing. Them who can’t earn their living writing? are critics.”
Sweet, I let Charles and Misha know they have a new fanbase.
You can’t miss the fearful undertones of Mr. Wolcott’s utterances.
It is apparent to me that he, like many collectivists, harbors a deep rooted fear of individualists who are prepared and willing to resist the ministrations of those who would run our lives. He attempts to disguise his utter terror of we gun toting lunatics through ridicule but fails miserably.
I pity him. Anyone who lives with so much obvious fear must lead a miserable life.
I detected more than a little jealousy on Mr. Wolcott’s piece. So I took the opportunity to put my own oar in the water.
OK, I ask this question every so often — but here goes.
Why do you pay one second’s credence or even attention to ANYTHING Alexander Wolcott says or writes… anyway?
I suspect that at least half of even those who do know he’s a raving loony.
M
Actually why even pay attention to anything printed in Vanity Fair?
Even lining a birdcage with that rag is cruelty to animals.
Because they chose to attack a friend of mine.
[…] Thanks, Mr Wolcott. I don’t have a great deal of respect for you, but I don’t outright hate you either. Well, i hate it when you abuse my friends. Wonder what kind of crap comment spam I’m going to be getting based on THAT link. […]