By the time you read this, I should be out of Twitter purgatory. Maybe, or maybe not. At some point around mid-day on Monday, I stumbled across one of those mealy-mouthed pious platitudinal pontifications that Tucker Carlson (I usually refer to him as Fucker Carload) likes to offer when, like Marco Rubio, he wants to pretend to have a softer and more sensitive side.
The one yesterday, as I recall, was bemoaning the increasing coarseness deployed in our civic discourse (and parenthetically bemoaning the loss of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem among other things). I steer a wide bow around all of Faux Gnus and just about all of MSNBC for the same reason: too much stridency, too little accuracy involving facts.
To read one of the main arsonists burning down the structure of civil debate in my country lament its passing without any acknowledgment of his (and Hannity, Dobbs, Pirro and whatever other bozos fall out of the Ailes' Clown car) role was too much and my evil twin Skippy seized my keyboard to respond.
Skippy chided Hambone, as I called him, for his soliloquy and suggested it would be more sincere if he weren't still holding the lit Zippo lighter as he was rushing from the burning building. Some gentle, peaceful soul took offense, I assume and reported me.
Twitter, which has yet to ever direct the removal of a single offensive or derogatory tweet from the Mango Mussolini occupying the White House moved swiftly in my case.I was directed to remove the offending tweet and serve a twelve-hour timeout which I have done, or am doing, or did. Sure beats pounding rocks in the hot sun.
-bill kenny
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