Hate Them. Hate Them. Always.

Yes, it's true: I was tired and cranky. However, nothing about that mitigates the facts of Life In These United States that spawned my seething outrage at having to go through the generally awful charade of "security" at La Guardia again during a three-hour layover near the end of the twenty-eight hour grind of getting home from Jakarta -- in order to step outside and enjoy a cigarette.

You know... it really is such a little thing. I know this, you see, by way of the contrast that I routinely draw between American airports and those that I fly through around the world. It happens every time. I get home, and then carry the fact around like a smoldering ember: "At least they'll let a man have a bloody cigarette over there, without having to deal with the smiling dirt-bombs that this rotten country conceals behind the bureaucracy, where one cannot get at them to bat them in their little fucking pointed heads."

Yes, I was tired and cranky, standing there and thinking about the fulminant savagery that I might unleash, here, over this matter. Fucking assholes. I hate this country because of these fucking assholes and the way they are tolerated here, and I don't apologize for it. Last week, I got e-mail from a reader complaining about my "I hate everybody, I hate everything" attitude. I took pains to point out to the dink how much I could love and admire a culture here that was descended from America -- which this one manifestly isn't. Americans, you see, don't go around telling each other how to take care of themselves. And before one of you gets up on your hind-legs to start hollering about "second-hand smoke", I have four words for you: "laminar flow air handling". Go do your goddamned homework and shut the fuck up.

(ahem)

Yes. Well, like I said: I was tired and cranky. And by the time I got home, I was just tired, and not interested to fight about it.

Then, I gets this link in e-mail.

These fucking assholes. These motherfucking shitbag cocksucking punk-dog dick-drips. I cannot wait for them to get to Hell. Honest to bleedin'-Jesus: I will be happy to greet them at the gate with a chainsaw in order to hack the snouts off their pig faces, one by one, as they arrive.

If that were to be my gig throughout eternity, I could dispatch it always with a song in my blackened heart.