You can drink your own damned bathwater all you like, but I'm not sipping. When I'm Empress Of The World, the penalty for that will be you get drowned in it, however badly my executioners have to torture the metaphor to make it happen. Or you.
I spent a couple of hours of dangerously-high blood pressure today, helping resolve a mess created by someone else's steadfast refusal to indulge in reality-based thinking. Wishing is so much simpler and neater, isn't it -- until it doesn't work, at which point no amount of fast-talking BS or deprecating underlings will fix it.
Here we go over the cliff in the big bus, busy with rolls of silk and knitting needles, hoping to make a parachute before it hits bottom. Does anyone else notice the flaw in this plan?
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago