i am fighting.
I fight the urge to respond to the twit.
if you don't do as their assumptions call for, the rest of their narrative is made obvious to be false.
and thus, they really shouldn't go on with that narrative.
but they do anyway, don't they.
they hate the opining real person, who chimes in at the same time every day with observational egg-toss snark: descriptive anti-shilling.
you merely, of-the cuff, describe what it seems that they are doing . . . as if you're wondering around your kitchen , or your apartment building, in your morning robe, with your morning routine dish of whatever you consume in the AM and say stuff about what they merely seem to be.
it reall bothers them because it's like an egg toss.
sometimes you hit the mark and the contraption that they are pedaling around explodes and turns to dust, as if it never were.
they seem to hate that, because the castles that they build in their minds . . . they really seem to think that they can make us think that they really live in them.
and they want anger and action and violent stories that manifest in the streets, within view of their two floor penthouse offices in whi9ch they sat scoffing at the world for fifteen years, it's said . . .
poof
the building is really gone
is it?
we saw a video of it get conboomerated
conboomerated?
dare not use a new word here?
but they'll call you a Kaylee, or a Karoseau, or a Kerouac, or a Kentucky Fumble . . .
as a new kind of putdown?
anyway, ya, the constant creative carrying on
of the real and true and falsely anon
is something that perplexes them and all they have is either bubbley phoniness of false fellowship, or a karenization: the making mean of a word that is traditionally only used as a name.