Well, we're movin' on up II: Season of the Witch

Stop. Be sure to read the exciting prologue to this posting or you will regret it as much as much as hearing the "secret" in "The Sixth Sense" before seeing it. Actually, that was obvious. It's more like.... Why do I feel the need to make comparisons about everything? Metaphors, similes, like, as though, as if, kinda sorta. Moving onward toward the chilling conclusion.

So I took the smarmy, noisome bastard to court. And I subpoenaed his heinous handmaiden, too.

I walked across the grounds of the Ohio statehouse knowing that justice would be done. Several blocks south, I arrived at the courtroom. My heart was pounding. I suddenly realized that as much as I wanted justice, I wanted them not to show up. Is forfeit justice? Then they turned the corner. You couldn't miss them.

Homer, was walrus-like and lumbering; the trashy old "perk" perpetrator with her Sunday dentures in and her one pair of polyester pants that weren't pilled in the crotch. These people were the embodiment of white trash. I don't take that term lightly since my likely lineage is such. Accordingly, when I say white trash I don't denigrate based on net worth or appearance, but rather on the mendacity and entitlement flaunted by the unaware, disengaged luddites who consider only themselves. They consume without conscience. They confabulate as easily as they breathe.