Hackneyed Contremps in Ankara

So you don't like stupid people. Susan Sarandon


Although I'd be perfectly content to eat fish for the remainder of my shortening lifespan, there is a degree of disenchantment with the gelatin texture of the flesh, less prevalent in shark steaks, but I happen not to be big on flounder or salmon, that unpleasant jaw jutting stream fighter, except in a pate; when consumed in copious amounts as a spread, on anecdotal testimony, salmon reduces vitriolic levels of intense recrimination, but it will not change how minorities in an urban environment created scars too prevalent to give way to remorse. I have a last battle to fight with blacks whom I cannot perceive in anything but reduced terms, as harsh and impolitic as you may find that sentiment, and despite my former co-worker's optimistic Jesus advocacy on Facebook. I cannot tell you why I approved Cheryl's friend request. In our energetic adulthood, she possessed what I cannot, charm, a touch of class, like Cosby's television daughters, but the public square is one thing. My private life is another, and black exploitation, attitude, particularly when preying on my former naiveté, progressive guilt, if you like, has taken too much out of me. Trudy Richardson may have backed off because I've fought her like a hellhound, and used the Diamond Park assault to scare both her and Debra Horne as to legal consequence, but in eight years, I had threatening letters under my door once a week, in addition to her unceasing, back stabbing attacks, and no ambulatory white woman would endure that, you know it, and I have to fight back. That is the way it is. I could have cost Presby a significant settlement when I was 31. I did not, and my compensation for that has been to endure 24 years of bigotry and stigma. It makes a criminal record seem perfectly reasonable, let alone my own unapologetic mindset about black culture and its vernacular, and no uptick in foreign national followers under Erdogan's lackadaisical authoritarian posture will change that. Not to say that the dowager isn't intrigued by this influx of Turkish citizenry, but sympathies for Orhan's dialectical balancing between modernism and faith as a national statement doesn't make me an expert on the Ottoman's interchange with Arabia, Slavic influx, and Western alliance. As a people, you represent an ethnic oddity in peculiar geographical circumstances. I can give you a run for your money, with a practice warm up, at a backgammon table, but happy, fluffy, four years before 60? That will take a bit more than Eastern scales strummed to a mesmerizing reverberation on exotic strings: I foment until it's no longer possible, and should have gone to bed at two o'clock, a bad Friday to creak overtired with imperative deadlines nipping palsied tendons, but you baffle me.