You're a pooper, I'm a pooper too.

You poop. I poop right back on you. And I am full of shit. To unload. On you.

Ask any of my friends. I'll wear them right out. I'll clear the whole table in three seconds flat and clear the room in five.

Literally, clear the entire room in five seconds flat.

They can't take me.

I realized how bad I've become because I followed the Drudge link about Democrats being ready to take the House just to find out what kind of dummkopfs say ridiculous crap like that. Turns out to be the Hill. So I pooped on them. I didn't even bother to read their stupid article. Just poop. As they do. They taught me to poop large.

Oh, the Hill. That explains it. The place where Democrats come for oxygen as their miserable hopelessly corrupted party dies in the mud for lack of it. 

♫ I'm a pooper, ♫ you're a pooper, ♫ he's a pooper too.

Now I'm getting Discus messages through email about replies to my poop. But I don't care.

La la la. I don't care.

They all go directly to trash just as the little plastic poop bags do when you walk your dog in the city. I don't care what they say, supportive or contrarian. I don't read a single one. Would you be interested in replies to the poop that you flushed? I wrote it to have them all feel a little bit miserable. To get their dander up. To poop on their party. Then leave.

Without reading. Without being annoyed by the site's ads.

It's fun. Kicking 'em when they're down and miserable and mean and nasty because that's the way we prefer them. As losers. Because they're even much MUCH MUCH worse when they win. That's when they're truly intolerable.

Just like they made my last fifteen birthday parties miserable by compulsively citing their ridiculously mean-spirited ever-evolving catechisms.

It's not possible to say, "Boy it sure was hot outside today."

Or, "Is it hot enough for you?" Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Or, "Boy, it sure was hot." *squeaky ventriloquist voice* "How hot was it?"

"It was so hot I saw two gay iguanas at the hardware store buying a swamp cooler."

"Ha ha ha, funny. But why do the iguanas have to be gay?"

"Because they're not attracted to lady iguanas. Duh!"

No.

Now, the heat-related remarks must be snidely partisan, "But all that doesn't have a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g to do with global warming. NoooOOOOOOOOOooo. "

"Fuck you, Have It Both Ways Guy. Have three way, have it four ways guy. One, we notice you've slipped back to global warming now that's it summer and now that it's hot. Two, next winter you'll switch back to Global Climate Change™at your convenience. Three, nobody, and I mean nobody has ever disputed against global climate change. You don't own the 3rd grade meteorology that everyone already accepted before your Party and your media finally caught up, and you're arguing with people who don't exist. You are mischaracterizing your imagined opposition. You couldn't repeat their point of view to their satisfaction, because you don't know it. And Fourth, you have nothing whatsoever to suggest doing about it except to drain the American economy through newly established flows of currency with your politicians positioned along the confluence of cash streams delivered to 3rd world tin pot dictators who do nothing at all to fix climate change, or their own civilizations, even if that was desirable. You have no good suggestions that actually accomplish anything. Fifth you're fucking up my beautiful birthday dinner AGAIN with your stupid poop. All the stuff you memorized from your retarded media zombies, and ruminated like a drunk bellied up at the bar, and spew at a moment's notice, without provocation, continuously loaded for bear. But 100% unprepared for rebuttal, so off you flounce to avoid confronting a p.o.v more developed than yours, more subtle than yours, happier than yours, more understanding and lovelier than yours. Loser. (Worse because he actually is a recovering alcoholic, and that is exactly how he sounds.) You're a pooper. I'm a pooper too.

I shit on your stupid ass politics.

Change of subject. Right here.

You want to hear something insanely stupid?

I asked about this and never did get a good answer. Because a good answer doesn't exist.

I didn't even get an answer to what the thought process is. Because there is no thought process.

Most frustrating. Because there is nothing there to even see.

I didn't know what anything was about. I didn't know how this came up. I don't know what the previous discussion was. But nothing is matching. It doesn't make sense.

A guest produced an envelope of Béarnaise sauce.

An envelope!

A g.d. envelope.

For sauce.

Boy, that took me back to when society was perfectly retarded.

Why did he do that? "He's actually a very good cook."

"Okay, now you're really not making any sense. A good cook doesn't do that. They wouldn't even think of using a packaged sauce. Not anymore than professional photographer would put their camera on automatic, or a professional driver would push the button for cruise control."

"It's béchamel with tarragon.  Here, smell."

He held a new jar of dried tarragon to my nose to smell.

He bought a jar of dried tarragon to supplement the envelope of sauce that specifically changes béchamel to Béarnaise.

"I know what it smells like. And now you're really not making sense. You are confusion, upon confusion, upon confusion." (It's no wonder his politics are so massively fucked up.)

He brings his stupid ass f'k'd up envelope sauce to a party along with his f'k'd up zombie partisan mantras.

Opening an envelope and mixing the contents with milk and then supplementing with dried tarragon bought from the place where fresh tarragon is available, is no more easy to do than preparing béchamel from real butter and milk and flour and adding fresh tarragon, right there, with somebody else's little pot and somebody else's stove,  for a result that's an entire magnitude of order better. The envelope is not easier, not faster, not any more simple, but it is a lot worse.

"Would you like some Béarnaise on your smoked tenderloin?"

"FUCK NO!"

And that's only the beginning.

Don't even host parties for me anymore. I have zero interest in participating in Democrat caucuses.

And that's what your parties are. That's what you bring with you to my parties.

I liken the impulse to the community upholding the pueblo stucco structures. The entire community slaps new mud on their church. They must because it occasionally rains and the stucco is not permanent. Stucco is not a permanent truth. It's not a construction material that lasts without constant upkeep. Exactly like your fragile community reality. You are Borg who must be patched up and repaired, reaffirmed, continuously. So you seek reaffirmation at social gatherings. It's all that there is for you to talk about. Every single celebratory gathering is used to reassure yourselves that your dainty evanescent unsteady reality is still there, still holding up after all these storms, and to traduce the rain that erodes it. And that's why you so glibly poop on my parties. For you are a pooper. And so I am pooper too.

And I will shit all over your stinking party. So don't even bother inviting me. You come with your shit. I definitely come with mine.