Well how would you describe it Mr Sensitive?
Again, I attack ideas, you don't, that's the difference.
Strewth, massive irony calling him Mr Sensitive.
Thought I'd share this from David Mcalmont on FB,
“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” Plato
At least one hundred and twenty people were killed in Paris last night. It is awful news, a very bad situation. Does it bode ill for all our futures and freedoms? I don't know. Perhaps. It is a savage, concentrated tragedy- more newsworthy here than similar tragedies that occur elsewhere in the world daily. Nonetheless, it is Paris, it is the EU, it is our nearest continental neighbour; fair enough.
I do not pretend to grasp last night's events. I do not believe that the hundreds of voices in our Facebook news feeds fully grasp them either. For the most part our posts are informed by the same news reports, circulated blogs, hash tag feeds, newspapers, editorials, the likes of Rupert Murdoch, and opinionated egos.
There are a lot of tin pot theories and concepts doing the rounds already: “effing” ex Prime Ministers and Presidents; retaliations for drone strikes against notorious jihadis- even though what happened in Paris required evident planning; letting "them" in; Trojan Horse migrant conspiracies; coddling religion; political correctness gone mad; insufficiently fascist ideals; naive lefties etc.
The politically self-righteous will slam the presumed bigoted; the presumed bigoted will mock the politically self-righteous; the politically astute will probably take the weekend off.
The absence of editors between misguided ideas and the publication of knee jerk posts, which will inflame our social networking experience this weekend, means that there will be a stinking load of crap flying around, a surfeit of guff regurgitated; none of it verified, none of it ascertained, much of it inappropriate. Erroneous views will be compounded by commentators who see the pronouncement of shit as a licence to pronounce more.
One hundred and twenty dead means that a greater number of persons are in pain today. Last night I sat tearful and motionless at the horrific mortality count that emerged from the Bataclan Theatre; palpable helplessness- like hopelessness- sucks.
The friends and families of the survivors deserve sympathy, respect and support today; not a load of I told you sos, ignorant forecasts and wagging fingers. Simple RIPs should suffice; prayers for world peace will continue unanswered; fear will do nobody any favours.
RIP