You know what really hacks me? I mean really? In case you are serious about knowing what hacks me, here it IS:
What really puts the oil on the fire of my synapses are those wastes of dirt and water who say girls are meant for being encrusted in dresses and frills and sugar and spices and boys are suppose to swing baseball bats and wear the pants of the playing-house scenario. And then–and this is what really sets my tooky cookin’–these same dirt and space wasters say boys are smarter than girls because they have to unzip to . . . . whatever. And if you add religion and Donald Trump to this hooey, you are liable to ballistic me continental.
There are those who have gone down this road in writelee-dot-com’s presence. Just the other day, a person recognized by some to have a superior importance was telling ole writelee that women could not share his superior importance gig. Something about rules and regulations passed by Congress or the Supreme Court or some other defender of masculine self importance.
You ever seen a stare-down vaporize a fool? Well, what happened to old Superior Self Importance was something like that. Only not quite so pretty.