I stopped writing a few years ago. The assholes that wanted to shut me up crowed in victory. It was not “victory”. It was coincidence. Get over yourselves.

My old man got cancer, I became nurse. It was no ordinary cancer. Some shit in inner ear, only three recorded cases in Australia. God, being the asshole (s)he is, gave one of the other cases to my brothers’s father in law. A reverse lotto win.

This is the grave Chrys Stevenson and PZ Myers danced upon. Unlike them, I do not open source pity parties. Or Greta Christina proclaiming cancer, fund raising and going shoe shopping when it’s a false alarm. Nothing false here. The cunt is dying.

The cunt is also a cunt. I was never physically or sexually abused. What I got was worse – a vacuum. That sucked all of my childhood into a void. My interests were “worthless”, the books and comics I collected with my paltry pocket money were burned as “wrong”. Every interest I had was “shit”. Psychologically, it was Auschwitz-Birkenau. Of course pea brains cannot appreciate that.

Now I sit here and inject protein into his stomach via a feeding tube. He clings to life like a junkie. I wonder why. This is the kind of reality above assholes flee from.

This in a nutshell is why I am what I am. I don’t “hate”. I live reality. And want to tear apart those that don’t.

Fuck you all.

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