Fuckmooks to the Barricades

I came here this evening to finish a cathartic and ultimately impotent post about our current political environment. It wouldn't have done much, but it would've been a marker to posterity about where I stood at this particular moment in time. I'll complete it in a day or two, but I'm kinda drunk, and I came across the most epic of Twitter ragestorms from a wordsmith of the first order, and I believe his words must be recorded in the event the Praetorians guarding the high castles of social media riches scrub them from our collective memory.

There's so much here. The outrage is real and justified. It's an indictment of the elevation of economic value over humanity. It's a celebration of the versatility of the language a communication method and a cudgel - can you imagine that we lived in a world without the word 'fuckmook' before today? It's rage against power subservient to power. It's fucking beautiful and it's awful and it makes me sad and it makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.

I just got done telling my kids over a gut-filling meal of fajitas and margaritas (the latter for me and my wife, not the teenagers) that they have an obligation to stand up for people less powerful, less visible, less white. And I came home to find out that even people like David Simon get silenced, even if only for a week.

The road ahead, my friends, is paved with peril. Don't be fuckmooks.