I was not at The Pulse nightclub in Orlando over the weekend when an Islamic terrorist who happened to be a practicing Muslim (sorry Obama) opened fire and slaughtered forty-nine people, maybe more. But all the TV reporters and their producers and station owners and all the newspaper publishers wanting to make me feel just like I was have dedicated themselves to bringing the dread, horror and outrage straight into my quiet little house in rural Maine. I realized this right away when I turned on the TV this morning looking for the weather and instead got an eyewitness account of the blood and gore inside the club.I turned it off immediately and instead listened to one of my meditation podcasts, then went to the gym to work out and forget. Hours later I logged on to check my email and without warning saw a visual of a text from one of the dead sent to his mom right before he was killed: "he's coming, I'm gonna die." For reasons beyond my comprehension, the mother of that young man decided to share her final horrific private communication from her son with the world.
It's gotten so people put everything and anything up on social media. I'm thinking I may write a blog about the color, size and texture of my poop, since that is a major concern of mine these days now that I am a senior citizen. (Still mulling it over.) Until then, here's this poster which amazingly enough I found by simply Googling "poop."
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