What a way to start a day

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Having a blog has its disadvantages. This morning I woke to find that some monster called jezreelite (if it is; had I done what it has done, not that I would dream of it, I would have used a sockpuppet) had slimed all over my blog, leaving poisonous and insulting answers all over my posts. The level of repulsiveness of this creature may be gauged by two of its comments. In the post about abortion, headnoises (I think it was her, and at any rate she would not be ashamed of it) had asked what could possibly be worse than being dead. jezreelite's attempt at an answer was to post photos of three deformed babies. So being ugly or disabled is worse than being dead. So I, who am ugly, and my brother, who is disabled, ought not to have been allowed to live - for that reason and that reason alone. What a piece of work. And in the post where I raged about terrorists abusing innocent Down's Syndrome cases (do you see a trend developping here?) for mass murder, the creature concluded that I hate Muslims and "sand n******" - yes, the N-word. The creature went as far back as the post on the movie "300", where, not finding anything it could object to, it objected to the fact that I had dedicated so much time to an unimportant film! (Of course, my problem was with Frank Miller's immense cultural influence and its Fascist overtones, but never mind.)

Of course the filth is now banned, and any future post that even looks like it is from it will be deleted on the spot. But what a Hell of a way to start a day.

Comments

[headnoises.livejournal.com]

It was indeed me who stated that "dead" isn't worse than a discomfort while alive. Any who disagree are fully welcome to kill themselves and check, to be sure.

My grandfather was disfigured in adulthood; maimed in accidents; one of his sons, the same, in a vehicle accident with his legs. One of my father's brothers has has MS since long before I was born, and breeds beautiful horses, makes amazing saddles. My godmother, toughest woman I've ever known, had a cleft pallet. My mother has a mutation that makes it so she can't puke. My nephew has two insanely club feet-- a problem easily corrected, yet still used as a reason to abort. My "older" neighbor growing up, who raised huskies for the sheer pleasure of their company, now has a nerve-degenerative disease.

Do you want to tell me that the tough grandfather who made beautiful knives shouldn't live?

That the laughing little boy, who happened to be born with club feet and is now nearly a year ahead in recovery, shouldn't live?

That Uncle Steve, who nerve was quite "right"-- yet has managed to make my aunt very happy, and to turn the childhood of not only his relatives, but all the children in the valley to the better with his wagon-horses and old-fashioned ranch, should have been killed?

That Mrs. Jean B., who married the fatherless sheepherder, whose father was killed by an Indian raid and mother was impoverished by Indian-scalper hunters, should have been killed?(for those who love trivia: the hunters found the right group, as one of them had "scalped" the impressive mustache off of Jean B. Sr., and had it on his belt when killed. In Modoc county, there is still as story that the Church has blood under the carpet from when the bodies were brought in to thaw before burial......)

That the neighbor who my father loves enough to burry two dogs, three cats, a horse and rooster should be killed, because her life isn't worth as much due to her nerves being worn by a disease?

How about my mother? She who destroyed her knees with high school and college sports? Until her operation last year, she was in pain for three solid years-- not alcohol, nor aspirin, nor Ibuprofen could touch her pain. Now she can climb on a horse's back and ride for a day without a twinge.

All those and more are reason that I will defy the death-seakers who will not look there first, themselves.