They Cannot Make Me Care

It is achingly sad how the people who have been babied their entire lives are the most intolerant. I suppose it is what they have learned: throw a big enough fit and eventually those around you give in. This attitude is pervading society, stealing in like a fetid aroma, choking out sense.

I have read of this in organizations devoted to the horror genre.

I have seen it on display for the sexually confused.

I have read endless lists of demands posted by an endless number of aggrieved groups marching in the streets, demonstrating in the parks, and blocking traffic.

It all funnels down to one giant statement: you will either accept what we say or we will continue “dialog” but your point of view is never valid.

This only solidifies my opposition.

Live in the gutter and sling your filth, but you will not make me care. You want me to accept whatever it is that you are doing, but I don’t have the time to make you feel good about yourself. That’s your job, not mine. The acceptance you crave is not mine to give – no trophy, no rally, no award, no proclamation, no program, no law will ever give it to you.

You have not persuaded me, and threats do not persuade. Demands do not persuade. Your logic is childish at best and your screaming emotionalism fails to impress me.

I will not be cowed, and I still do not care.

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