I folded and organized and stacked my shirts in rainbow order (SHUT UP) and now I’m afraid to get dressed and mess them up

More things I found in my storage unit yesterday

• Clear salt and pepper shakers shaped like cats that I got as a housewarming gift when I bought my first house in 1993
• A teacup from my grandmother’s Blue Willow china
• Chinese-inspired objets d’art are called chinoiserie
• You’re welcome
• An Army rubber ducky that I got from my friend Mike who's a kick-ass Army veteran
• A plaque I bought at the Museu Picasso in Barcelona with a shimmery sky-blue frame that has never gone with anything in any house I’ve ever owned
• Picasso is tacky and his stupid “art” will never catch on
• Loser
• An authentic finger bowl or flower vase or vomit bucket or who knows what the hell it’s for that I rescued when I survived the Titanic sinking
• Or maybe it’s just a reproduction that I bought at a Titanic exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago
• At my age, my memory is shot so its provenance is now lost to the ages
• So shut up
• A French sign about reading on the toilet that I bought at a Euro-charming little shop in Montmartre high above Paris
• A Norwegian kitchen witch that I cross-stitched and framed at Skogfjorden language camp in 1983
• Shut up
• It’s totally not gay
• So shut up
• A stone coaster printed with a vintage Eiffel Tower print
• Though it’s neither real stone nor authentic vintage
• But I like it so shut up

13 dead, including a *trained* police officer

But please, tell us again how a bored rent-a-cop standing at the door would have hypothetically stopped this. Tell us again how arming every person in the bar with MORE GUNS! would have hypothetically stopped this. Tell us again how this is the wrong time for me or anyone to discuss how to actually stop this.

No wait. Just shut the fuck up.

HOW MENTALLY AND MORALLY DEFICIENT DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO FALL FOR THIS?

This stabble genus musta missed Spelling Day at Trump University:

Her hand clenching a sweat-stained burner cell phone and her neck limber and fully rotational as she scours her habitat searching for black people exhibiting the brazen audacity to exist in the suffocating mire of her personal magasphere, she crunches her face in a bitter rictus and brays in her deafening shriek about her white-shaming victimization. Even though she’s not actually capable of making it all the way through five-syllable words like victimization.