Hey Bill.
We have to have another talk.
Lay down on the couch again, Bill.
But first, oh my, and shame on you.
Bill, you’re somewhat too young to be bloating like that; it’s not good for the cardio-vascular system, becoming bell-shaped.
And it’s probably a turn-off for the wife, when you’re flop--er, hopping around in the sack with her
- - - - - - - - - -
Anyway.
Bill, you’ve got to learn it’s
okay to make mistakes…..provided after one’s been shown to be wrong, one mans up to it.
You’re still trying to cover your ass on this TurboTax premature ejacu--er, “scoop†you gave the other day.
I can assure you it’s going to get worse, Bill, if you keep doing that. I suspect at this very moment even your co-workers at TruthOut are giggling and gaggling behind your back.
Your problem, Bill, is that you expect yourself to be perfect.
Ain’t no way that’s gonna happen, Bill.
- - - - - - - - - -
You’re just like everybody else, Bill; you ingest, you digest, you divest; you piss, you perspire, you flatulate, you spit, you belch, you snore, you grunt, you groan, you have a repellent body odor close-up.
You’re just human like the rest of us, Bill; you’re not perfect.
And others, including your fellow primitives, would like you better, respect you more, Bill, if you’d admit it.
It doesn’t hurt to say “Ooops, I was wrong,†Bill.
- - - - - - - - - -
You’re listening to the champion of the jumpers-to-conclusions; I’ve been wrong so many times that others insist I’ve turned the
faux pas into a delicate ballet step.
But those same others still like franksolich, still respect franksolich, because it’s easier than strawberries-and-cream for me to say, “Oooops, I was wrong.â€
After which we all forget all about it.
- - - - - - - - - -
But you, Bill, once you’ve been shown to be wrong, you desperately scramble and wiggle around, vainly trying to show that no, you were right.
Give it up, Bill; your credibility’s already in the cellar.
