Meet Me, The Narcissist
According to the Webster’s definition, I don’t think I’m a narcissist. I’m full of more self-loathing and honesty than I am any exaggerations of my self-importance. I mean, I want to be important. Of course, I want to matter to people and the world. I wouldn’t be opposed to breaking the internet with news of my demise, should that day come. But I don’t think I have an excessive admiration or infatuation with myself. I do think I have value and talent and other things that make prevent me from being a total waste of flesh and drain on society, but those feelings are tempered. But I do hold grudges and I wanted to dig a little deeper into this
And here’s where I’ve landed. I’m a hypocrite.
If the Royal Family has enough sense in their inbred brains to support the arrest and subsequent punishment of the Andrew Formerly Known as Prince, then American leaders ought to have equal sense to investigate and punish the other Epstein-related offenders. Or, at the very least, admit that American Power is too insulated for true justice to ever have a chance at prevailing and own up to being a criminal enterprise. Something far worse than being inbred. (Though, probably not as bad as being married to Meghan Markle.)