Call Me A Psycho, But…

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 9.648% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

I plan to commemorate the anniversary of 9/11 by ignoring all the maudlin sentiments and having a glorious fucking day, as though 9/11 never happened.
Look, it’s not that I don’t mourn those who were lost. But the goal of terrorism is – say it with me, children – terror.  And that day so scarred our national sentiment that we’ve all been fleeing like light-struck cockroaches every time anyone shows us a guy in a turban.  Every time a politician uses the specter of 9/11 to frighten voters into, I dunno, taking off their fucking shoes for the TSA, that means the terrorists win.
So you know what 9/11 the date is to me? Nothing.  It’s any other day in America. I’m going to go out, and kiss my beautiful wife, and have a nice cold glass of beer, and check in on my garden.
Take that, you bastards.

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