The Hobbling Hare
thehobblinghare.bsky.social
The Hobbling Hare
@thehobblinghare.bsky.social
24 followers 54 following 120 posts
Disabled content writer whose body is ageing slightly faster than his mind. And as I get older, the less I feel sure of. Frequently baffled.
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No kidding. Just read that as I came in from my one day a week in the office, absolutely bushed. Give me books, give me coffee, give me a comfy chair.
It's a working class thing - at least where I'm from, anyway.
'Let Him Have It' is the film of that and the ending makes me feel sick.
That passes for a massive shit fight in certain circles.
In my case, a shattered relic who speaks like a Victorian fop.
If I moved to the US, would I therefore become more attractive?
He's reinvented himself as Compassionate Wanker who makes people go 'aaaah'. ComWank. WankAssion.
I sometimes work at my Dad's. He has Alzheimer's and often noisily interacts with people in the meeting, shouting words of advice.
Shouting at the void news.

Off to work, armed with Baclofen and self-deprecation. Which is always a way of being defensive without being rude.
Reposted by The Hobbling Hare
There's a song called 'Big Iron' by Johnny Cash that tells a similar story. I won't spoil it for you, but I've always liked the idea of triumphing over evil, of striving when all seemed lost. That now looks madly quaint.
Quite possibly the best thing I've heard today. It's early, but that's put down a marker.
I see the same here in the UK and it's wearying. People end up with nothing they want and a weird sense of piety rather than half of what they want and a sense that they've compromised.
The 'purity test' reference is very, very accurate. The Right rally behind any candidate - the Left look for reasons not to.
Hmm. Close one. At least the turd could be washed off. You win.
Joe Rogan is confusing a podcast with reality.
That last line hits you like a punch.
I once had a massive, and I mean massive crap on the side of a large hill during a field trip. A high wind caught me as I stood up, I stumbled with my trousers around my ankles and stood in my Epic Crap. That is my shoe story.
My self esteem is so fucked that although I've been writing professionally for decades, it feels like it's just better than I am so my entire linguistic persona is made of shadows and pretence.
He's now locked into saying he'll do a third term. If he doesn't, people will draw obvious conclusions about his health and forget the Constitutional argument that he can't. So he has to keep up the pretence, stumbling onwards.
In her head, she's thinking 'this is clicks'. And shortly after that 'maybe there's a vacancy for a new talking head'. You don't want to go out there being quietly kind or unobtrusively good. Make it all about you.
He reminds me of PG Wodehouse in an odd way. You have to unclip some of the things that are holding you back and immerse yourself in their respective worlds.