...on Depression

Yes. I have suffered from it in the past. And I'm sure I will again.

The clinical shit. The kind that makes the sweet kiss of lead seem like a blessing.

Which is the only reason I don't own a gun. I'm not anti-gun. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm not a gun nut (who are in real life sad, pathetic fucks talking about grain loads and model numbers) by any stretch of the imagination. But it doesn't take a fucking genius to figure out the situations in which a gun would be handy.

In any event, I'm coming out of it now. Which makes it real. Not clinical. I've had clinical. There was no reason for it. Then, I just wanted to die and I knew. I knew there was no reason for me to want that.

This was different.

Pardon my rambling. I'm drunk.

New Orleans died. It died and while I watched and listened to people beg for help... the most powerful nation in the history of this planet ignored those pleas.

Maybe I'm not over it. I'm tearing up right now.

New Orleans is gone. It will be rebuilt, but it won't be the same.

That's enough for a nation to mourn. Enough for a world to mourn.

Sadly the number of people who give a shit can be counted on the fingers of one hand. By a guy who works in a kitchen. Surrounded by sharp, heavy cleavers.

I have given up on America. We turned our back on the torch. Fuck us.

Fuck us.