When you try really hard, it is possible to get a fleeting glimpse of this strange thing called “empathy.” Apparently it involves understanding that other people feel, think, enjoy, and suffer the same as you do.
Though probably not to the same extent.

- From The Sociopath’s Guide to Dealing with Lesser Life-forms.

HTP: You nailed it! The only adden-dumb I would add is “It also involves making a public show of your empathy—and then denying that, in doing so, you were seeking attention in any way whatsoever.”

(And cue Daou entering to scold us about “not paying attention to more important things” in 3, 2, 1…)

Banjoist!

When you really think about it, the hardest thing to explain to another human being is how much you love them, how much they’ve hurt you…and why you’re burying them in the desert, alive.

I would love to get into a discussion with you about your emotional retardation, but right now I’m too busy knitting my precious child a sweater made from organically dyed free-range vegan angora, after which I will be bathing homeless people’s feet at a nearby shelter.

Signed,
Peter Doau

I will be bathing homeless people’s feet at a nearby shelter.

WITH MY OWN TEARS!!!!

And using my own eyelashes to scrub away any dirt, because I, Peter Daou, am a better human being than any of you.

Sometimes, when i drive down the road past other peoples houses, especially late at night, I wonder if the people in those houses are having hot sweaty wild sex right at the exact moment i’m driving by. And i kind of wish i was too.

*

Anybody reminded of Jack Handey’s bits on SNL?

“If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.”

That’s it! Daou is the Jack Handy of the intertubes.

Hey, free dummy.

We shouldn’t be so hard on Mr. Daou, when he is simply explaining the reason for his deep-seated antipathy to really thinking.

Huh, thanks for reminding me Peter, that there are human beings in this world who live utterly fucked up lives, and no, I’m not referring to the C Street Republican God clique.

If you wish, dearest Peter, you can swing by my apartment on any morning around 9 am and you can help me pass out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or two, along with a few smokes and maybe three or four dollars to the fellows who come by to collect my empty beer cans because once their hefty support checks run out, they sell cans to earn money to buy something to eat.

After that, you can meet me at 630 on Thursdays at the Multiple Assistance Center and we can tutor young folks who need some help in learning how to properly fill out a job application or how to conduct themselves in a job interview or how to sign up for some classes at the JC.

The chances to help are endless Pete, and just because people are enduring terrible hardships in other countries doesn’t mean we can’t help those who live around the block in a cardboard box stuffed under a bush in a greenbelt area.