THIS MIGHT BE A RANT . . . OR I MIGHT JUST BE A BITCH
Disinhibition
dwindling of one’s inhibitions . . .
Despite Trump spewing vile insults left and right for a decade, talking heads still can’t call a spade a fucking spade.
Obtuse milquetoast terms are used for a raving bitch of a lunatic.
The latest powder-puff term is disinhibition.
The media points out that Trump’s disinhibition is proof of his geriatric decline. See? He swears a lot more now. That’s disinhibition.
In my old age, such assbite malarky caused me to see my foul-mouthed ways with peeled eyelids. Damn disinhibition, without a doubt.
I have decided to make myself comfortable in this institutional facility where I reside, instead of longing for some way out of this dive. Part of my acceptance is me, trying to evolve into a better person.
Ha. Fucking mini-ha-ha. There’s that disinhibition.
My lovely peaceful neighbor Cathy is torturously thin after two hospital stays, but at least she was out walking her adorable dog Lady yesterday.
Just looking at Lady has to make a person smile. This dog has so much joyful body…
