March 6, 2009


It was the first time I've met any of my sister's boyfriends, at least in an official introduction sort of sense, and already I have a problem with him. A big problem.

He seems like a nice enough guy, personable even, and while he has a few flaws, I'm able to overlook most of them (e.g. he says he leans Republican, but didn't vote for McCain because he's not a retard).


This is an awfully big but, enough for me to place it in both bold and italics.


His favorite book of all time is Atlas Shrugged, by She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Afterward, via AIM, I tried to politely explain to my sister why she should be wary of people who profess to loving that monstrosity of humankind author, but I don't think she fully understood.

Short of rounding up a posse, grabbing some pitchforks and lighting a few torches, I don't know what to do to convince her that people who read that author are not good people and Objectivism, like cooties, is highly contagious and life-threatening. I hope she figures it out on her own, and soon, before it's too late.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.