You can't hang out with anybody who's controversial.
You can't say anything off the cuff, off color.
You can't sing off key.
And you sure can't be caught with your guard or your pants down, your shirt or your skirt up.
In this age of techno-McCarthyism, everyone is under suspicion. Under a microscope. Under the gun. Everyone is being watched by someone else who's being watched by someone else . . .
Think it's just presidential candidates and their coterie? Think again: if a girl can be driven to suicide by someone who doesn't exist -- someone created just to torment her -- then we're all waiting for our monsters to appear. It's Monsters, Inc. -- only, it's not a movie, and it's not cute.
Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get me. Someday, I'll be up for a job somewhere, and someone will wave a copy of some blog post in my face -- perhaps this very post.
"Sir," they'll say, "were you off your meds when you wrote this, or just having a bad day?"
The latter, ladies and gentlemen. I swear.
And so, gentle readers, please: grant me a prophylactic pardon.
--T.A.
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