what does it mean when someone is dismissive of your pain?

Context. Context. Context.

A) Are you barely ambulatory after a recent major accident, surgery, or death of a close relative? It means the person is dickweed. Fuck him. Better, send me his email address and I’ll talk him into suicide.

B) Are you going on about something that happened more than six months ago that didn’t physically harm you seriously or put you into a psychiatric hospital? Let it go. You need to move on. The person in question might be trying to help you do it.

C) Are you whining and misting up about health problems you brought on yourself with diet or inactivity, or something you wouldn’t give a flying fig about if you didn’t see it in the news every day? It means you’re a loser and you’re going to continue to lose until you take the variegated clues life has been piling on and extract your cranium from your rectum. Sympathy is a show with a limited run. Pain is there to tell you to do something about it. Either do something about it or shut up.

The “yer mamma is so fat” jokes require a degree in ancient literature to understand.

Zimbabwe inflation hits record high

And Will Smith officially has the the widest hatband in el Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Culos Sombreros.

Poll: Some Germans see good in Nazi rule

Let me guess. About 32%?

Poker game led to Pamela Anderson’s latest marriage

Tripping and falling on a semi-erect pecker at Central Casting expected to lead to knot #4.

Scientists narrow optimism area in brain

And they expect to continue doing so for the foreseeable future.

Too much support may hamper kids’ development

Well, that’s excellent. My kids have nothing standing in their way.

The horribly depressing story of Oryx forced into child prostitution as a young girl in southeast Asia made me long for a happy ending.

Dear Anderson,

You whined it up, Blue School, about all the unnecessary child starvation in Niger and Africa at large. How awful it was that the woman with the twins had lost four previous children to malnutrition. How terrible that 20% of the kids in Niger will die before age 5 when a few packs of formula and peanut butter could save them.

You didn’t stutter. You didn’t cough. You didn’t tellingly inflect an ironic syllable when you announced that every woman there is having 8 or more children.

The name of the miracle that will allow an already overcrowded, strained, violence prone, and starving north Africa to fill its miles and miles of dessication with millions more adults who will also have 8.5 children is Plumpynut. The nickname of the reporter who implicitly endorsed this course—without so much as one word about birth control, sterilization, or education—is Fucknut.

Dear Dr. Ryuta Kawashima,

Maybe in Brain Age 3 you could incorporate a technique to stimulate my prefrontal cortex in a way such that while playing your game I would not again miss my bus stop by a mile and a half.

The result of love without discipline is indistinguishable from that of hatred.

With a canvas like that why not go for the Mahābhārata?