Ox, if you want to argue that I am the real sh!tbird rather than the trailer park miscreants from whose meth fueled depredations you regularly rescue wives, children, and household pets by enabling them to post malicious nonsense online, be my guest. You can probably even make that case, but what you can’t do is gain them my sympathy. Because I will always hate lies, especially monstrous lies like the suggestion that craven, faithless malice can be born out of love. Tearing something apart can never demonstrate that you love it.