Clambake

July 10, 2014 § Leave a comment

Since I’m so terrible at coming up with titles, I’m going to title them with the names of my nailpolishes I’m wearing. I chew them off almost everyday so it seems fitting. Also, I’m such a bitchy image-obsessed bitch, why not? I shouldn’t use derogatory expletives.

After dinner tonight, Steve started talking about an employee that works for him who became very emotional over a story of a man who murdered four children (were they his ex’s children, I’m not sure) because he was angry at his ex (I think, I’m not actually sure now in recollection) and killed them. And I started in on the fact that…horrible things always happen. My mom knows…but I started discussing journalists I’ve read about who’ve followed with their cameras, while mobs kicked and mollified heads of foreign victims. Some of whom, if I recall, were photographers, and therefore involved in media in the same vicinity as said journalists. How they were terrified, but also needed to keep following it all because no one from more affluent countries would care as much as if they saw it in video…they were disgusted, could have died….and I think of reading about the accounts of Rwanda…no one from outside countries seemed to come in to help until they saw video accounts of the horror. And I understand…

And my fucking mother “They might have just wanted a story”

I argued….a bit. But I was tired. If you wanted a story so much….you could find something easier to make headlines than the fear of death and having to watch someone’s head battered into a battered mulch.

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