n the words of the immortal Bernie Mac, “I ain’t scared of you mother***kers.” And just so there’s no confusion, just so my point is unequivocally made, I’ll say it again, “I ain’t scared of you mother***kers.” If you’re some keyboard warrior, sitting in your torn underwear in your mother’s basement, whacked out of your gourd on the endorphin rush induced by spreading social media hate on a subject matter you’ve made zero critical analysis of, giggling to yourself in self-congratulation about the snide, venomous, asinine comments you’ve made, replete with vomit face and turd emojis representing the full scope of your self-expressive capabilities, while still never
