Six billion people. Six billion lives. All ridden with fucked up notions: There is no God. There is one God. I. Am. God.
And everything is built into us so concretely that if you dare to try and show me something different, red hot anger flows, all I have is contempt for you.
Then someone has an epiphany:
You can have your own opinion.
Please pick up your chair and relocate to the other side of the classroom so we may continue our debate.
Susie, please stop showing us your middle finger.
John Smith is the rapist.
Gotta have charm to be such a flat-chested woman.
John Smith plays the guitar.