You “Cans”

Moseying around on this sunny a.m., trying to educate myself on the pros and cons of “Constitutional Carry,” and bless my eyes if I didn’t see this inspiring bit of poetry:

All You Cans

Dear ol’ Mr. Hurt is a neighbor of mine, apparently.

I know I shouldn’t care, but this sort of thing really dampens my soul. It does. I’m just sorry. Here it is, 2015, and I still have to endure horse manure like this in public forums. It’s not like being called fat or ugly or even stupid. This stuff seeps down into the bone marrow. Into the DNA. “Brush it off, Tiff; they’re idiots.” Easier said than done.

Much easier said than done.