After reading the news that Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston are getting back together to live in wedded conservative bliss, I immediately went to to read the joyful comments and get angry. Why do I do this to myself?

In these misery times, there is so much awful news coming at us from every direction every hour of every day that it seems insane that I would deliberately seek out internet content — political content, mostly — for the sole purpose of it getting me angry or upset. But I do! All the time. And it's not in some sort of strategic "know your enemy" kind of way. Because my enemy isn't really the foaming all-capser who types NOT ADAM AND STEVE!!! on World Net Daily. Yes, in a big zoomed-out sense, sure, they are the faceless orcs who aim to control my life. But in the actual, immediate world, reading their internet comments has nothing to do with figuring out my opponent's position. No, I just like to get mad. I guess it makes me feel alive?

Have you ever read the comments on any slightly politically charged story on Oh heavens, what are you doing reading this, go read that shit. It's scrumtrulescently mind-melting. People are so crazy! Oh they are so, so crazy and awful and mean. Want your Christ-flavored insanity a little more slickly produced and dangerously lobbyistic? Get thee to Concerned Women for America's website. I'm not going to link to it! Seek it out for yourself. And when you do, listen to the podcasts. Oh holy heavens are the podcasts things of rage-making beauty. There's one guy who hates the gays sooooo much that he has a whole website about it and goes to every freaky leatherdaddy convention he can go to, just to report back on how the gays are sooooo dumb and gross. Oh and there's so much more about like women's roles and all this fantastic garbage that boils the blood. Honestly? I probably check that site at least once a day to see what new disaster they've put up. The words "Martha Kleder, policy analyst" elicit a Pavlovian rage response. It's delicious! My friends all think I'm crazy, and I probably am, but I just cannot stop. Dr. Janice Crouse, I love you so much I want to put you in jail for the rest of your quack, miserable, fake doctor life, you horrible monster with a disarmingly soothing voice.

So, uh, that's my not-so-secret shame. Where do you go to get mad? Why do you do it? Come on, you know you do it. Don't you?

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