Did you ever have one of those days when the entire planet and a couple of extra dimensions of nastiness seemed to be making a study of busting your balls, to the point that you want to scream except that would mean getting out of the fetal position you have assumed in the corner of the couch because you are burned out from humping a desperate fucking keyboard? Sure you have. But did you then take a break from it all and turn on the inevitable television to find our enunciation-challenged state governor Arnold the Barbarian wearing a flight jacket to which I know he’s not entitled (what about daddy’s death’s head, Conan?) telling a malignant and collapsing mud mountain that "we’ll be back"? This lunacy is no longer even morbidly funny. It’s just plain disgusting. When’s the fucking uprising, mes enfants? Could we please make it soon? I have a lot of unanswered email.

The secret word is Contemptible.