Keyboard Warrior Quotes

Despite the clear scientific consensus, a veritable brigade of self-proclaimed, underinformed armchair experts lurk on comment threads the world over, eager to pour scorn on climate science. Barrages of ad hominem attacks all too often await both the scientists working in climate research and journalists who communicate the research findings.

Take a look around the internet. The ditches into which all evil is eventually swept. People hide their faces and type away without a care, no self-awareness for how their words will be picked up by others, forming a chain. When human beings can cover their faces and hide behind a shield of goodness, they release their aggression without hesitation. Not even realizing their aggressiveness for what it is.

Dr. Who shook her head. “I think we’re livin’ in an age of misplaced religious feelin’. And that’s very dangerous. Instead of bein’ humbled by the unknowable God Almighty, there are a frightenin’ number ’a people who think they’re the Lord’s gun-totin’ sidekick. They claim they know what he wants done and how it wants doin’. What’s good for God is good for me and vice versa . . . as long as it’s still good for me in the long run, which must make it good for God. Imbeciles who don’t have two brain cells to rub together comin’ up with circular reasonin’ for crusades and inquisitions . . . get us all killed . . .” She typed on her keyboard, accessing Social Security’s databases. “Please tell me you’re not one of them ‘Jesus is my ass-kickin’-warrior’ types. Or I’ll whip your ass with this,” brandishing a cane, “as I kick it out my door.

His eyes searched through the crowd surrounding him as he waited for the light to change, a mass of humanity halted for a moment there on that London street. Most of them were on their mobiles, head lowered like the slightly built girl beside him, her thumbs dancing over the phone’s small keyboard. Texting a friend, a lover. None of them would have lasted three days in Somalia.

All the experts proved what we’ve all known all along. That they are full of shit. They all got it so wrong they needed cover and when they saw something, no matter how asinine, it became gospel to cover their abject failure. Still, the left wouldn’t feel sorry for itself for long. First it picked up the Russian spy story and started pushing it to every devastated reporter who would listen. Then it did everything it had told us the Trump supporters would do if Hillary won. Think about it. For weeks leading up to the election, we had been hearing about all the horrible things Donald Trump would force his supporters to do if he lost. DJT wouldn’t accept the defeat they were all so sure was coming. The editorial boards at the New York Times and the Washington Post both ran many articles warning us about the chaos that was about to ensue. According to popular opinion, Trump supporters were going to riot in the streets, refuse to accept the results of the election, and begin some kind of underground coup against the duly elected president, Hillary Clinton. They would start a second civil war. The streets would become absolute anarchy. And when things didn’t go the way the Democrats had wanted them to go, what happened? Let’s see. They held riots in the streets. (Check.) They refused to accept the results of the election, cooking up one of the strangest spy-movie stories I’ve ever heard in order to maintain their collective delusion. (Check.) Then they formed an underground group of online keyboard warriors called “the Resistance,” dedicated to taking down my father one stupid hashtag at a time. Prominent journalists, liberal activists, and actors have all identified themselves as proud members of “the Resistance” on Twitter. When I’m attacked by an outraged mob online, their voices are usually among the loudest. (And Check.)

I know I’m in love with him. I just don’t know how much of him I know. My computer geek/keyboard warrior, my book nerd who lives like a peasant despite his place in the ranks. A silent hero with a flip switch temper. A passionate lover, who reserves his subtle kindness, a warmth close to imperceptible unless you get close enough to see it. Yet with him I can see it, I can feel it, in his touch, in his eyes, inside him dwells a gentle soul capable of much more than he lets on. I’m so greedy for him that I want him to have everything. I want him to embrace it. I want to see him showered with the love he deserves. And selfishly, I want to be the only one ever to do it.