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He sat there at the keyboard stroking out his latest rant against the criminals, rapists, drug dealers, and baby snatchers. He was sure they were destroying everything he held dear. The invectives flowed off his fingers like he was born to spew them. His anger knew no limits and had no basis in actual lived experience. He had never played on the same team in school, shared time planting a community garden, or even sat down to a drink with the people he was so set on impugning. He just thought about how terrible these people were, how they were diluting America the white. There, in the back of some question deep in the recesses of reason he wondered if what he was pronouncing had any basis in fact, if he had any actual contact with the people about which he seemed to be so sure. But that question, and the prospect of actually checking it out in some substantial way, like talking to someone, just slipped back into the shadows as his fingers pounded away on his device sending his poison into the social order like a runaway train.