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On 9/12, people in New York (and DC) did not feel as "great" as Glenn Beck. They just felt like shit. They felt scared and confused and depressed. Many of them were drunk. And only an idiot or an actual terrorist would want to always feel like it was 9/12/01. And eight years later, normal people, with brains and souls, have decided that some emotional distance from that disaster is healthier and wiser than trying to recapture the dread.
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Fuck him, and all of his like.
I tell ya, after I got Mrs. F home that night, more than a couple bottles of Grey Goose and Jack Daniels' gave their lives to drown what we felt, or what we didn't. To this day, I still can't figure whether it was unbelievable sorrow or numbness over the impossibility of what happened a few hours before.
The scumbags like Beck who've exploited that should be the first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
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