it is somewhere in-between 
FWIIII ^Huh!^ ^Hooh!^ ^Huh!^ ^Hooh!^ ^Huh!^ ^Hooh!^
lev parnas groyper
THEY SENT RITCHIE TORRES TO DEARBORN 
I may not be Dale Earnhardt
do any neurodivergence havers also have the issue of trying to balk for like a good few turns from a conversation where you tried to bring up a point or suggest an alternative to something but you misread the room and it turns into what I can only perceive as the other person taking what you thought was an off-hand idea that you have no real attachment to and turning it into their own personal mission to, I honestly can’t tell why so I'll just say how it looks to me, submit to their way of thinking? Maybe they want to change my perspective? Maybe they want to win in the marketplace of ideas?
Anyways, then you’re like stuck in a dialogue loop where you keep saying “I literally have zero real attachment to this idea and I brought it up for the sake of conversation” and they scold me for deigning to bring the other idea up and we will not stop talking about this until I physically exit the room or grovel at their feet in tears begging for forgiveness for my dastardly nonsequitur? Or something else that I genuinely don’t understand? Am I missing something? It feels like a dominance routine from my perspective and it’s happened to me enough times that I think I’m just misunderstanding something?
I thought it was a neurosis I picked up from my conflict-avoidant behaviors but my sister is more confrontational than me and she also has this issue sometimes so I’m wondering if it’s an ADHD thing. Had a convo yesterday with a friend of mine that was like this and I genuinely felt like shit afterwards, it's one of the instances where I genuinely don't know how to amicably resolve it, I'm trying to be pliant and flexible here, please let me exit this conversation naturally I don't want to make this an issue I am trying to communicate that please let me leave please please please
This has happened to me dozens of times and every time it feels like the realization of a nightmare. I’m so genuinely actually sorry for attempting to help you by wantonly-suggesting alternative perspectives to cover what I perceive to be unnoticed angles in what you are saying hoping that maybe it could be rolled into a consensus point that might be helpful, I didn’t think this was a venting/rhetorical discussion, If it was I missed those cues, it will not happen again to you now that I know you do not gel with it, I’m sorry, I’m Harrier DuBois the sorry cop, this is my sorry song, please dismiss me from this conversation so I don’t have to literally walk away, I don’t want to leave lingering resentment for something I genuinely thought was innocuous 
furthest-padded sentence I can read before hearing Kamala voice it over
bump amber whataboutism
give us a zillion dollars
Slight correction—technically I am the Woker but this was on the job-havers side of things
reads like I’m shopping a bit but I’m not 
Rolling hills—western Wisconsin. A lonesome road. A cobalt bus, wandering through the quiet expanse. Inside, two aged men anchor themselves to opposite ends of an empty aisle.
Witness Mr. Dick Cheney, former vice president—architect of war. He reclines on the frontmost-right bench, savoring a rare moment of quiet—a peace denied to the countless victims of his ambition and greed. For Mr. Cheney, this journey is nothing more than a temporary detour—a trivial rebrand, a welcoming audience, a new color of tie to mix with his suits across the month.
In the rear of the bus, we find Mr. Bernie Sanders—senator, figurehead, reformist. He is hunched in the back-left corner, his gaze locked beyond the window of the emergency exit—bolted shut. His pupils trace the receding line of asphalt, the tires feeding it to the meadows. There is a weight in his posture, as his very being is tugged towards quiet resignation—a closing whimper into the end. For somewhere, deep within his thoughts, a terrible truth lingers—this is a one-way trip.
Between them, tossed askew against a bench, stands a lime-green placard—large enough for two. The stretched Arial typography remains legible, yet blurs faintly into the backdrop, as to retreat from clarity—an unalloyed declaration: brat fall
A scene that, just eight years ago, would have been unthinkable to some. But this bus has long since departed a commendable politic. Its destination? The Twilight Zone.
no. the simpler explanation: the Jews and Chinese have combined their phrenologically-subversive forces and resources to isekai in the world's first Weather Mage. Why? In order to kinetically dispatch the first ever anti-woke statecraft project. It's called basic economics pinko 
they could never make me hate you my stupid chud son Kinta
liberals will fumble one election and then grown-ass adults will become groypers for generational politics