"Them fucks who laze about ain't died, just napping. One of those 'the fuck time is it?' naps which feel fucking strange."

There you go, that's a Fooie original for you. And I'm not a piece of shit. Though I was a piece of shit. Sloppy steaks and all.

Very likely schizotypal, definitely severe social anxiety, a fuckton of phobias, upbringing and class context which was racist AF but still he managed to have good "salt of the earth" black characters in his stories. That is, he imagined black people, with agency and everything, whom he was not terrified of, that's not being a piece of shit that's conscience and hope shining through more existential terror than you can imagine. Hard enough to find rapport with people when you're schizotypal in the first place (you inevitably, in search for actual connection, start talking to their subconsciousness which often ends in a barrage of projection), doubly and triply so when you're caught up in upper-class ritual.

So, kindly, fuck off with your normie judgements building the exact barriers that cause the persistence of problems you're judging others for not solving.

I'm only guessing it's Gaiman based on that response.

But remberer that as humans we have the ability to good and bad.

You can like the work while not liking the guy.

What is the charge? Eating a meal? A succulent mycelium meal?