When you are an opinionated idiot, without experience and knowledge, in the sake of being "understanding," you just wind up being a blow-hard fool in need of exceptance.
You're a little man, my dear Lucas Bailey, a proven liar. Your compassion is nothing more than the headline of a tabloid or the sparks from a fire just stirred.
We support you, of course, much as we support a child taking its first steps. But don't be surprised if we laugh when you stumble, because just like those people watching that newly-walking child, we don't really think you have the mental capacity to understand our mirth.
Maybe you'll surprise us, maybe you're the Voltaire in our midst -- and maybe we'll look back on this day as the day we mocked and ignored your genius. Even Nietzsche died in a mental hospital, eh?
But mostly, I smile at your supposition, I laugh at your presumption, and I wonder if you have a shred of talent in your shattered, emotionally needy frame, the ability for actual writing talent. Perhaps you do. Until you discover it, you may take this missive from this address:
Myrrander, 1601 Presumption Lane, Learn to Write, Wisconsin, 71920
P.S. You're bad at what you do. Correct it, and carry on.
Cheers.