You know - I can handle the insults. Go ahead - just lay in to me.

Lay into a normal guy who has dealt with many demons in his life and has simply tried to say what he sees as the truth. Come on - insult me. Abuse me. Throw your shoes at me.

I can take it. [sob]

Just a thing to think about [pause - finger placed against pursed lips - tears well in eyes] I am dyslexic. So you are just picking on a dyslexic guy.

Oh yes - this is a burden I thought I’d carry with me to my grave, but you managed to drag it out of me. You’ve cyber-waterboarded that little secret that I haven’t even shared with my wife.

I am reminded of a hero of mine who lived with dyslexia all of his life and told absolutely no one. No one at all. Not even when he was dying in a pool of his own blood in Memphis, Tennessee. That’s right - Dr. Martin Luther King (whose picture I have right beside me) died a closet dyslexic. one of the many reasons I admire him.

But go ahead - insult away.