the benefits of proofreading

...so i don't usually read my entries over before posting them, either out of laziness or a heretofore unacknowledged desire to appear arrogantly 'raw.' thus i am left with a loverboy lyric heralding my grandfather's demise, and a really treacly fuck-the-high-school-girl lyric at that, and it sounds rather dischordantly lascivious and incestuous. i apologize.
fucking loverboy.
the local brouhaha du jour: the pit bulls that entered the neighbor's house through the pet door, mauled her in her bed, and mauled her dog. the woman is in the hospital in serious condition. the two pits had to be subdued with pepper spray by animal control officers. the clueless owner of the marauding dogs apologized, ignoring the fact that the dogs have, according to the media, a long legacy of terrorizing the neighborhood, and PETS SHOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED TO ROAM, EVER. the mauled dog ended up, of course, at my work, where it arrested three times before finally dying for good several hours later. the news channels were repeatedly calling yesterday.
i fucking hate people sometimes. no, i recant: i love my species. i hate fucking ignorance. but without ignorance, i would not have a job. it is neccessary to be cold and inured to much of the awfulness i see, to quell any real emotion. about the only good thing to come of the dog (romeo, the jack russell terrier): he had such severe trauma that he was unconscious from the time he arrived, and his last memory could very well be laying happily on his owner's bed.
perhaps i hate people after all. the man next to me (at the library) is making the most horrible huffing, exhaling, snot-racked noises, thrashing his arms around, rubbing his legs together as if they itch. i am repulsed, not sympathetic. this is, after all, one of my least favorite things. i feel my hackles rising.
maybe he's looking at porn? oh GOD! the screens have privacy filters. perhaps he doesn't itch... he's about to ejaculate. he is old and withered with a carpal tunnel brace around his wrist. am i an awful person to even think this way? he is somebody's son, after all.
i need to stop this, now. (again, not proofread.)