Thank you Mark Ames:

For some reason, my fellow Americans are too squeamish, too hooked on false pieties, to openly, honestly gloat about Breitbart’s hilarious death-by-driveway, and stomp joyfully on that rat-fucker’s warm grave. Even the few edgy mavericks willing to admit they’re happy to see Breitbart dead, including my old partner Taibbi, for some reason ruin their gloats by interjecting paragraph after paragraph, tweet after tweet publicly justifying their death-gloat with “He would want it this way” or “He did the same thing”—um, who really gives a fuck about what Breitbart would want? He’s dead. His feelers aren’t hurt. He’s dead and done. And good riddance.

Here’s what I said elsewhere when the news came out yesterday:

I hate it when a douchenozzle like him dies, somebody who did his best to make the world a worse place, to make American politics even more soul destroying and nasty than they already were, a man who saw no bones in bearing false witness (Sherrod) or in helping to end a decades old organisation that was attempting to make life better for the poorest people in the US (Acorn) if that furthered his petty political goals or self promotion.

I hate it, because instead of pissing on his grave as all good and decent people should, the moral scolds will inevitably show up to tell you that you should speak nothing but good about the dead, that he had friends and family who are mourning for him too and you shouldn’t hurt their feelings.

As if it makes up for his actions in public that he had the bare human decency not to be too shitty in his personal life, as if he gave any of this consideration to others, as if you should be sheltered if you chose to be friends with such an asshole.

I’m glad he’s dead, just wish he had never been born, one of those people who left the world a worse place than they found it.