It's those little stings that hurt the most. They're like little daggers that hit at just the right spot, right in the stomach where the memories are hot and bloody. Every time a pleasant moment is interrupted by the memory of the barbed words, there's a twist in the gut just enough to remind you that the idiots who don't think before they speak have it better than the rest of us.
Who are these people? How have they come to the point where they just grab at our dignity and humanity like a wolf tearing at a bloody kill? Sometimes they think they're kidding--or they hide behind "the joke," which is unlike anything I've ever understood to be a joke. They nose their way in where they don't belong, offering unwelcome opinions. Their words are runny dung in a baby's diaper.
Leave us alone! Some of us choose our words, attempting (with modest success) to evaluate how what we are about to say might affect the listener. We actually choose not to say some things because we don't want to hurt another. And words hurt, you maggot-mouthed pile of carrion!