This Post is 99.9% Humor Free

I've been out of sorts lately. And, instead of unloading my bile and venom on the world at large, I've been doing what normal people do: Pushing it way down, deep down, where it won't see the light of day until I finally snap and take out a mini-mall. However, since I don't have any firepower, and Kevlar makes me look fat, I'll go the other route, and just become damn near impossible to live with. THEN, I'll break down and unload my bile and venom on the world at large.

Disclaimer/Fair warning: Those who are sensitive to loud noises, bright lights, and/or unrepentent bitching and moaning, are hereby invited to bite me. And don't be surprised when I bite back.

I'll start off with Things I Want to Say to People That I Legally, Ethically and Logistically Can't:

To the person who calls here every damn day, usually at very odd hours, asking for Raul With-The-Unpronouncable-Last-Name, "No, he doesn't live here. Yes, you have dialed 555-1234. And, if he DID live here, I'm relatively sure he wouldn't want to talk to you, because you are AN IDIOT. Which is probably why he gave you a phony phone number, and I am the lucky one who has to talk to you on a daily basis. On second thought, Raul is a bastard, and you really need to stop trying to get a hold of him, and get another cat."

To the little jerk who pushes my son around on the bus: "Come here. No, a little closer. No, really, c'mere, I have a secret to tell you. STOP PUSHING MY SON AROUND ON THE BUS, BECAUSE I'M A HELLUVA LOT BIGGER'N YOU, YOU LITTLE JERK."

And, finally, to those of you who voted for 'morality purposes': "What the hell's wrong with you? We have people who have been out of work, and can't afford luxuries like health insurance, rent, and food, but, by all means, let's stop gay people from screwing.*"

Now, I'd like to move on to a little ditty I'd like to call "What the Hell's Wrong With Mom?" (No, it doesn't rhyme, cannot be sung in the shower, and has no iambic peramater, whatever the hell that means. Deal with it.)

The condensed version: You can only clean and organize your closets so many times before you go STARK RAVING MAD.
The longer and more bitchy version: If I don't get a vehicle, and find something to do with myself soon, I won't be held responsible for the consequences. I'm not sure what the consequences will be, but I can be relatively certain that they will include a truckload of chenille, a glue gun, and possibly some elastic. Hobby Lobby employees, consider yourselves warned. Various friends and family members, it's a color coordinated combination toilet cover/evening dress/hand towel. Don't you like it? I said, DON'T YOU LIKE IT?!? Tra-la-la-la.

Ahhh, I feel much better now. I can now go back to writing my normal grounded and sane posts. Cross my heart.

(*I'd write 'fucking,' but want to keep this blog family and moral majority friendly.)