Ike, Your Village Called ...

I'm annoyed. I gave up chocolate for Lent, and I'm thisclose to killing someone with a sharpened ... something that isn't usually sharp but would make a bizarre weapon.

Because I'm annoyed, I refuse to switch over to the NEW! and IMPROVED! Blogger POS, which would further annoy me because I'm an idiot. (See above reference to chocolate and Lent.)

Updated to add: I was forced to upgrade. Guess what? That's annoying!

You know who else is an idiot? Ike Turner. The following picture should be enough evidence of this:


















"Oh, I'm Ike Turner! I'm a big, important man! She's nothing without me!"

"I'm Tina-Fucking-Turner, man. I have shoes that are worth more'n you."

Other things that are annoying me:

My body's monthly ritual of bitch-slapping me into a whimpering sack of cramps and nausea, begging for someone to take a melon-baller and put me out of my misery. (Boy, if karma* works, will this post come back to bite me in the ass, or somewhere in the vicinity of my ass.)

My dog is snoring. This doesn't really annoy me, it's really rather endearing, but I'm just trying to fill up space.

I've been a rather shabby friend to a rather not-shabby person who is going/has gone through several shit-based life events lately. Llama, I'm sorry. Really, really. And if you have pictures of you and Sam on the giraffe, can I have them? I promise I won't sell them over the Internet. For much, anyway.

I'm annoyed at how much this post sucks.


*or whatever it is that makes things come back and bite one in the vicinity of one's ass.