I do not know what the fuck ails me, but Gawd, am I in a foul fuckin' mood.
Have been since about 3pm, too.
Before I get into all the shit that's making me feel like taking an elephant gun to the top of a silo, let's review all the reasons I ought not be so pissed off, shall we?
First off, we got laid last night.
That's a good thing. (Well, it's actually a great (big) thing, but... you get the point. Or... I did. *grin*)
Second, I was actually EARLY for work today. Mr. Mean Cook is being really nice to me lately, today included. That's wiggin' me out a little, sure, but it's not pissin' me off. (Just everything else is... *siiigh*)
I'm off the next two days.
I have not only smokables, but also beer and freakin' Tequila, if needed.
I don't have to get up at the ass crack of the mornin' tomorrow.
The house is mostly clean.
Nobody is dead. (That could be on both lists, lemme tell ya's...)
To make a long list lots shorter, there is just no reason for this endless anger.
I don't get it.
But... somebody's gonna... in about 30 seconds.
Why am I like this?
Fuck, man... I'm even gettin' on my own nerves, here.
It started around 3pm.
I get pissed if I get "sat" anytime after, like, 3:30pm, anyway, because the later I start a table, the (muthafuckin') later I have to WAIT AND WAIT AND FRICKIN' WAIT for the people to finish, shut the FUCK UP and LEAVE, damn it.
I hate that.
So, naturally, I get slammed starting at about 3:15.
Got nuttin' for the previous hour, then at the start of my LAST hour, I get "sat" five goddamned times.
AND... two were friggin' EMPLOYEES (get the fuck up and get it yerself, ya bitches) and another table was one psycho bitch with four (there ARE no cuss words wicked enough) kids.
Then, there was the table of three old bats who had to have seperate checks and thought it was cute that they were (to quote them) "pains in the butt".
Yeah, ya's were and no, it wasn't.
That was when Mr. Headache showed up.
Can't wait til the fucker leaves, either....
Then, I finally get the fuck outta there (4:30/4:45) and I decide to go to see my buddy in person, since he seems to have forgotten how to use a fuckin' phone and when I get there, I can't, because they just got a truck in and it's only half done and I don't wanna get his ass in trouble.
So, I bought another pair of "Bender" boots (this makes three pairs...) and came home, fighting non-driving dickheads every foot of the way. Some moronic fuck decided to stop right in the middle of a two lane fuckin' highway to be Mr. Politeness-Man and let some fuck out of a driveway.
That's a great way to cause an accident OR get your ass drug outta the wing window of your fuckin' BEEMER and severely beaten.
Don't TEST ME MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!
Know what I mean?
I swear to God, I was like DiNero in "Taxidriver" again... screaming out the friggin' window all the way home.
If I didn't NOT wanna dent my goddamned car so bad.... ooooohhhhh.... I'd teach these dickwarts how to fuckin' drive, alright... *chewing on my back teeth at the very thought*
Fuckin' losers, man.
Every fuckin' one of 'em.
They all drive like old people fuck.
Slow and sloppy.
Any-frickin'-way, I get home and.... I love my cats.
Just leave me alone, okay guys?
I can see you've been thinking about me while I was gone. Looks like y'all tried to leave me a fuckin' NOTE allll about it written in cat poop on the floor.
12 goddamned catboxes and these dipshits have to shit on the floor.
I love my cats... I love my cats... I love my cats.
I just wanna pound corks into their assholes.
I picked up the poopage, took a few useless aspirin and sat here... pissed.
I finally said "fuck it" (what else would you have guessed?) and went to lay down which was Bill the dillhole's cue to start running the fuckin' Hughloader three feet from the house, thereby vibrating my ass right outta bed and onto the floor, just about.
Someday, I AM gonna chop that thing to pieces with a dull axe.
Just so it'll take longer and I can enjoy it longer....
My hand to God, if it had a key in it to start it, I truly would take it outta there tonight and throw it in the manure pit.
I really, really would.
No key, though...
There's wires... to rip out by the handful.
And, I've got pleeeenty o'matches, lighters and other fire startin' shit.
Actually... hell with that. I'd much more enjoy beatin' that noisy bastard back into component parts.
And and, that fuckin' loudassed piece of shit is parked over here, outta his sight.
If I don't get a grip real soon, that muthafuckin' thing will NOT start tomorrow... or ever again.
Hell, I kinda need to beat the hell outta something, anyway.... right?
AAAnyway.... Poor Eric comes in and takes one look at me and kinda backs away, like ya would if ya opened yer car door and there was coiled and rattlin' rattlesnake on the seat...
Funny thing is, though.. he's the one person who's safe.
He's about the only person I don't wanna fuck up.
Matter of fact, nine times outta ten, when he says he loves me, I say, "I love you too, but the rest of the world can fuck off..."
SO.... I decide to brave the brainless drones that this stupid Commonwealth sees fit to license to drive motor vehicles (when they should all be issued kiddy pedal cars instead) and I go back to frickin' Wal-Mart to again try to see my buddy and I can't get into the fuckin' parking lot.
All driveways blocked off.
When I got to the 200 year old "firecop" out back, I got outta the car and went over and asked him what the hell was goin' on.
Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit....
Some loser dickbrain called in a bomb threat.... TO A WAL-MART!!!!
What kinda wormshit fer brains wants to blow up a goddamned Wal-Mart, fer fuck's sake?
Some guy pissed because his 300 pound old lady can't get her hot pink lyrca stretch pants, maybe?
Or did some idiot's layaway get put back, or what?
WTF, man.... I mean, I'm madder'n hell myself, but I ain't gonna threaten to blow up a Wal-Mart..... how lame is that?
Now, blowing up the dickweed who made the call? Suuure. I'll do that. Bring his sorry ass over here and keep the bomb. I'll just beat 'im to death, if ya don't mind.....
Then, I get home from that bullshit and, from when I'd been taping "The Dukes of Hazzard" (aw shaddap... it's the first time I've done that and I am having a fucked up day, ya know...), there's this show on CMT, the (alleged) top 100 country songs....
I happened to notice this right when two skank-ho's were mutilating a Waylon Jennings song.
I hope they both die, they sucked so bad.
They took "Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys", a GREAT song, and fucked it up six ways from Sunday, the stupid cunts. They claimed it was a TRIBUTE to Waylon.
Destroying one of his classics is a TRIBUTE?
(And, I puked...)
If you want to pay tribute to someone, you don't do it like THAT. You don't take a classic hit and fuck it up and sing it some stupid fuckin' way God and Waylon never intended.
If you wanna pay tribute, you do that by STICKING TO THE WAY IT WAS WRITTEN AND RECORDED, ya fuckin' stupid crack-whore bims!!!!
Waylon's probably still dizzy from all that spinnin' in his grave that I know he had to be doing...
Gawd, they sucked.
Oh, and by the way... I hate Reba McIntyre... and have for YEARS. I hate her more than I hate everything else I hate put together. Every disgusting-assed time I see her disgusting-assface, I wonder why it had to be her band that died in a plane crash and not her...
**Okay... Eric is still watching that Top 100 songs show. He just came running to get me, because George Jones' "He Stopped Loving Her Today" is the number 2 song, so here I sit with tears drying on my face. I love George. When he first started the song, I grabbed Eric's hand, because I knew I was gonna lose it. I was thinking to myself that that would be the only way Eric'll ever stop loving me, then I realized that not even death is gonna stop him. Then, it hit me.
George wrote that song for Rob... I looked at Eric, with tears rollin' and told him alla that. Acidman... that song is about you, isn't it? Lord.... For a woman to not only throw away, but to so completely shit on a love like that... Jennifer Smith... you are a stupid, stupid woman. Sincerely.**
(We now return you to our regularly scheduled rant... if I can remember where I was...)
Oh yeah... Reba.
Nobody'd miss ya.
Yer band is pissed and waiting...
Big-earred, no lips havin', horse hatin' hag.
(The number 1 song is Tammy's "Stand By Your Man", by the way. How ironic. The number 2 song is by George and about Rob and the number one song is by Tammy and a concept his BC has never fuckin' heard of... wow.)
Anyhow, Reba bites the root.
Well, bursting into tears during "He Stopped Loving Her Today" seems to have taken the raw edge offa me some.
Don't get me wrong.
I could still ball up and use a fist at the drop of a wrong look my way, but.... between crying and writing all this crap, I seem to be a bit less... tense, as it were.
'Course, the fact that I've been listening to Waylon, Mickey Gilley and Charlie Rich while I've been typing may have had something to do with it, too...
(Holy shit. I just read alla this and... I'm fuckin' nuts. Jeezus... *lmao*)
I feel a hell of a lot better, but I'd still like to know what this has all been about, what caused the extended anger, so I can NOT have it happen again, ya know?
And, it can't be PMS, I don't think, because my "leetle frien'" was just here about, what? A week, week and a half ago?
Too soon for that, ain't it?
I try not to pay too much attention to that stupid shit.
And, I don't usually get headaches with that, either.
Yeah, that's still here, but way smaller than it was.
Somewhere, in the depths of my twisted mind, I can vaguely recall a saying about "quitting while you're ahead", so I think I'm gonna...
Not sure how "ahead" I am, but I am better off than I was.
Nobody is in imminent danger of bleeding, anyway.
Except, maybe, this fuckin' CAT whom I've now removed from between myself and the keyboard about 47 times in the last two freakin' minutes....
Best thing to do with a day like this is end it, right?
Best part is that, even if I don't do it myself by going to bed, God's gonna do it Himself in about 7 minutes.
He likes me.
At least a little....
Peace, y'all and thanks if ya made it this far.
(Sorry, too... bitch, ain't I? Jeez...)
Lest we forget...
Pete Yarrow's ass still sucks canal water.