Do you ever have those days where you have an overwhelming urge to purchase
a flame thrower, run around in circles lighting everything on fire including women and children, but mostly men, while screaming, “This fucking world is a WHOOOOOOORE because of YOOOOU!” In a high-pitched scream that sounds more like dolphin sonar than an actual human voice?
Yeah, it’s been one of those days.
I hate being all pissy and nobody wants to read about your crap, wah, wah, wah, day, but sometimes you just can’t avoid it.
I woke up this morning, early as nuts, to dreary gray skies and heavy rain just above freezing temperatures. My first thought was: FUCK.
I’ll spare you the details of my relationship issues because frankly I don’t even like to hear myself talk about them, but let’s just say I was already annoyed about something involving the boy, then a belated April Fool’s Day joke was doled out causing my head to spin around and spew green shit all over my car. It was messy. I’m talking eyes bugging out of my head, hair on fire, there’s-a-good-chance-I’m-going-to-kill-you type of pissed, so I just hung up in order to avoid crashing my car into a highway guardrail. I usually have such a healthy sense of humor, but this was the wrong thing and the wrong time allowing other issues to invade my already crowded mind. Men like to bitch about how crazy women are, but they are in fact the source of the crazy. They are so quick to say, ‘wow, that bitch be craaaaa-zy,’ instead of holding themselves accountable for their actions and words by thinking, ‘perhaps the things that I do and say are the cause of said craaaaaa-zy.’ Ask any loony ass woman and you’ll see – she either has “daddy issues” or was severely mistreated by a man or men in her past. It’s times like these that I often think back to one of my favorite quotes:
“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.” – Katharine Hepburn
Why do we torture ourselves when it’s just so painfully obvious? Seriously. FUCK.
After that I decided it was time for some Arby’s Roastburger to help mask the taste of Exorcism vomit in my mouth. I walk in the door of my apartment ready for lunch - the awesomeness that is Arby’s Roastburger - and to let the dogs (dogs, plural because I’m watching Wolfie while my parent’s are out of town) out when I spy several puddles of liquid shit all over the living room. LIQUID SHIT...LIQUID FUCKING SHIT ON THE CARPET!
Yeah, I sure did burst into tears. I didn’t yell at anybody because somebody was obviously sick, but it was the most ill timed liquid shit attack ever if there ever was a good time to have the liquid shits. I thought I could trust my neighbor with a key to my place in case I ever got locked out, but since he can't even make it to the toilet, I might have to revoke those privileges.
After scrubbing the carpet and letting the dogs out, I headed back to work to finally have some glorious Roastburger, which ended up being disappointingly assy. This is most likely directly related to the fact that I had just sopped up liquid shit from my carpet 20 minutes earlier.
I’ve hung up on at least two other people today because they a.) don’t start talking quickly enough after I answer the call meaning they are retarded call center assholes or b.) are telemarketers calling my goddamn cell phone to which I reply, “Do you have a death wish? Quit fucking calling this number!” before the *click* you’re a whore! I’m at my wit’s end with those people. I’m at my wit’s end period.
It’s just difficult to exist today because every time someone comes up to talk to me, all I want to do is grab both of my ears, yell “BBBAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” in their face, then flamethrower them.
There’s some more bullshit thrown in there about other people’s lives that sucks too, but I’ll refrain from sharing on the Internet.
However, Big Gay Andrew requested that I accompany him as his lady friend to the Britney Spears concert tonight to which he apparently bought extremely expensive and awesome seats. Free concert? Sure, why not? Perhaps Britney will yell “BITCH!” on stage for no other reason except to hear herself yell ‘bitch’ all echo-y because according to BGA, she does that sometimes. That would be fun. Plus, I’ll hopefully be surrounded by several other happy, jumpy, star struck gays. It doesn’t get much better than joyous gays.
OK, now leave me a funny comment to pull me out of this flaming, boo to the human race, liquid shit of a bad day. Your words may just prevent me from committing a felony. Ready, go.