April 15, 2005
I'm just sayin'...
The "soccer balls" still seem to be incoming.
The day of the night I found the soccer ball, after I'd had that mini-NBD (nervous breakdown) the night before, I didn't actually expect a real soccer ball, so all day long, every time something didn't go wrong, I took it as a "figurative" soccer ball. Being on time for work, that one waitress being nice about me changing my "colors", everything that was a "break", I saw it as such, recognized it and said a "Thanks, Dude" for it. Then, after I got the actual soccer ball, I figured that was it. No more little cool things, because He gave me a real ball.Well, obviously, I was wrong, because since then, the cool stuff is still happening. Found Pop-pop's tie tack, got the parrot, things are going really well at work, etc. Got what I think may have been two more little balls (soccer, that is) right before I got to work this morning. The last two songs I heard on 98.1 WOGL were, in order, "Everlasting Love" by Jamie Cullum, then "Na Na, Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye" by Steam. Going by the titles alone, it seems Somebody DJ-ed a song out to me and Eric, then one to his BC. At least, that's how I took it. (Thanks again, Dude...) Now, I realize this may all sound a little nuts, hence the title of this post. I report, y'all decide.
And...
while y'all are figuring out whether I'm just nuts or God is a part-time DJ and blessing the hell outta me, I'mina go ride a horse. More to the point, I'm gonna go find a long flat stretch and just let Storm go at a fullout gallop for as long as he wants.
I feel like flying and this is about as good as it gets without a plane. Back soon.
Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 05:17 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 14, 2005
Somebody pick me up offa the floor, please...
We just got word that Eric's BC has asked if he would CONSENT TO A DIVORCE!!!!!
YA THINK???? She's actually found some brain-damaged sumbitch who wants to marry her, so...The only answer to THAT is: HELL YEAH!!!!!! Her only stipulation (so far) is that we (or, rather ERIC) pays for it. Okay. In less than about 4 minutes online, I found a lawyer right here in our county who'll do a "no-fault" for less than $300.00. Eric meets all the requirements for residency, etc., so I'll be calling this guy tomorrow. With (my almost ex, who suggested that we do the same thing at the same time- what the hell, why not? Me and him are gonna split the cost and I'm gonna still say we're married if he needs me to, to run off any "Fatal Attraction" chicks... lol) George involved on her end, keeping her as sane as possible, it'll probably be as easy as it can be (raps head with knuckles in lieu of wood), but, even if she does get gonzo mid-flight, once this ball gets rolling, it won't be stopped til Eric is free, which, if she is cool about it, can be in as little as 2 months. That puts an end to "spousal support", too... Doesn't necessarily clear up the arrears, but capping that particular gusher is still gonna be cool as hell... Man. I'm still floored.
It's for real, too.
I can feel it in my gut... It's gonna happen.
He's gonna be free IN MY LIFETIME!!!
(Provided I don't get hit by, say... a BUS or anything anytime soon.) Well, I've said it before and I'm gonna say it again... endlessly... Thank You, God.
No matter how it goes, no matter how hard it may get... thank You, Dude. From that soccer ball, through finding Pop-pop's tie tack to this, yer freakin' me out, now... But, Gaw-damn, it do feel good. Eric's already called his Mom and one brother and I'm currently getting a guy (Scheese again) in Dad's lab at work to check the schedule to see when he's gonna be there, so I can tell him.
I'd call him at home with this, buuuut... he is working dayshift tomorrow, so he may already be in bed.
(See? Didn't blame Kim a bit for my not calling him at home THIS time... *big toothy grin*) Sorry...
Just a little bonkers right now.... Anyway, I gotta go do some cartwheels or backflips or smoke something or something, so I'm gonna go for now... I'll definitely keep ya's posted... "posted"... ugh, what a bad, bad unintentional pun... Peace, ya'll...
Posted by: Stevie at 09:54 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Unbelievable....
I just this minute (well, really, about 5 minutes ago) found Pop-pop's tie tack.
In the mudroom.
Where I rarely ever wear my uniform and certainly don't get dressed or apply accessories.
And, where I found it in the mudroom is even weirder.
Most of the time I use one at a time. But once in every great while I use two of them. Very rarely, though.
Tonight however, as I'm doing laundry, I happened to need the second one for a load of clothes "on deck" to go in the dryer. Stickin' 'em in a basket frees up the washer so I can get the last load started.
So... I grab the second basket, and there, lying in the bottom of the THIRD basket, the one I haven't used in weeks, mind you, sits Pop-pop's tie tack. Well, Holy shiT.
Ya know? And, I thought this day was cool enough before midnight... Last Friday at work, I ambled up to a table with two of my "semi"-regulars and before I even asked what they wanted to drink, I grinned at 'em and said, "Hey... How ya's doin'? Want a kitten?", and then laughed. They both laughed too and the guy says, "Not really. You want a bird?" I've got a bird.
Another bird.
A feathered bird, not a Firebird... This one is a conure parrot. More to the point, he's a sunburst conure, which means he's BEAUTIFUL. Yellow, orange, blue, green... just gorgeous. So's his cage, which they also gave me. The people who gave him to me couldn't really deal with him too well anymore. The guy's had heart surgery, an infection in the sterum suture, sternum removal, a lung removed... poor guy, Jesus. Anyway, his kid had been doing the bird stuff, but she's getting married, so they gave 'im to me. These guys live to about 45 years of age and this one is three. I now have a chattering little burst of sunshine that'll last at least 42 more years, which it just occured to me is gonna be my age right soon. Is this a sign, too?
Like the soccer ball? Gotta tell ya, as I was driving the truck home with the bird in the back in his HUGE cage, I kept asking Eric if the fact that I found a soccer ball like that and the fact that I, without trying, managed to come into possession of a long-lifed bird who looks like a Grateful Dead poster, almost, were really signs from God that I can stop freaking out, or is it just me wanting it to be that and he said he didn't wanna say because if he did, he'd jinx it, so I know how he feels... *grin* Now, I found Pop-pop's tie tack, so I've got no more questions for now. My hand to God, I've been thanking God more often than I say "fuck" lately and that's a LOT, ya know... I was a good kid today, too. After I borrowed my friend's truck to go get the bird, I washed it and cleaned the cab for him. In doing so, I found a check for over a hundred bucks and a hundred dollar bill, which I gave to him the second he got back from picking up brewer's grain. The check he knew about. The other he seemed surprised by. I know I was... *giggle* Anyway, after I got done the truck, I did the 'Bird. (The Firebird, not the parrot...) Then, I came in, about 8:30 and started cleaning the house. I'm about to go lay down til about 6am or so. Gotta go to work.
Yeah, I know... I am up "kinda late". I know...
*rolls eyes at self* Heh.. forgot to tell ya's... A little while back, I decided to "dress up" the uniform with a coupla splashes of red, remember? Well, after a buncha days in a row of the red, that one girl at work who has been there the longest told me I needed to do something different, because she just couldn't deal with the red even one more day. But, in saying all that, she was cool about it and even made a few suggestions, which I took her up on, so I now own a whole shit-load of different colored scarves and towels. There's blue and yellow and green and purple and an aqua-kinda color and friggin' pink, too.
Yes, pink and no, I can't believe it either.
What's even scarier than PINK is the fact that after I got all that shit together and saw it "on", it occured to me that little matching-colored earrings would be cute.
Ooh, different colored pens, too.
Then, Eric mentions matching ties and I froze for a second, then pointed alla this "accessorizing" shit out to him and demanded to know what in thee hell has happened to ME with this "girly" shit all of a sudden like...
Neither of us has a clue... Anyhoo... I'm gonna go grab my stupid shirt outta the dryer and hang it up and then toss the rest of the whites into the dryer and go the hell to bed for a (tiny) while. I shoulda done that a looong time ago, but hell man... I just had to tell ya's this. Peace Update about three seconds after posting...
I damned near forgot to tell ya's the most bizarre part about the parrot.
His name. His name is Dad's wife's maiden name.
Murphy.
I swear to God, if it weren't for Pat....
My first thought upon hearing his name was "Oh, Jesus. Just what I wanna hafta say every goddamned day of my life for the next 40 years..." I was laughing my ass off at the time I thought that, too, by the way.
Then, Pat jumped into my head and I knew it'd be cool...
*whew*, ya know?
Honestly, his name just makes it seem that much more "meant" and portentous to me anyway. *lmao* Alright...
I'm outta here.
Posted by: Stevie at 02:23 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 13, 2005
I really needed a soccer ball....
And, I actually got one.
God is simply amazing, sometimes. First thing I guess ya need to know is the significance of soccer balls, right? Especially to a person who doesn't even play soccer... It has to do with those trapped Pennsylvania Miners.Remember I said I saw the movie as I ran past the rack in the store a while back, then when I ran back past it, I snagged the movie and it's really good? Well, that where I saw the thing about a soccer ball. One of the wives went home from the firehall, where they'd all gathered to wait for the men. I forget why she had to run home, but it was late and when she parked in her driveway, she kinda lost it and begged God for a sign that the men would survive.
See, her kids had a soccer ball and they'd always get it stuck in a drain pipe near their driveway and the only one who could always get it back was her husband... one of the trapped guys. The boys had gotten it stuck in there again that day, after their Dad had left for work.
So, she flips out and gets almost hysterical and begs God for a sign.
Then, she gets out of her car and there it is. The soccer ball. Sittin' there at the end of her driveway.
And, she knew... she knew they'd be okay and they all were. Okay.. now keep that in the back of your mind while I tell ya MY part of this... I'm sick of being... LIVING... scared all the time. It's been forever and sometimes I feel like I can't stand another day of it and I've NEVER seen even the hint of an end to it, except dying.
First, I was scared of my mom. Scared Dad would die and I'd be stuck with only her even more than I already was. Then, I spent years being scared of never being loved. Guys fed on that like buzzards on a dead antelope. My mom never did in the first place, then it seemed like my Dad stopped when he got Kim and her kid and then they had one of their own. And, it went down hill from there for YEARS... Til God gave me Eric, it was really hard sometimes to keep believing in love, but I never did give it up.... I just had to pay hell. And, I did... for a long time. It got kinda dicey at times, too. Thinking... no, feeling... that if my own (hero) Dad could stop giving a shit then maybe it made sense that nobody else ever even would start... knowing that my own mom could not possibly have cared less... not surprising, but it didn't help, either... ya know? I've been scared, no... nauseatingly terrified of "loss" since the first time I lost my Dad (when he went into the hospital when I was 9 for what seemed like a year), even though the second time has been worse because, so far, it's been permanant. I've lost more freakin' people than I can even count anymore. Everybody from my Pop-pop to my idiot mom to Andy Harris to my first "serious" boyfriend... loss, loss, loss... every danged time I care about somebody, God takes 'em away. The one man I needed more than any other... gone. Then, his (Dad's) Dad died, then Uncle Henry and then and then and then.
Fuckin' endless. I'm so tired of living in terror. Wanna know a huge truth?
It's why I got high the first time and have stayed that way since. It's also why I'll probably never quit completely, too. Not that I wouldn't like to, I'm just SCARED to, because then, see... the shit'll keep happening, but I'll have to feel it all again, like I used to from when I was 9 years old, til I discovered weed. No thanks.
It nearly killed me when I was younger and lots more "rested" and stronger than I am now. I can just imagine what "the shit" would do to me now, dealing with it completely alone.
Again...
No thanks. "The shit" is in my future, too. I know it is. I can see it. And... it's been runnin' me again... Every once in a while, it still boils outta me. I get a lot of it out here, yes, but the deepest, most entrenched parts only come out at night, in bed, when Eric is supposed to be sleeping, but is instead listening to me lose it... badly. I remember the first time I did this... We'd just moved here and I kept getting more and more nutso. Couldn't sleep, no appetite, Bill got to me easily... I hated it. Then one night, I just went off. I don't know about Eric, but I scared me. I was hysterical, crying, rocking back and forth, just feeling gutted, like somebody stole my heart and replaced it with a huge hunk of terror. I heard me finally get to the heart of the matter when it came outta me that my stupid mom had died a month after I moved outta her house, so, naturally, I had already killed Dad by moving outta state. Pfft. Not only did it not kill him, thank Christ, but, to my consternation, he hardly seems to have noticed. Yet. Still. Whatever. Want another truth? I wish I could do as good a job for Eric, keeping him from tearing himself up over his kid, as Kim has apparently done for Dad. Half of me hates her for outright stealing him and keeping me from him all these years and the other half of me wishes I could do half as good a job of helping Eric forget. Like she did for Dad... Ah, hell... stand by for one more truth... It motherfuckin' KILLS ME to constantly have to hear about all the people who DO get to hang with my Dad. Norman does, Pat does... people I've never even heard of get to do it, but not me ever.
Goddamn that hurts bad.... really bad.
And, it doesn't make what I'm trying (and failing miserably at times) to deal with now any easier, either....
Makes me feel like, if the bad thing does happen, I needn't call Dad about it. But, I'm gonna have to. Except for Rob (Pa. Rob, not Ga. Rob), I don't have anybody else and I'm scared of that too.
But...
What if I get blown off again, then?
All this time that I've not mattered won't matter anymore, if only Dad is there IF this thing happens.... It's just that after this many years of being an "un-person", I'm too what? to even think about having to call him over this...
Scared, that's what. Well, one thing... at least I know now that it's not that Kim goes outta her way to MAKE Dad ignore me, it's just that nobody but Pat ever even mentions my name in the first place.
Funny huh?
Yeah... I didn't think so either.... Anyway.... I'm tired of being scared. Deathly tired of it. Just about the only thing I'm more tired of than being scared is dipshits tellin' me to "just don't think about it all the time".
How the FUCK to ya do that? When you could lose everything you have, when Eric could wind up locked up, when you've got no plan for that emergency, when ya don't even know who to call first... how the FUCK do ya not think about it?
"Get stoned" is all I know and even then, it's there. Only thing is, stoned I don't freak out so bad. Hell, I DO know who to call first (Pa. Rob) and it still drives me completely insane sometimes... (I'm gettin' to my soccer ball... gimme a minute... or twenty... *grin thru tears*) The "bigger-than-life-itself" bad thing I'm just waiting for has to do with "support" (spousal, not child), courts, stupid, feckless "judges" and the lack of intelligence that's RIFE through this whole mess. I've told the "us" part of the story about how Eric and I got together, but that's only half the story. The other half is a horror story Stephen King could only hope to equal.
Ga. Rob has done that, though... hell, his is worse, even, I think...
And, yeah, I do try to "use" other people's worse problems to show myself I have so little really (really?!? No.) to worry about, but that's like a bandaid on a decapitation... not too effective at best, ya know? Anyway, when we got together, it was heaven and hell, mixed together. Heaven was him, Eric... finding all the love I could ever ask for... seeing it in his eyes every time he looks at me... feeling it almost more often than this damnable fear. The hell was and is her and the blind, deaf and insane court system. The first week we were together, I was still nights at the farm and Eric was still days. He slept in the office on a chaise lounge chair while I was working, in case she showed up to hurt one of us.
It was a real possibility.
I had him in the office and my Pusser club in the parlor. Besides being freaked out over what she might do, we weren't thinking too clearly about the "court" end of this shit.
Hell, we were too busy trying to adjust to "us" and Wally's fucked up reaction and being "ware" (bewaring?) of her to be thinking about that crap. Truth time again... I'm the one with law enforcement in my background, so I feel 100% responsible for not thinking of this shit and preventing it... even though I am aware that I never have had a kid, nor had anything to do with the courts or "family court" shit... don't matter. To me, it's still my fault... (And,actually, it's even more basic than that... if he hadn't left her FOR ME, he'd not be being put through this shit at all...) Anyway... first I quit Wally, then Wally's cunt mother drove Eric offa the farm and he went to work for a nuclear valve shop.
THAT was when the shit hit the court fan. THAT was when he had to go to court to have the amount of the "support" (child and spousal) set. THAT money that he was making THEN, at the valve shop (try 18 bucks an hour) is what they went by.
Shortly after the amount was set, the company and the "supervisor" of said shop went fuckin' nuts. They lied to Eric about having to travel and were about to send him away for over a month on a job when he quit. He couldn't stand the thought of being away from Jr. that long, especially at that time, right after the initial seperation and all.
So, he quit. (He wasn't the only one, by the way. They'd just told all the guys that when they were away on jobs, they could NOT go out at night except to eat, no "company" in the rooms, no drinking at all and buncha other similar bullshit everybody freaked out over...) I got online one night and found this place, this farm. I called, Bill called back and talked to Eric, we came up here the next morning at 5am, milked his cows, checked out the house and boom... here we are.
Great.
Except he makes no where NEAR 18 bucks an hour now and the courts refuse to adjust anything. AND, even though Jersey gets 65% of Eric's pay, it's not the "set" amount and so he is in violation and gets further behind every week. The child support portion is paid, just not her "spousal" support. It's at about 23,000 right now. We get these blustery notices from the Jersey court every now and then and nothing ever really happens. So far.
There's another court date looming. Eight days before I turn 42. Gee, that's gonna be a lovely week, huh?
I don't know why, except the implacable eventuality of it all, but this time, it's making me seriously crazy.
I'm fuckin' terrified that he's gonna get picked up sometime after we don't go to court because we can't afford a lawyer. If he does, what the fuck am I gonna do then?
From what I remember about Jersey's asshole way of "handling" men with "arrears", they lock them up til it's paid in full.
Jesus wept.
And, so do I... almost daily. The closer it gets, the heavier it gets. On one hand, we've decided that if it DOES happen, at least it'll be over with, so that'll be good. BUT... I'd rather be dead than be seperated from Eric. In fact, they're the same thing.
I wasn't "living" before I was given Eric. I was "existing" and hating it. That's what'll happen if "they" get their hands on him, I just know it. They're gonna lock him up and keep him for how long? HOW LONG, DAMN IT??? Somebody tell me that, okay? How long? How do I get him back home here? How I keep them from getting him in the first place? I need to fix this worse than I've ever needed to fix anything before in my life, including Kim's ass for what I feel she did to my life. THAT'S how important it is...
I need to fix this and I haven't got clue one as to HOW to get a lawyer. Well, yeah... MONEY. Of course. The one damned thing I don't have. I mean, I have some and can get some more, but that's not enough for those bastards. They all want HUGE retainers for this shit. (One dick I talked to only the wanted the TITLE TO MY CAR!!!!! Jesus, ya know? Not that Eric isn't a billion times more important than the car, but... umm... we kinda need that stupid thing, ya know?) Bill said, the first day we met him and explained this shit, that HE'D help Eric take care of this... Boy, it's good thing we haven't been holding our breath waitin' for THAT... (The dude spends 50,000 dollars like I spend five, too... *shaking head*) Then, say I get the money somehow (anybody want a "date"?) and then we get useless lawyers, like Rob had, and Eric still gets fucked again?
See what I'm saying? Terror. That's my life.
Again.
Still.
For-fuckin'-ever? Ye Gods... SO... two nights ago, we're in bed. I had been asleep, but woke back up when Eric came in. I looked at him and burst into tears. He just held me and listened while I spewed all the terror about the room and said, several times, "I need a soccer ball, God, PLEASE! Gimme a soccer ball if I'm worrying about nothing. I can't stand being so scared that that's all I feel anymore and not even being able to feel and enjoy the gifts You've given me in Eric and this life I have now. I don't wanna lose it all, again. I've done that already, about 50 times so far in my life. Please, please... give me a soccer ball if it's gonna be okay..." And... He did. Less than 24 hours later, I have a soccer ball.
A real soccer ball.
Be right back... freakin' too hard to see right this second.... I got my soccer ball, but lost my Pop-pop's tie tack... *laughing and bawling at the same time* The night I freaked, I finally cried it out enough to be able to sleep... for about three hours before I had to go to work. Felt like re-warmed shit all day and got home. Good.
Later that night, after saying "I'll go", then "Fuck it til tomorrow" about 93 times, I finally did go to the store for cat food and trash bags. (Cat food in, cat poop out, hence the need for trash bags, I guess...)
Anyway, I'm cruising the pet aisle, looking at my list, not the shit in the aisle. When I got to the boxed cat litter, something caught my eye and I looked up... right at a soccer ball, just sitting there, on top of a box of litter. Granted, it's a dog toy, but a soccer ball is a soccer ball and this one wasn't where it belonged. It was right at my eye level, two-thirds of the way down the aisle from where it belonged and it was there THEN, while I was and almost hadn't been.
I stopped, I stared, I teared up and I bought the thing. It's sitting right above my head, on the shelf, still in it's plastic, as I type. Every time I start to cry here, I look at it and am comforted.
BY A DOG TOY.
(Told ya's I'm nuts...) I got my soccer ball.
Thank you, God. Sincerely. Then, this morning, I was getting dressed for work and saw that Pop-pop's tie tack is gone from on my tie.
Now, this thing is NOT easy to squeeze open and it's never fallen off before and it's not in the bathroom where my shirt was hanging.
It's just gone. My first thought was that that was a sign from Pop-pop that he's here with me and I still feel that. I'm even okay with maybe never finding it.
Wanna know why?
I needed a sign and I got one. Maybe someone else, yesterday, needed a sign that has something to do with the letter "N". (That's what was on the tie tack, the letter "N" for his name...) Maybe somebody needed it as badly as I needed my soccer ball... if so, I hope they find it and keep it forever.
If not, I hope I find it soon... *smile*
It's no where in this house. Believe me.
I tore this place UP looking when I got home tonight and it's not here that I can see.
But, I can see that soccer ball. Now, if I could only afford to see a lawyer...
Ah well... one elephant sized problem at a time, ey? I still don't know what I'm gonna do if they get him, ever, but I have "made arrangements" for my notification of his having been picked up, if it happens while I'm at work... I told Eric to call Rob, because HIM, I trust. Rob will be there, I know and he'll find a way to let me know that won't cause me to have a stroke, if possible.
He's also got some pretty cool, kinda esoteric contacts and if anybody can pull a rabbit alive out of a lion's den (or Eric outta jail), it'd be Rob, so thank God for Rob and I do, about 79 times a day... I think between the soccer ball and knowing Rob will be right here, I might not lose what little I have left of my mind, but, somehow, this shit still kills me by inches every day. So, thank you again, if ya made it this far. If ya have any suggestions, ideas or just anything... let me know.
Please.
My stupid mother died of a stress-induced heart attack at the age of 43.
And...
I'm gonna be 42 reeeaaalll soon.
I hope. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 12:42 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 11, 2005
This came titled "Don't you just love Maxine", which I certainly do (and have for years), but...
I also love Catfish for sendin' it to me.
Being on this guy's forwarding list is WAY cool.
*grin*
Posted by: Stevie at 07:11 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 09, 2005
I'm so ashamed...
*snerk*
But, I have to admit...
And, truthfully, Bo and Luke ain't too hard to look at, either.
Altho, Bo is kinda cheesy... and why isn't Luke ever allowed to drive the General Lee and can I, too, please? Man, the friggin' car still gives me panty puddles... And, the fact that it's narrated by Waylon... well, that just seals the deal, as far as I'm concerned.
No matter how much more insane it makes me look, I'm tellin' ya's now... I will be taping more episodes of this.
Never meanin' no harm
Beats all you never saw
Been in trouble with the law
Since the day they was born Straightnin' the curves
Flattenin' the hills
Someday the mountain might get 'em
But the law never will Makin' their way
The only way they know how
That's just a little bit more
Than the law will allow Just two good ol' boys
Wouldn't change if they could
Fightin' the system like
Two modern-day Robin Hoods
Posted by: Stevie at 02:53 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 08, 2005
Today's post brought to you by the word "fuck"...
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?
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.
None.
I don't get it.
But... somebody's gonna... in about 30 seconds. See? WTF? 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.
Fuckheads. 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.
*rolls eyes* 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.
IDIOT!!!!!
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?
Jeezus. 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.
But...
*siiigh* 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...
That's okay.
There's wires... to rip out by the handful.
There's gas.
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.
Cops every-friggin'-where.
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....
Okay.
Whatever.
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?
Jesus wept.
(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.
Die bitch.
Nobody'd miss ya.
Yer band is pissed and waiting... Big-earred, no lips havin', horse hatin' hag.
Die. (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. Next subject? Hmmmm... 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?
Weird. 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 dunno.
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.
Thank God... 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?
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. See?
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...)
Posted by: Stevie at 11:53 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 06, 2005
Good evening. In our top story tonight, Pete Yarrow is still a buttwad...
And, Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.
He's Chevy Chase and I'm not.
My stupid elbow/arm/hand/fingers is/are still kinda messed up. Mostly all that's been wrong the last day or two is that my two middle fingers are numb constantly. Then, this morning, I whacked my elbow again on a doorknob, so now I also have a numb path up the underside of my arm. *siiigh* I wear the rigid brace at work. It supports my wrist and keeps me from feeling like I might drop shit.
Also, it's black, so it goes with the uniform.
Which, by the way, I've dressed up with some red.
I now wear a bright red scarf around my ponytail and a bright red what I call "side towel" on my right hip. That's to wipe my fingers on or dry trays or whatever. I was wearing white bar towels for that, but I wanted some COLOR, so I switched to red.
Lotsa people like it.
Me included.
Black and red were my "show colors" back when I showed horses.
Plus, they do look good together. Speaking of horses, I have managed to get out on Storm twice in the last two days.
I see a pattern developing.... *grin* I also worked for a coupla hours today, just to help out. I see an ugly precedent developing with this one... *giggle* First an "almost double", then a few hours on a day off... what next? A... *gasp* 40 hour week?!?
Ye Gods.
Never.
Not in that place, thanks.
I think being a cop is less stressful. Oh yeah... I actually got the yard straightened up.
Got rid of all the trash, piled up all the siding, straightened up the carport... it's all done.
Next hunk of "nice day" I get, I'm washing the car. Well, y'all...
I've got some wash waitin' for me, so I'm gonna go get 'er done. Hope everybody is doin' just great. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 09:58 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 04, 2005
Just a quickie...
Worked an "almost-double" today and I'm dying here, but I just had to say once again:
Peter Yarrow is unrepentant, arrogant dipshit who flings around like cowpies opinions about shit about which he knows NOTHING and therefore should shut the fuck up.AFTER all the apologies to all the Nam Vets. I'm just sayin'...
(And, I'm gonna KEEP on saying it til he quits saying the stupid shit he says... the asshole.) So... what is he?
A draft dodger or just a treasonous pussy?
Posted by: Stevie at 11:09 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 03, 2005
My soul has been reborn...
Ho-lee shiT.
Coupla years ago, a big part of me died when my Lynyrd Skynyrd "Gold & Platinum" tape broke. I finally found what I thought might be a close match and it's all that and then some... Skynyrd's 30th Anniversary Collection. I am actually DANCING to this... Y'all ALL need to go buy this one.Seriously.
Posted by: Stevie at 05:47 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I don't want to bury the previous post yet, but...
What the hell.
If it gets buried too fast, I'll just re-date it and put it on top again.
Or, I can just state the obvious every post, which is: Pete Yarrow is an asshole, until he takes that shit back.
Apologize, my ass.
'Bout damned time.
That shit was hurtin' so bad at 2am, Saturday morning, it had me in tears. I was sitting on the lid of the toilet, pressing my arm against the inside of the tub for the coolness, sobbing... cute picture, huh? I got pissed after that and figured, "Fuck you arm. You wanna hurt, I'mina give ya a reason to..."
So, since then, I've had it in no less then two and sometimes three braces, from above my elbow to my wrist, and I've been doing some heavy duty cleaning-type shit. Let's see... what have I gotten done so far?
Lotsa laundry.
The roosters and the rabbits are outside, which entailed moving a load and a half of firewood offa their table to make room for the cages, as well as hefting the cages out there. Mr. Rat is moving, too. He's going into the vacated pigeon cage after I clean that.
In his place now sits the new stereo, blasting Fleetwood Mac. There is also siding all over the yard that I hope to get to today. If not, I'm CERTAIN it won't go anywhere til I do get to it.
*sardonic grin* Back to what I've gotten done... About half of the catboxes... the dishes... hmmm.
I'm about to bring the saddles back in here and clean the mudroom. Then, there are two bikes, one motorized, one not, that need to go in there. And, if I get time, I'd like to bake that cake and sometime before I go to work tomorrow I HAVE to do these nails.
Which oughta be real fun, seeing as how holding an emery board is just the kinda thing that still hurts. A full bucket of water? Fine.
A little tiny, gotta-squinch-yer-hand-up-to-hold-it emery board?
OW!!!! So, anyway.... I guess I oughta shaddap and keep on keepin' on.
Back later, if I can.
In the meantime... Peace, y'all....
(Except, YOU, Yarrow, ya turd.)
Posted by: Stevie at 04:42 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
April 01, 2005
Um... Mr. Yarrow... Pete... Dickhead?
Now, YOU apologize to each and every Viet Nam Vet. And, Hanoi Jane?Pissant "explanation" and implied "apology" NOT accepted. So, basically...
Fuck you, too.
If ANYONE is owed an apology, and has been for over 30 years, it's you guys.
Posted by: Stevie at 07:23 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
March 30, 2005
How fuckin' "human" this is....
Two headlines on Yahoo homepage... one on top of the other...
• Vatican: Pope getting nutrition from tube and then... • Court to weigh Schiavo emergency motion Okay.Now I realize that Schiavo isn't the Pope, buuuuut....
Does anybody but me see the "bullshit factor" in that? Starve a "turnip", feed a Bishop, I guess. What a hypocritical bunch of jerkoffs humans are. S'matter with those people?
It's okay to starve one and not the other? 'Fraid y'all might go to Hell, piss God off or something if what gets done to one gets done to the other? And, why is it that the "non-Pope" has to be the one to go it alone, with no sustenence? Wouldn't ya think the "Holy" one would be the one to try starving? I mean, hell... he's he one with the "contacts", the inside track, as it were.
Besides... ya wanna know what the Pope really is? A man. A regular friggin' person who farts, shits, pisses, pukes and EATS like the rest of us. Only difference between him and her is that he's the H.N.W.B.I.C. of the most hypocritical, greedy, mercenary, child-molesting-ing-est buncha whack jobs ever on this planet.
She's just some regular schmo from Florida. Bullshit. If it's good enough for her, it goddamned well oughta be good enough for him, too, what with all his "specialness". Or, better yet... if they're gonna tube him, they ought re-tube her too. Sanctity of life, remember? Yeah, it means about as much to me as it does these assholes.
Nothing. Oughta just call it what it is... "Sanctity of who ya are, then we'll discuss life". Jesus, man. They already have her autopsy planned.
Figures.
Her dipshit "husband" already spent her "care money", too. Think that's why he wants her dead so badly.
He doesn't wanna hafta pay for her himself. Wanna know who I'm the most glad I'm not?
The cunt who has borne that murderin' asshole's* two kids.
What the fuck is her problem?
I don't give a damn what her excuse is. She is a disgusting person.
What she really is is just another HUGE incentive for this dude to try to kill Terry quicker. We're all supposed to be the same in God's eyes. I think we are. However, I'm afraid it's because we all suck. (Humans, I mean.
Not "us" specifically...) Ya know... the more I interact with, pay attention to and hafta DEAL WITH people, the better I like all my critters, up to and including snakes and shit. At least with them, whatcha see is whatcha get. Animals and animal-like behavior. Which, by the way, is a LOT more sane, merciful and necessary behavior than you'll EVER see outta "humans". With people... it's all crap. They look like people, but act WORSE than animals. No animals would EVER do to each other the shit people do to each other. They'd never purposely starve each other to death, they don't systematically torture, maim and kill each other just for shits-n-giggles like humans do and, frankly, "humans" could take a few lessons from those creatures who're alledged to mean so much less than humans. The longer I'm alive, the more "human" horseshit I see, the more convinced I am that I've been right all along. Animals are the "gifts" in life. Animals are what matter. They're special. People are just common and they're terrible to each other, animals and the whole planet. God shoulda quit on the fifth day... BEFORE he went too far and invented "people". I've believed that since I was about 9 years old (thanks mom) and I believe it more and more every day I'm alive. Ever seen a "terrrorist" animal?
Me neither. God help us.
We sure as FUCK need it. *signs off laughing out loud because I know I'm not, never have been and never will be part of that "crowd"... the "crowd" of "humans", that is...* Peace, y'all... Oh yeah... the "*" thing...
I'll bet my soul that if it were investigated in any depth whatsoever, it'd be discovered that the reason Terry had the "eating disorder" that led to the heart attack that led to the veg-state was her stupid husband's tacit encouragement to be "thin", hence "attractive".
That shit doesn't happen all on it's own, ya know.
Hasta start somewhere. Hasta be fed (no pun intended) into by SOMEBODY. Whose opinion of her woulda mattered more to her than his?
Nobody's, that's whose. He started it, no doubt, and now he wants to finish it. He has a LIFE he needs to get on with, don'tcha know.
Whatta cocksucker ....
Posted by: Stevie at 11:20 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
March 28, 2005
What a day and it ain't over yet...
Car is still doin' good.
Especially considering the fact that we had two hoses backwards and one hose was the wrong kind, as in "not a gas-rated hose", so that's what was causing the leakage problem. And, the smell problem.
Made for some exciting steering, combined with the floods of water around here. Besides the fact that everywhere I parked, I came back to find a rainbow river coming out from under the car, I also had to bypass the driveway the first time I tried for it and go on down the hill, turn around and try again.
Guess gas on your wet tires doesn't exactly combine to make for the best traction, huh? Oh well.
At least I didn't explode. Work was "interesting".
God gave me the opportunity to do something really cool for one chick who can be (and was being) really bitchy and I loved doing it. She'd been sniping everybody and everything for a coupla hours (I think she was feeling really sick), then God gave her something to be really pissed about... a missing tip. I overheard that whole deal, then a while later, just so happened that I found the same amount of cash on the floor, far from her station. I gave it to the chick who was working the station I found it in, but she gave it back to me and I didn't want it either, not knowing whose it was, so I was gonna just take it in back and lay it on the shelf.
I started back there, then saw the chick who'd been stolen from, so I gave it to her. I went from "non-existent" to "Sweetie" after that... *grin* Later, I even made Mr. Mean Cook literally laugh out loud. Made some good money, came home, slid a little gettin' in the driveway, made dinner, cleaned a coupla things while Darlin' (Eric) fixed the leak and did an adjustment or two and then fed him, made him a bath and gave him fresh, homemade strawberry shortcake when he got out. He's in bed now and I'm about to go remove approximately 25 pounds of "used cat food" from the "dog's honor/treat boxes", as they're known as around here...
(Meaning I'm gonna go clean the catboxes...) Got a load of laundry to put into the dryer, a few dishes to put away, then I think I'm gonna go to bed myself. Oh yeah... I also got to be "phone tech support" for Pat.
Thank you, Paul, that I was able to do that. Pat couldn't get here for the last week, so, by phone, we figured it out and now he can read this drivel again....
He's happy and I'm amazed it means that much to anybody to be able to see this mess. Quit while yer ahead, right?
Right.
(Confidentially, that's why I quit years ago. I've been a "head" since I was 17... *giggle*) And, on the Biff Rose-like note....
I'm outta here. Peace, y'all.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:12 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
We are finished... finally.
The car is all back together and it is running once again.
Just now got done. Something else just now got started, too.Guess who showed up? Yep. My "leetle frien'".
*rolls eyes* Well, hell... I've heard that saying about working on cars that says something about not being successful at the job til yer bleeding, but I always thought that referred to knuckles and shit.
Whatever.
Long as it worked. So... let's recap, shall we? When I got up this morning my car wasn't running, the TV in the livingroom was off, the TV out here had been drowned and my Monkees tape was being held hostage. A mere 15 hours later and the TV in the livingroom is back on, the TV out here is replaced (and yes it is wearing it's own upside down box, as I type), the car is running and I got my frickin' tape back, too. Not bad. Thanks God and could Ya maybe see Yer way clear to forgiving both of us for repeatedly accusing you of doing all that futzin' around with the car on purpose just to amuse Yerself?
We're sorry.
We were cold, wet, frustrated and tired. Thank You again, Big Guy. (psst... Can Ya come with me tomorrow to work and home with that car, so I know I'll make it? *giggle* I promise not to drive like an idiot and scare Ya... too much...) Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 01:49 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
March 27, 2005
And...
It's running.
Need to reconnect the tail pipes and shit like that, but the bitch is back!
Posted by: Stevie at 08:13 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Two outta three ain't bad, but I'm still goin' for three outta three...
So far, I've gotten both TV problems solved.
The big one is coming back on and the little one has been replaced.
I'm proud to say that I'm fulla dirt and reek of gas.
That's fine, as long as I get my stupid car back. Hell, I like working on cars. Pre-piece-of-shit-computer ones, anyway. Even as fuckin' annoying as it can be sometimes, and the depths of stupidity you get to "witness" from auto designers, I still like doing it. I must. I also have laundry to do and I ain't doing that.
Yet. And...
Know what else? All this shit is hitting me way differently than it did at first.
At first, it was just pissing me off.
In fact, the last fiber of straw that sent me over the edge was that other TV not coming on, thus meaning my Monkess tape was it's hostage.
After everything else, that just did it for me. Now that I'm getting through some of this shit, I'm also seeing how fuckin' AWESOME some of my friends are. It's giving me confidence in the idea that, no matter what, it can be "fixed". If I'm THIS "not alone" over a (dopey damned) car, I can believe I won't be alone if anything shitty happens with any other lil thaaaangs I might have to worry about. Hell, Bill even got involved again.
He helped Eric torch off some shit under there.
Gotta admit, the sight of Bill (or anybody else, really) using what amounts to an open flame mere inches from my fuel tank froze my blood for a second, but nobody blew up.
Yet. Any-frickin'-way... What an Easter this is so far. A day that shall live in infamy... *wry grin* Welp... lemme go see what he's up to, now.
Might be I need to get a little dirtier.
Thass cool. Long as I can get to work tomorrow and home, I'm fine and I think I've got that angle covered, too. (Juuust in case.... know what I mean?) I need an aspirin.
Or 12. Talk to ya's later...
Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 06:21 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Just so's this day won't totally suck...
I just did a very cool thing.
I let the pigeon go. I'm gonna miss his cooing and company, but maaan... seeing him fly was awesome. He musta circled the house, barn and silos about a dozen times before he landed on top of the big silo with the other ones. Can ya even imagine the conversation goin' on up there right now? "Where da fuck you been, Dude?" "Man, y'all ain't gonna BELIEVE this shit..." he says... I just wanted this to be a good day for somebody around here.And now...
it is.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:44 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Okay... deep breath, chick and another...
Got the 4000 incense sticks picked back up.
Got hold of George.
He's on his way.
And, that TV?
Dead meat. The cats who fucked it up?
Still alive.
SO FAR.
(That CAN change...) (They also barfed on Eric's Nextel radio and BOY did I have FUN cleaning that off.... *disgusted sigh*) Also, as this motherfuckin' PRESSURE slides offa me, I had a moment of lucidity and realized, "Hey. Nobody's dead... though there is a list a mile long I'd like to see fuck off, it's not like Eric got snagged up by anybody "official" and I do have cool people around who're coming to he'p, so I hate the world with the exception of a handfulla people." Y'all and these others I've mentioned. Hell, maybe it's life itself I'm beginning to hate.
I dunno.
All I know is that being "good" dosen't mean shit to any forces of the Universe and my biceps are physically aching to beat this shit outta something and that none of this means shit in the real world, where the government can and does get involved in private family business and the same government/judicial system is basically starving a woman to death, when if she were an animal, she'd be "put to sleep", but nah... fuck 'er. Let's just starve her to death. Sanctity of life my aching ass. Life sucks now, let alone when it's like that lady's is. My take on that whole deal is this: If ya ain't part of her family, it's nunya fuckin' business and all these assholes writing about it, fighting about it and ultimately killing her are useless. If ya ain't part of the solution, yer definitely part of the problem. And, a "problem" is what Terry is dealing with, not this HORSESHIT I got hit with this mornin'.
BUT...
It still pisses me da fuck off. So shoot me.
Please.
Ooorrrr.... jes' let me borrow a gun for a few...
*evil grin*
Hell, after I got done shootin' the car and the TV fulla holes, there'd be no ammo left for people.
Sooo, I guess I'd just have to bash 'em to death with the other end.
This CAN be done. If I had a gun, that is. Aw, fuck it.
I've got better'n a gun.
I have a huge stick.
More "personal" that way, anyway, which IS how I'm taking alla this crap... veeeery "personally". "Tom, this is business and this person (Michael, in the movie but ME in this instance) is taking it veeerrry personally..." I'm right outta the fuckin' "Godfather", ain't I? Oh, what I'd give to have one a those.
I'd kiss his ring all right. I'd kiss his literal ASS to get done the shit I need to have done. Anyway... before I go off into "FantasyLand", I'm gonna go make a few phone calls.
We've narrowed it down to the fuel pump.
Which, if I'm not mistaken is INSIDE the gas tank and just who in the name of almighty FUCK thought THAT was a "good" idea?
Numbfuck, stupid ass MALE car designers, I suppose.
Buncha dickheaded idiots. Thanks a pantload, Dudes.
You SUCK.
Posted by: Stevie at 12:37 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, so far Easter sucks...
Went to bed insteada cleaning more last night.
Just got up, came out here and TRIED to watch the little TV/VCR combo I JUST GOT and it won't come on.
I'm fuckin' freakin' NOW, goddamn it. I fully intend to take a sledgehammer to that motherfuckin' TV and get my tape back, too. Fuck if I'm gonna lose a good Monkees tape, too. I hate the world.
Posted by: Stevie at 10:28 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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