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Sitting at one of the few stoplights in town, one of the Sunday-dressed was attempting to cross the street,furiously pumping the button labelled "press to change lights"... which we all know, is the most useless piece of shit ever manufactured. I imagine there's a camera attached (surely instead of a real possibility to influence the flow of traffic), so the police dispatcher's office can get a good laugh at gullible expressions. A light that flashes "Dumbass"for every press. A bit like trying to influence your elected representatives little-used common sense. Keep pushing the button, and they're still going to indulge in their own or their party's interests, unheeded. I'm the type that'll keep pushing 'til I short out something. Its been Ides Of March, delayed. Rage Day. On a very small scope. The Speckled Beast from Hell managed to escape outside (though that's where she really needs to work out her aggro), and dared to elude me. Twice. Apprehended, twice. By the scruff of the neck. Humans-2, Felinus-Nil. Little bitch can haul ass, though... across a twenty-yard expanse and seven feet up the side of a pine tree in a blink. If I could only harness that energy. Into a kitty shock treatment. Don't blow the whistle, ASPCA style... I love animals, really... the more, the merrier. But, homie don't play that belligerent shit up in this piece, smaller species. Amid one spectacular burst bottle and the resulting beer-blood-bath, two cases of dark brown ale are primed for their two-month slumber into mature pissitude. At least the kitchen floor is clean, now. 48 bottles disinfected, locked and loaded. So many bottles shaken and capped, my right arm feels like how a hooker's must after the navy arrives in port. That's enough of that image.... Washed clothes, marinated some steaks (must. have. red. meat. RRrrrrrrr.), two-hour drive on every twisty single-lane I could find that overlooked the Lake... that did Sunday. Oh, and the broken F1esta cup, about ten minutes ago. Bull in a china shop. That should be the slogan for my tattoo.
St. Francis of The Airbrushed Concrete would not approve of my disciplinary measures. |
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