Entry 172 - Picking Up the Slack

Picking Up the Slack

Since both tfg of assclown fame and ACW of necrophilial infamy have seemingly both surrendered to The Man, and some sort of conventional need to “do their job” so they can “get paid” and “eat food”, I guess I’m responsible for picking up the slack and BRINGING THE PAIN!!! (if pain is what makes you laugh like it does for Dick Cheney and me).

As Henry David Thoreau (or as I called him, HD-Thizzle) once intimated, modern man prosecutes life plagued by stillborn rage and quiet desperation – an existence that rarely affords him the opportunity to succinctly communicate his innermost frustrations or openly expound on the principles he holds dear. No, more often than not he is restricted to things like, oh, I dunno, explaining to someone who is comfortably out of earshot the virtues of autocopulative activity, or extolling the benefits of picking a lane, or, by extension, learning how to fucking drive. If he does have a chance to confront his abuser, he often gets some ten steps away before he finds the perfect thing to have said – this only serves to further his simmering frustration, which – at least in my experience – can only be slaked by hiring a Filipina hooker to stomp on his beanbag.

Oh, but sometimes his moment comes. Perhaps he’s been waiting for it, ammo in hand – or perhaps he’s had his grapenuts in the morning. (BTW - Grape Nuts? wtf is that about?)

So I’m out on the deck this fine evening searing up some of my famous cow cakes – light beer in hand, cigarette dangling from my lip. Not being a total reclusive sociopath, I was also peering through the sliding glass door, trying to watch the latest episode of The George W. Bush Foot-In-Mouth Show (as presented by CNN), when off to my right I hear:

Hat: “So, you barbecuin’ again tonight?”
Me: “Yes. Just some burgers.”
Hat: “Beef?”
Me: (tempted to say nope, your whiny fucking feral cats) “Yep.”
Hat: (feeling the need to spread his misery about the tree bark his wife makes him eat) “That red meat is no good for you. It’ll take years off your life.”
Me: (without making eye contact) “Really?”
Hat: … (sensing my level of support for his new career as a nutritionist) …
Me: “I heard the same thing about not minding your own business.”
Hat: (his sliding glass door closes, with him on opposite side.)

Well, suffice it to say, I almost soiled my pants in self-satisfaction. Now I can call Yao-Tran and cancel my appointment with her stillettos of discipline.