I’m officially finished as a local truck driver, or camionneur for Sebastard and any other Francophones that happen to peruse this little piece of heaven that we have going on here. I guess I’m happy about it, but it might take a day or two for that to set in. I know that I don’t have to get up tomorrow, but I probably will. What the hell else am I supposed to do? I should go get a shed and put it together, or maybe I’ll try to figure out where the sonotubes are going for the deck, and start digging the holes. The shed is probably the better answer, then the deck. We are going to be needing somewhere to put all of the shit in the yard. Maybe I can build a shed out of the hot tub, and the roof rack thing. I love the way that I plan all of this shit, but what will probably happen, is I’ll spend nine hours jumping back and forth between trying to find a new format for the blog, looking at porn, and smearing my DNA all over the mouse and keyboard. Ah, fuck it. Can someone remind me to go get a shed in the morning? You might need to tell me a few times, thanks a bunch.
Maybe I’ll go visit Mom and Paul for a while. He got fixed up today, so he can eat and drink again. I could maybe see if they need the grass cut one last time before the snow flies. There’s nothing worse than having to cut matted down, long grass and rotting leaves in the spring. Well, I guess there are some worse things, like anal rape, getting beat up by a twelve year old, or finding out your wife is your half-sister that was given up for adoption when your mom was fourteen. I love when people say that. “There’s nothing worse than…” Every time they say it, you can think of thousands of things that are worse. Nothing worse than a head cold. Really? Try AIDS, asshole. Nothing worse than a chick dragging her teeth. No? How about getting gut shot.
Another one I love is “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.
“Wow, I had kidney stones. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
I fucking would. I’d wish it on all of my enemies and I’d also make them shit razor blades and fart out of their mouths. I hate my enemies, that’s why they are enemies. I’m pretty sure that it’s law to want your enemy’s head on a pike. If you don’t want them dead, they are just someone you don’t care for. Hell, I want people who mildly piss me off to get their arms broken as a voice enters their head, saying “This is for being a douchy twat yesterday.”
Another thing I want to rant about. Teach your fucking cats and dogs to speak and type properly, or don’t let them on the computer. I am getting so sick of these internet signs with horrible grammar, spelling and punctuation. Don’t pretend that there is nothing you can do. You were there taking their picture, so why not correct their spelling and syntax while you’re at it? Have = have, not haz. I feel like learning how to track on the internet, just so I could find these pieces of shit and beat them into unconsciousness with a God damned dictionary.
I’m going to go to bed now, and hope my hostility dwindles while I cry myself to sleep in the bosom of my true love. I have to keep telling myself that there is no alarm going off in the morning. I can sleep in, if I want to, but I rarely do. I think you just get used to waking up at a certain time. Oh well, I guess I’d better hit the fart sack.
Put another log on the fire,