2012 YOU'RE @#$#$%^#$%ING FIRED!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I demand a refund on yesterday.
Fuck it. I demand a refund on LIFE.
So, that popping sound I heard as I was pulling into the post office (where I was going to, after I'd left the library)?
That was the sound of my left front tire blowing out. Because somewhere - I don't know if I picked it up there, or somewhere else - along the way I ran over a big friggin' bolt/spike thing. And not only is it jammed all the way to the hilt in the tire, there's an inch-long slash along the side of the tire where, presumably, the blowout occurred.
Translation: the tire is fucked and there's more money to piss away that I don't have.
Did I mention that I have NO clue how to change a tire (hell, I don't even have the upper body strength to lift the damn thing), and this happened less than 20 minutes before I was supposed to go to work, so therefore I ended up being over an hour late for work because the only thing that spared me the complete ignominy of having to walk over a dozen miles all the way back to my house was a very kind stranger who put the spare on for me? (I tried to give him what little cash I had on me. He refused. Dude, when I lose what little sanity I have remaining and start smiting humanity, I shall spare you.)
And I think I have found the cause of Sam's distress: I noticed that he's been scratching like crazy around his neck, so I took a look this morning under his collar. Verdict: likely fleas, as there's suspicious debris under there. There goes another $20 for some Revolution. And I'll be doing a shitload of laundry tonight, because everything he's touched will have to be washed and Boraxed (including the carpet).
I AM OFFICIALLY QUITTING LIFE.
Fuck it. I demand a refund on LIFE.
So, that popping sound I heard as I was pulling into the post office (where I was going to, after I'd left the library)?
That was the sound of my left front tire blowing out. Because somewhere - I don't know if I picked it up there, or somewhere else - along the way I ran over a big friggin' bolt/spike thing. And not only is it jammed all the way to the hilt in the tire, there's an inch-long slash along the side of the tire where, presumably, the blowout occurred.
Translation: the tire is fucked and there's more money to piss away that I don't have.
Did I mention that I have NO clue how to change a tire (hell, I don't even have the upper body strength to lift the damn thing), and this happened less than 20 minutes before I was supposed to go to work, so therefore I ended up being over an hour late for work because the only thing that spared me the complete ignominy of having to walk over a dozen miles all the way back to my house was a very kind stranger who put the spare on for me? (I tried to give him what little cash I had on me. He refused. Dude, when I lose what little sanity I have remaining and start smiting humanity, I shall spare you.)
And I think I have found the cause of Sam's distress: I noticed that he's been scratching like crazy around his neck, so I took a look this morning under his collar. Verdict: likely fleas, as there's suspicious debris under there. There goes another $20 for some Revolution. And I'll be doing a shitload of laundry tonight, because everything he's touched will have to be washed and Boraxed (including the carpet).
I AM OFFICIALLY QUITTING LIFE.