Sometimes A Punch Doesn’t Say Enough…
I’m really trying my best not to get angry at the little things anymore, but unfortunately once in a while the old me comes raging to the surface like vomit tightly packed in a struggling esophagus that refuses to let it up. You know what I’m talking about, that feeling you get when you’re just moments from throwing up and you just don’t want to, so you swallow over and over again and do the only thing you can do. Pray. Like that ever fucking works when your gut’s had enough of those taquitos you ate for dinner. Then it starts to push its way up.
You know the signs, the bottom of your tongue feels like a large marble, you can’t chew or swallow lest you let loose the tides of Taquito Revenge, you know just thinking about it will open the Black Gates of Mordor and all your chunky, funky orcs will come screaming out waving swords and batons, rubbing your top and bottom lip for luck as they go to war with those goodly fuckers that live in the land of Toilet Bowl Water. Then BAM, the Darth Maul soundtrack from Episode I starts to play and you’re fucked beyond all recognition.
You’re kneeling over the toilet saying words like: ’Auuugah, Blahl, and Ckaahllbk!’ and you can’t help but wonder if that’s the exact incantation for the curse of self-mortification. So what do you do? Like a jackass, you try to shut your mouth. That’s when you find out that its impossible to breathe half-digested chunks of lettuce and beef and it burns twice as much as it did going in when its splashing through your nasal passage and across sensitive mucus membranes. If that ain’t the world’s worst sneeze, I don’t know what the fuck is.
So here I am, pissed off. My eyebrows have knitted themselves together and made a sweater. My hands are tightening into fists all by their damn self and all because this fucker won’t fix my fucking car like he fucking said he would. People, don’t make promises you’re not going to keep. Especially not with me, because I will make you suffer. I swear to all that is good and fucking holy I will. Here I am dealing with a situation, my sunroof won’t close and it started raining murder down on me. On the fucking Expressway! Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to have to drive with a mini umbrella in one hand and the steering wheel in the other?
Do you know how much more embarrassing it is when it happens while you have someone else in the car with you and you’re too damned stingy to hand over the mini-brella!? I don’t care how wet she got, she wasn’t getting my damn umbrella. She should have found her own ride to school, God damnit. We’re in the car arguing like I don’t know what, she keeps reaching for the umbrella and I keep swearing I’ll run us off the road if she doesn’t quit. I’m twenty-three years old and arguing with a girl like it’s the first day of Pre-K. Then we start getting petty. She throws one of my books out the window. I dumped my umbrella off in her lap, covering her in water. She grabs the wheel, I bite her hand.
By the time we get to school, we’re soaking wet, kicking each other in the shins and pushing our way into class. She shoved me into like four fucking chairs. And my feet were wet so I fell down and rolled under a lab table. God damn, my whole right side hurts like a son-of-a-bitch! I know I was wrong, but damnit it was my car and my umbrella. I. do not. Feel. Bad.
Well… I did kinda feel bad for biting her. T..that was fucked up, I admit. But she tried to grab the wheel, man. Augh… my car’s gonna smell like hot garbage and old people tomorrow morning when the sun comes out. Then the leather’s gonna crack like Sean Connery’s face in the 90s.
P.S. - For those of you who feel sorry for the girl who I drove to school. Don’t. She punched me in the damn face just now. Inna fuggin’ FACE, man!
Hybrid: Out.
You know the signs, the bottom of your tongue feels like a large marble, you can’t chew or swallow lest you let loose the tides of Taquito Revenge, you know just thinking about it will open the Black Gates of Mordor and all your chunky, funky orcs will come screaming out waving swords and batons, rubbing your top and bottom lip for luck as they go to war with those goodly fuckers that live in the land of Toilet Bowl Water. Then BAM, the Darth Maul soundtrack from Episode I starts to play and you’re fucked beyond all recognition.
You’re kneeling over the toilet saying words like: ’Auuugah, Blahl, and Ckaahllbk!’ and you can’t help but wonder if that’s the exact incantation for the curse of self-mortification. So what do you do? Like a jackass, you try to shut your mouth. That’s when you find out that its impossible to breathe half-digested chunks of lettuce and beef and it burns twice as much as it did going in when its splashing through your nasal passage and across sensitive mucus membranes. If that ain’t the world’s worst sneeze, I don’t know what the fuck is.
So here I am, pissed off. My eyebrows have knitted themselves together and made a sweater. My hands are tightening into fists all by their damn self and all because this fucker won’t fix my fucking car like he fucking said he would. People, don’t make promises you’re not going to keep. Especially not with me, because I will make you suffer. I swear to all that is good and fucking holy I will. Here I am dealing with a situation, my sunroof won’t close and it started raining murder down on me. On the fucking Expressway! Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to have to drive with a mini umbrella in one hand and the steering wheel in the other?
Do you know how much more embarrassing it is when it happens while you have someone else in the car with you and you’re too damned stingy to hand over the mini-brella!? I don’t care how wet she got, she wasn’t getting my damn umbrella. She should have found her own ride to school, God damnit. We’re in the car arguing like I don’t know what, she keeps reaching for the umbrella and I keep swearing I’ll run us off the road if she doesn’t quit. I’m twenty-three years old and arguing with a girl like it’s the first day of Pre-K. Then we start getting petty. She throws one of my books out the window. I dumped my umbrella off in her lap, covering her in water. She grabs the wheel, I bite her hand.
By the time we get to school, we’re soaking wet, kicking each other in the shins and pushing our way into class. She shoved me into like four fucking chairs. And my feet were wet so I fell down and rolled under a lab table. God damn, my whole right side hurts like a son-of-a-bitch! I know I was wrong, but damnit it was my car and my umbrella. I. do not. Feel. Bad.
Well… I did kinda feel bad for biting her. T..that was fucked up, I admit. But she tried to grab the wheel, man. Augh… my car’s gonna smell like hot garbage and old people tomorrow morning when the sun comes out. Then the leather’s gonna crack like Sean Connery’s face in the 90s.
P.S. - For those of you who feel sorry for the girl who I drove to school. Don’t. She punched me in the damn face just now. Inna fuggin’ FACE, man!
Hybrid: Out.