Started re-reading Transmetropolitan.
Might need a little push to take the gloves completely off.
But just a little, itty bitty one.
So let's start small. I bought a gun. A shotgun. A big, black, compensating for the white-guy dick I'm swinging shotgun. It goes boom really fucking loudly. I bought it because the old folks around the corner from us got robbed. Twice. While they were home. A couple of cockknockers broke into their house while they were sleeping and robbed them at gunpoint. In their own goddamn home.
I have warned Suzy that if anyone breaks into the house with impure thoughts she should contact our next door neighbor Johnny immediately. Johnny is a drywall contractor. A short-barrelled shotgun has quite the spread. I fear for the integrity of the hallway walls.
Do I have to turn in my liberal card because I bought a shotgun and don't bat an eyelash at the concept of liquefying any asshole that threatens my wife or my personal well-being? Do I have to throw away my Obama T-shirt because I went to the range with Special K and remembered that I enjoy shooting things? Nah, there's some delicious irony about going to a firing range wearing an Obama shirt.
Everybody's freaking out about swine flu. I don't give a fuck. I haven't given too much of a fuck about things that might kill me since they told me sunlight causes cancer. Let's review - the source of all life on the motherfucking planet causes cancer and requires that you get pieces of your face occassionally cut off. You shoulda seen my dad's nose a few years ago. I shit you not, his dermatologist's last name musta been Frankenstein. So if sunlight causes cancer, which can kill you, but without sunlight we begin to freeze ohhhh about eight minutes after the thing goes away, then why would I worry about piggy flu? Fuck it, there are too many people in the world anyway.
Yeah, I mighta been a little testy lately. Mighta been wound a little too tightly. I got a ridiculous project that's threatening to eat my entire Atlanta office, both my NC sales goofs have issues with their issue (or the wenches that spawned them), and I lost and halfway regained a job in the last week. That might make me a littly salty. Deal. Or don't. Whatever.
Fuck I love me some Spider Jerusalem. Makes me wanna write. Thanks, Garth.