Little Horrible

I don't know what I did to get on Jesus's shit list, but that vindictive bastard is out to get me lately.

I didn't blog much this week because I was afraid that if I sat down to type, I'd only be able to vomit forth a rancorous froth of bitterness and hatred, and nobody wants to bother reading that.

But hey, I missed you guys, so fuck it.

Goddamn, though. My weekdays have been passing by in a mindfucking blur, making me feel like an arthritic gerbil on a wheel whose been given an excess of caffeine and several hits of bad acid.

Mornings are especially shiteous. I think I would prefer some old school torture, served up prison-camp style – say, bamboo shoots under the nails, or perhaps a searing hot enema – to what I had to endure this morning.

My day started at 5 am. That's right, fuckers, 5 in the frigging morning.
I was pummelled awake by two freezing feet in my stomach. These horrid little appendages were attached to the miniature czar of my home environment, whose demands for orange juice and magic markers before the sun is even up makes me realize why all my pubic hair is turning gray. (Two words, darlings: Brazillian Wax.)

Of course, some mornings go better than others. Lily is, generally, a great kid with an even temperament. Often she will get herself dressed, eat some breakfast without complaint, even brush her teeth with only a little help from me.

But. Today, that was so not the case.

This morning my little dust bunny opted for a white-hot scream-athon while alternately laying on the bed like a broken marionette, and writhing on the floor like an epileptic. All the while Mommy ran about like a freaked-out, headless chicken, fetching two sets of clothing and smearing lipstick across my face and trying in vain to choke some coffee down my dang throat.

You have no idea how much ass it can truly suck to be me sometimes.
But, well, I just told you, so now you do. And I kind of feel better. Thanks!

It's times like these, though, that we really must stop and remember that some people have real problems.

I could be riding out the aftermath of Hurricane Ike in a church with a lion. My home could be leveled. I could have lost a ton of invested (ha ha!) money in the collapsing world economy. I could be Sarah Palin's retarded baby. It could be worse. It always could be worse.

Here's a joke:

Why did the cop smell?

Because he was on duty.

OMGLOLLOLLOLLOLROFLMFAO!!!!!!