Urge to kill…rising!

Granted, I’m unemployed and haven’t anything better to do but complain.

Granted, being in that position is producing internal stress the likes of which I’ve never seen. Stress which will surely cause me to go berserk some day soon, running through the neighborhood naked, screaming obscenities, and inexplicably gathering all Current Occupant mail from any mailbox I light upon. “Odd,” people will say, “usually he just takes the Victoria’s Secret catalogs.”

Granted further that if I had more imagination, I would surely have come up with better things to do than sitting at my computer all day looking for non-existent work interspersed with oops-I-seem-to-have-landed-on-porn-“somehow” meanderings.

Nevertheless, does it really take a rocket-scientist to figure out the alarm on your car? Or better still, does it really take a trained monkey to figure out the alarm on your car? Is it really necessary that you sit in your new-to-you forest green VW Jetta, dumbly staring at the manual and experimentally setting your alarm on and off on and off on and off on and off until my ears bleed…

For three days in a row?

and sometimes at 11:30 because it took you 4 hours to find your way out of the ass your head is usually stuck in you stupid, mother-fuc|||||

**This has been a test of the Emergency Tourette’s Disorder System. If this had been a real emergency, the alarm you just heard would have been followed by the longest, loudest, most obscene string of invectives whose vulgarity would rival the very God of Foul-Mouthedness, should one ever exist.

This has been a test of the Emergency Tourette’s Disorder System. This was only a test.**