It's not me, it's you

oy.

After a full day of being mean to people and generally chewing on heads, I stop and pause to think:

"did I just not get enough sleep?"

"is my ponytail too tight?"

"did someone, in fact, piss in my Wheaties?" (which, at my house, you know: more than likely)


And then I realize: no, it's not me. It's all you nitwits. You, the guy in the girl jeans who I almost ran over on 4th street--it's barely Wednesday, cheeseball. If you want to make it to all the SXSW shows you're in town to see, please watch where you're going--especially at those pesky crosswalks where you don't have the light. I'll stop if you stop but work with me here. Also, please quit wearing girl jeans.

And YOU, sanctimonious turd in the tan saturn who refused to do more than 25mph driving the ON-RAMP to the FREEWAY, congratulations, you've found the way to make everyone slam on their brakes. Let me introduce you to a little thing I like to call THE ACCELERATOR and also, my foot up your ass.

Aaahaaand youuuuuuuu, Mr. Honk AT ME while you're waiting for me to finish pumping gas, so sorry I wasn't fast enough for ya. No, scratch that, I'm sorry I didn't just flip you off with both hands while tapdancing. Why do I feel guilty being mean to you people?? It's this stupid Catholic guilt, that's why. And even though I'm not practicing anymore, the Vatican still hasn't stopped issuing new ways for me to sin. Thanks so much!


yeah yeah. I know. Sigh.