A little Free Floating Hostility

A Little Free Floating Hostility

More than anything, I guess it's to vent my spleen. There's not gonna be a lot of structure to this post...just got a trillion and a quarter things pissing me off (and it's a couple days yet to go before Fuck Off Friday....)....just trying to get a couple out of my head before they give me cancer of the somewhere really painful....

• Getting written up at work. I won't go into too many details, because it's boring as hell. But it pisses me off. Pissed at myself, because I know better. Pissed at the job, because what I got written up for is what I think of as "The Minor Cause of The Week Made Major," and I feel like I happened to be on the slot on the roulette wheel that landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.
• I work with children. Have I mentioned that? Not literally. That would almost be more gratifying, because children occasionally make advances in ability and character. No...I work with a lot of spiteful people in positions that don't do a lot for them spiritually or intellectually. And instead of using that free mental time toward something constructive, they instead project their own frustrations onto those they work with. It's like some latter-day form of vampirism.
• This gasoline shit is wearing me out. Finding somebody to lay this blame on, is wearing me out. Comes down to I'm either gonna have to move, or find cheaper transportation if it goes too much higher. Fuck those gas people for actually making me utter the words "$3.35 for gas? Damn that's a great price!" If I wanted to sound like a retard, I'd wear a nametag that says "Hi, I'm Sean Salisbury."
  
• The guy who flipped me the bird for no reason I could ascertain at the stoplight near 25th street the other day. It was a 3-second, sustained bird with a nod from the bird-flipper for emphasis. Sorry. I'm not so great at sign language. Perhaps if you could help a brother out. Maybe a sign: "You nearly ran me into that ravine while you were picking your nose, talking on the phone and singing along with the Dropkick Murphys."
• Myself, for not thinking quickly enough to respond to said bird with anything more than gawping surprise. And while it crossed my mind that the man in the Nissan Maxima might have been my "End-of-my-Life guy," where I do retaliate with a bird of my own and he finishes me with a shotgun with the word "Vengeance" carved into the barrel with a dog's tooth, I can't even say that I was even that progressive in my thoughts. Mostly, I was just surprised.
• Dropkick Murphys, for making such a fine rockin' record that I may have damaged my hearing. It's been a while since I've had to listen to a something that has to be listened to so loudly.
• My mailman. You know, I realize that popular culture has largely passed me by, and that most of the issues of Rolling Stone that come to my house sit on the back of the commode for a couple weeks until I throw them into the recycle bin. But still. Why can't my mailman (or Femail Man, if that's the case) fold the magazine vertically, along the cover, instead of horizontally, thusly breaking the spine of the magazine. Like I said, I don't generally look through the magazine more than once, but that shit just kinda irritates me.
• Myself, again, for getting too many magazines. Honestly. How often do I shit? Do I really need this much reading material?
  
• Sports Illustrated. For being such a useless bastard of a magazine. I don't like Sports Illustrated. Doesn't do much for me. I think this is the sports magazine made for 60-year-old men. I don't even read it while I'm shitting.
• The Sporting News. Much more readable, but equally as useless. Considering that I have an interweb connection. Also, what's this shit where you subscribe for 3.4 cents an issue, but once the introductory rate's up, you pay $8.44 plus a nonvital organ for each issue? Fuck that. You useless, outdated periodical.
• Myself, for sleeping.