Let’s fast-forward to 300 takeout coffees later
I remember when Psychofag sent my blog to the Veggie Patch. I resigned before they could even think of firing me.
I was so glad to get away from them. Was a hard decision, but not that hard.
Then that loser piece of shit sent my blog to Phillips. I was worried about that for a while because I liked that job.
They ended up realizing how overworked I was and gave me a promotion.
I think about that when I start to type out how much I want to inform Howler Monkey what an oxygen thief she is because she clearly does not seem to know.
Then I wonder if Psychofag is still stroking off to a woman — me — and trying to figure out what to do with that info.
Then I think about whether I’d be upset if I had to dig into my Fuck You Money to fund my lifestyle for a while or whether I’d be sad at never seeing my Momma bop Howler off her treadmill on camera.
I hate it when people whose grasp of grammar and storytelling is weak BUT they edit MY shit. Oh my god, I saw something that got published in my name — something I’d written PERFECTLY — and even my staff said we were sad to see it butchered by the time it went live but we promise it wasn’t us.
I told them I don’t blame them and honestly what does it matter in the long run.
But it does matter. I am the gatekeeper of literacy and it looks like I can’t write my own way out of a paper bag.
In any event, I’m going to gander how that one votes. And I’m going to gander that it’s opposite of me, since neither of us can find a redeemable quality in the other and I assume that extends to all areas.
Anyway. It’s Election Day in America. I’ve only allowed myself to watch The Hallmark Channel all day. And tonight, shit, it’s already dark so I may just go to bed. Since I was up at 2 a.m. cleaning my fucking porch with this election-induced insomnia.
If there’s one thing that being at the beach for half a week did for me, it’s to know that dealing with people and things that don’t bring me joy need to be Marie Kondo’d.
I promised myself I will never say tRump’s name again when he loses. I don’t want to hear his voice or even THINK about him.
As for the other, meh. Not interesting enough to hate.
After I got my tattoos, my non-tattooed friends asked if it hurt.
I said, no, just annoying. Like when some limp-licked asshole keeps jabbing you with his wet noodle and you’re just lying there, waiting for him to call time of death on the nonsense and leave you alone.
That’s what it feels like talking to certain people. Like, it won’t kill me to interact with you but it’s going to leave a mark, so please fucking finish as quickly as you can.
As for Psycho, I voted for the candidate who won’t strip your rights away. So maybe go do whatever it is you do when you’re not reading me and be a little grateful that I don’t care enough to try to return the efforts to wreak havoc in your life.