Caterwauling

The highlight of last night ended up being Thundercunt punching Big Giant Pussy out in the hallway for everyone to see and hear.

That and an awesome Democratic primary debate.

You can tell they must be illiterate upstairs if they are too busy fighting to, I dunno, gather information on the possible future leader(s) of the country. (I smell a Hillary/O’Malley ticket, although I did finally feel the Bern for the first time last night.)

Unrelated, I heard a secondhand hello from an old travel buddy from Ye Olde Employment Establishment.

I noticed two fellow former minion types got to attend an event in an exotic place. At first it surprised me that the usual suspects gave up their spot so others could enjoy it. But then I realized, that’s just the culture of that place.

Years ago, my boss surprised me by sending me to Aspen. My then-boss is a very avid skier. So to send my afraid-of-everything, klutzy ass, was … perplexing.

He said he wanted to but he felt like I could use some bonding time with the speakers at the event.

I loved it.

I’ve always had the travel bug, but that’s when it bit me hard. And my restless soul has never been the same since.

So, when I heard that two people like me — one of whom I used to travel with at least four times a year — got to sit at the big kids’ table, I felt a little twinge of happiness.

I mean, most of us are gone from there. At least, most of the good ones, including my old boss. But I love, love, love that the culture he helped to build has stayed intact … and even the little guys get a shot at sharing the perks.

Amazing, that.

Most people come home from work and relax. 

I come home to Thundercunt going ballistic (she still is). On top of that, the fat blonde bitch who reported me now has four big ugly dogs (it’s been two). And while they do have leashes, she dropped the leashes and let them attack our now-starved ducks. 

The ducks won’t leave. I wish they would. They are getting hurt. 

And ask me how much we just love hearing dogs fighting instead of ducks quacking. 

I hope this place burns to the fucking ground. 

The ducks have been lined up upside, quacking their little hearts out, for the past 20 hours.

They’re starving. They’re always hungry. No wonder they became loyal visitors for the human who had the time and resources to feed them all day. (Mom’s time, my credit card.)

The duck-kicking cunt walked by a few times and ran into the throng of birds, screaming “Shoo!”

But then they came right back. We never failed them. Till now. 

Besides, Bitch got enough screaming going on right now upstairs to last me 10 lifetimes. Oh and it’s six a freaking m. I’ve hit my quota on selfish screaming birches, thanks. 

Mom cried all night. I offered to take seed downstairs in the dark but it’s not the same. These are her babies. The only joy in her pain-filled life. 

I dint think anyone would ever realize that they are the only things she sees all week. They get her outside. She is their goddess. 

They are kind and gentle and don’t harm or bother a soul. Just like her. 

This place is a joke. I hate it worse than the last one. “Shoo” bitch still hasn’t procured a leash for her dogs which — if I got my information right — attached a boy walking to school last week. 

But lo, you can beat your husband … Scream at your kids … Threaten your neighbors … Leave dog shit on the sidewalk to bake in the sun … Terrorize wildlife on the lake they lived on before this brand-new dump was ever built … But don’t show an ounce of kindness to God’s native creatures. 

I guess that’s a pretty fucking appropriate way to acknowledge  Columbus Day. 

I wonder if I can buy a dozen syphillis blankets on eBay. 

Mom made the very “truth hurts” observation that all of my friends hurt me in a row this year. 

She’s right. And I don’t have many friends. This is why. 

I’m trying to be happy for one having a special day today. But this same person crushed my soul two months ago, saying he wouldn’t help me to help my mom. I didn’t even ask and all I would have wanted was an idea. 

Then there’s the shower issue. I don’t have the heart to order the last few items right now. And I’ve been looking to this little boy as much as his mom is. 

Then there’s the whole bulkshit of the boy who can send random strangers flowers but I get a happy birthday text and nothing else, like I was nobody special. Soulmate snd best friend, huh?

I could go on but then I’d be getting into work friends too and I ain’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. 

My faith in humanity is shot. And no I’m not wishing anyone else well right now. I wish me well. Since no one else will. 

YOU HAD ONE JOB, MORON. ONE! ONE JOB! ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I say go find these three things, with this one specification, and put them all together in one “thing.” And if you have time, another “thing.”

And I said that knowing the second “thing” would never happen because LAZY MOTHERFUCKER OMG.

And I only asked for the first project because I know they are sitting around twiddling and I worked all day yesterday and I thought let’s share the wealth and make sure we all earn our money.

And now I have to go fucking do it anyway because they can’t read a goddamned e-mail.

I don’t need Trump. I just need the ability to fire people. Without worrying about getting sued because their pwecious widdle feelings got hurt.

ONE JOB. ONE!!!!!!!!!!!

Once upon a time, there was a department (not mine). It had a pretty good manager and three worker bees. One worker bee was a little older than the other young’ns, and way more experienced and more friendly and did WAY better work.

He was also paid the least and treated like dog shit by the fellow bees. I was dating that one. Really liked him, too.

The manager quit. Layoffs happened and the best one was let go. Two little twerps remained.

At some point the more-offensive of the two remaining twerps got himself fired. Good fucking riddance. I hated him. He was the meanest to my guy. And my guy was sweet and kind-hearted and had a nice word to say about everyone.

This twerp was the only person I’ve ever seen him have a problem with. Ergo, so did I and I STILL bristle when people throw this asshole’s name into conversation.

Third little twerp hangs on by a thread. Incidentally, I stopped asking for anything from this group after my friend was gone.

After close to three years, I hit up second twerp for the easiest of the world’s easiest tasks.

Did they re-earn my trust? My respect? My business?

NOPE.

I think Pinhead, Second Twerp and White Comic Sans Font on a White Banner (I’m refraining from comment on that screwed-up stork gift) need to go form their own company. On a boat. With a hole in it. In the middle of Hurricane Erika’s path.

If this Hurricane Erika is anything like the one whose path I crossed in 2010, it’s a fitting end.

Speaking of …

The End.

I got to thinking about a lot of things last night.

Russell quitting his job to take care of his wife. Is that what is going to happen to me if/when Mom gets sicker? The only thing in life that gives me any sort of purpose is work. Or maybe it’s money. But I think it’s work. I do like what I do. But what if I had to take care of her … could/would I? And how long would it take for me to kill us both?

Russell loving his wife for nearly 70 years when every man I know is at his wits’ end trying to figure out how to cheat or at least whack off without being caught.

Oh, who am I kidding. Every man I know … and probably me if I stayed with any of them long enough.

Related, I have nothing to say about the Ashley Madison debacle other than that maybe we need to finally redefine privacy as what we in management know as, “You can see and do all the evil you want. Just don’t speak about it … yours or anyone else’s.”

I’m feeling terribly uninspired. I want to say it’s because of the lack of sleep/peace/sanity. Although the psychos upstairs did give me one good night on Saturday. Or maybe it’s that life is progressing at the speed it’s supposed to be (i.e., not warp speed).

Or maybe I was built for mental warp speed but my body can’t keep up anymore, so I should just get comfortable for a change.

Or maybe I need to leave the party before they ask me to. Or decide for me.

Because, people making decisions on my behalf has never ended well.

I’m thinking about Europe again. And also about cleaning the office. I have enough SkyMiles to get the fuck out of town. I also have a new vacuum cleaner and other supplies in my trunk.

Last time I was planning a trip to Europe, I got shitcanned. Last time I cleaned an office, I got shitcanned. Well I had to shitcan myself but I’ll spare you that sob story.

In any event, I’m getting real fucking tired of planning my life and seeing it spread its butt cheeks and shit all over any semblance of progress on my part.

I made a random comment on a story on Facebook. It was about a bunch of girls on a wine train being thrown off for being too loud. I said let the girls have fun and maybe throw my violent neighbors out instead for screaming at each other, their kids and me for five-plus months.

People commented to say violence cannot be tolerated. Screaming turns to hitting.

Tell that to my HOA. Or maybe that explains why they don’t/can’t do anything … because they get threatened too.

I went to a gun store yesterday. Ended up with pepper spray and a taser for when I can get Big Giant Pussy to sneak his balls out of Thundercunt’s purse long enough for me to zap them.

I’m tired of being afraid that they’ve messed with my car (again). Or that they will mow me down in the parking garage. Or that they could have any power over me.

I survived a stalker. I really don’t need this shit.

Anyway. The guy at the gun store said, “Ever consider concealed carry?” I said, “Nah, I’m a Democrat.” I did not say, “More than you know.”

Last night as Fraggle donned her concrete shoes and STOMPED ALL OVER MY HEAD past 10 p.m. (I mean, she started after 10 p.m.), and I screamed my fucking head off to go to bed already, I thought about that gun. And how I would have shot through the ceiling if I had it.

So yeah, no concealed carry here.

I went to the police and fire stations yesterday. Nice people in my town. Truly. They asked where I live and I said the complex and they said, “Umm hmmm.”

Not only do they know the place, I think they know exactly who I mean. Even though they didn’t say it. They wished me luck and gave me the number of someone I need to call to discuss this further with.

Don’t think I won’t do it.

I just feel bad that even the people who are willing to put their lives on the line to protect me, can’t do it. Says a lot about this world. And that makes me sad.

Maybe I need that trip to Europe after all. I just can’t imagine leaving Mom to listen to those fuckwits all day and night alone with no protection.

For what it’s worth, when fuckwits went silent, I LOVED my apartment. Loved, loved, loved it. It was everything I dreamed it would be.

See what happens when I dream? *crush* I don’t know if it was kind or cruel of the universe to give me a taste of what I’m obviously not allowed to have.

Of course, isn’t that what relationships and jobs are for? WHY MY HOUSE INSTEAD?!?!!

Donald Trump’s new immigration manifesto seems aimed toward the Hispanic community. 

I’ll tell you what. You get rid of that fucking Haitian Nation that’s been loudly tap-dancing on my psyche (and my ceiling), I’ll be your campaign manager. 

People take lunches and vacations and leave at 4:59 p.m. and then ask you to do things for them that were due days earlier.

In other Pinhead Part 2 news, I spent from 6:15 to 7:!5 p.m. trying to do the task I asked them to do. Which would have taken them five minutes. And I still couldn’t figure it out.

In a lesser company, you could count on this cat to become the CEO.

At least they got to leave at 5. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the order of the universe by making them hang till 5:05 to help a sister out.

Oh wait. I can’t call myself a sister. The Paula Deens and the Hulk Hogans and the other people of the world lose their careers over that shit. But kill someone and you get off scot-fucking-free.

I’d rant about the Sandra Bland case, but I’m all out of rage today. All I can say anyway is that the only justice we’ll see will come from karma, not the justice system. I’ll add her arresting officer and the prison staff where she died to my list.

And or what it’s worth, let’s quit excoriating the people who use offensive terms about people of color and start punishing the ones who kill them OK?!?!