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Jett Superior laid this on you on || November 21, 2000 || 9:28 pm

Grrrrrr.

Brrrrr.

Those are the two prevailing sentiments this evening. Today classifies as Yucky Day Extraordinaire, for reasons that are my own, a.k.a. None Of Yer Fuckin’ Biz-ah-ness (ya mooly muthafucka!). I am just mad and sad and upset and overwrought and overspent and overblown and overfuckingdramatic. My stomach is all knotty and I want to break things. Fuck things. I want to break people.

Look, I know that violent tendencies are severely frowned upon in our society. They are no longer punished as heavily as they once were, but they still aren’t exactly rewarded. I know also that I am a trusty grade-A role model for three little bodies and minds who are highly perceptive and intelligent. I seriously have no desire to fuck that one up.

But DAMN, for all the good it does me to try and BE good, I could just let go and be bad. I could be the perpetually doggedly bitingly bitterly hateful-souled sarcastic ugly-acting dirty cunt that I was born to be. This whole sainthood thing ain’t working out. I would make a really great bad guy. Except for that damned conscience thing. It fucking gets me every time, because it utilizes my maternal grandmother’s voice, who really WAS a fucking saint and who has probably made her god-linens two sizes too small from crying on them. As a result of observing me, of course. Because I learned to say the word ‘fuck’ and because I now use it so comfortably and copiously. Anyway, back to the breaking people thing….

If you have never landed a good punch on someone, I highly recommend it. Especially square in the face. VERY cathartic. I am gonna admit something right here, in just a sec. Please seat yourself comfortably in a chair, preferably with arms, so that you can grab them tightly. Have your inhaler or your Phenobarbitol or whatever the fuck coping mechanism you utilize ready and waiting. I warned you, douchebags.

I whipped someone with a car antenna one time. I was 13. It felt really, really fucking good. She was a couple years older and she pulled a knife on me. “Self-preservation!”, you cry, coming to my defense.

Nuh-uh. You and I both know that using that car antenna as a weapon of defense may have been acceptable. But I was there. I saw it. I whipped the total shit out of her with it. FLAYED her, man. It was most assuredly overkill. Even I can admit that. Shit, I could admit it at the time, however immature I may have been. After I started beating on this girl with this whippy metal rod and the adrenaline was flowing and the “Bow before me, thou lesser being!’ button was pushed and I heard the whip-crack sound of it slicing the air and her cries punctuating my pounding hatred and heart I found it difficult to stop. Her whimpering and the modest crowd’s stunned silence afterward were so dissatisfying, so anticlimactic.

Sufficiently horrifed yet? YOU goaded me to write. You asked for it, on a day like today.

You did.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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