Welcome Back, Fucktard Friday!
It isn’t bad enough that a friend of mine thinks enough of my troubleshooting skills that he WAKES ME OUT OF A SOUND SLEEP AT FOUR AM to ASK ME TO DRIVE FIFTY MILES to try to fix a PIECE OF MACHINERY THAT I KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT, but sitting in my computer chair while waiting for the FOUR A.M. COFFEE to brew, I begin to LOAD MY DRAWERS TOTALLY INVOLUNTARILY WITH NO WARNING WHATSOEVER, and by the time I MAKE IT to the crapper, I’ve already DONE ALL THE SHITTING I’M GONNA DO, AND IT’S IN MY DRAWERS. So I strip out of clothes I JUST PUT ON and hop in the shower. All this is in addition to shuttling and shuffling vehicles because the wife’s Escape is in the shop and we’re reduced to the Exploder and the wife’s old Civic, which fits me like a wetsuit.
That’s how my day started. Later, I stood in a junkyard pulling bolts from the head of a Honda so that I might finish reassembling my brotherinlaw’s car. The junkyard was adequately cold and windy that my testes have retracted into my abdomen and I fear only surgery will cause them to return to their former location. Less than an hour ago, I was looking for a magnet in my toolbox and turned my back, only to hear my entire 6′ toolbox fling itself onto the floor, scattering all my tools all over hell and creation, and actually bending drawers. Welcome to fucktard friday. I intend to go out later and look for a cliff to fling myself off. Unfortunately, this is the flatland and I will probably have to use a dumpster.
Well, I suppose you could try to shoot yourself, but the way things are going, you’d just hiccup as the round fired and take off the tip of your nose.
Prolly best to have another cup of coffee, then take a nap.
Here’s hoping your day gets better.
Gerry N.
Fuck coffee. Guinness. Alcohol and auto repair, that’s me.
Forget the dumpster. As you balanced on the edge, it would upend, catching but not quite breaking your cervical vertebrae in an extremely painful way, leaving you to strangle through the bloody quarter-inch hole left intermittantly open to your lungs.
Seriously, couldn’t you tell your “friend” No?
I do not mean to be unsympathetic about the necessary change of clothing. Last time I shat in my drawers was my trip to Mexico… there I stood, brokenhearted, and the last line does not rhyme.
Forget flinging yourself off of a cliff. It’s all your friend’s fault, fling him off instead. :)
Oh my. You are going to have to start skipping Fridays all together! Can’t you burn some sage and cleanse yourself of the fucktardyness?
Other than that, have a nice :-) day?
Yikes.