Monday, March 13, 2006


I got irrationally angry last week when I heard that a co-worker of mine was taking a vacation to Puerto Rico. Now, the fact that I myself had just gotten back from vacating in Los Angeles notwithstanding, there was a still that twinge of emerald rage, as if my id was saying, "Why is that cocksmoker going away for yet another week this year to a fucking beautiful island in the fucking beautiful Caribbean, and not me? Is it time, again, to beat someone to death with a garden-weasel -- so near to the last time?" I swung between that impulse and the lighter, funnier, "I am going to secretly put radioactive isotopes into that dousche's couch cushions so that he'll silently be rendered sterile while he watches 'Nip/Tuck.' "

This just seals the People's case for me being a mean, hurtful Grabby-Gimme, gorging everything in sight like an insatiable radula of bottomless wanting.

Not to say I do all my wanting sans slacks, but that is sometimes the case.