Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Hey! Dumbass!

I'm in a bad fucking mood. The kind of mood that warrants the removal of my person from society and most all outside stimuli save bad afternoon television and greasy drive-through food while being quarantined in my house and restricted from communicating in any way shape or form with anyone in the entire world that I know. Irrationality and crankiness rule me today. So look out. I need a serious dose of attention and don't see that happening. Fucker fuck fuck me fuck you.
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Dear neighbor who stole my trashcan;

I suppose the confusing concept of the unspoken rule was too much for you. The one where you keep your grubby mitts off my stuff because it doesn’t belong to you. Or perhaps you were feeling an overwhelming need to pilfer someone else’s property, like assholes tend to do when they are deprived of the minimum amount of oxygen to complete a rational thought due to their heads being firmly jammed up their asses.

I’m still perplexed as to your inability to read the BRIGHT YELLOW numbers scrawled on the top of our GIANT plastic city-issued garbage cans that we all wheel to the curb every Monday night. In the same place. Every. Monday. Same place. Granted, my can is haphazardly scribbled with my house number, but it's still there. In fucking plain fucking view.

I realize the 5 simple digits corresponding to our house numbers are not that legible, since our homeowners association is notoriously retarded and issued the refuse receptacles before painting “official” numbers on them. And those of us with real lives didn’t adhere to their demand to leave the muck buckets out on a short-noticed pre-ordained night to be marked, yet again, since I was busy getting drunk and laid by the young intern at work that night. So sorry fuckers, I was busy.

But for god damn. It’s not that hard to figure this out. At least for those of us with IQ’s higher than the number of cousins in your family that have been joined in holy matrimony, ay-mayen. Why must you insist on taking the wrong fucking can? This is not an isolated incident garbage stealer. You’ve done this to me before, and I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt. Left your can out at the curb until you got the hint. Or taken mine in right away as to avoid this veiled mix-up.

But this last time. You fucked up again and now you can keep it you stupid shithole. I’m not taking your crappy can in exchange. Your stupid stinky broken pail with the crooked wheel that squeeks so loud it makes my ears bleed and shimmy's back-and-forth with enough force to practically twist my arms off. I’m going to report mine stolen and get a new one. And I know you're the one who stuffed a bunch of garbage into my can after the trashmen had been there. I'm watching you.

And oh, by the way, those little brown things stuck all over the inside? And that overpowering stench that slams into your olfactory senses upon cracking the lid reminiscent of a scene from CSI? Those are the oozing, pustule-laden, rotting maggots from the bag of raw chicken I threw away on a blazing hot summer day a few months ago, 4 days before pick-up day. Enjoy my trashcan you filthy thief, cuz it’s yours now. Dumbass.

3 comments:

whitey said...

You are the best ranter ever. Give them a full litter box, while you're at it.

Bitter Betty said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
No_Newz said...

No fair... "This post has been removed by the author."??? ;)
Nice rant!
Lois Lane