Who Says You Shouldn't Have Vodka For Breakfast?

If I were to be honest with you, I'd have to say that in the last few months, I'm pretty much this;


a loose cannon.

And I'm a couple straws short of going completely


ape


shit

(oh calm down, it's not real.)

on someone, anyone actually, that fucks with me, or someone I love, or someone I like, or someone I don't even know.

And actually, I'm wondering lately if I need to drink more...or less.

And I'm also left wondering if our friends are friends with me out of love? Or fear?

On our Anniversary, Will and I walked the dogs down to our favorite antique shop and treated ourselves to some awesome old Mexican terracotta cookware. I've been eyeing it for sometime now and thought that 5 years (aka 35 gay years) deserved a treat...in the form of clay pottery. How gay are we? There used to be a time when kayaks and new ski equipment was my priority. But, now it's antique cookware???

Welcome to gaytown.

Anyway, on our way home, one of the dogs took a dump in the front yard of someone who was at least 130 years old. Which is cool, I'm all for respecting the elderly, unless they're fuckers. Then, being the loose cannon that I am, if you're a fucker, I don't care if you're on the verge of your last breath, I'm going to tell you so.

And unfortunately, I did. Just not in those words.

I'm not proud of it. But, this is what happened...for better, but probably for worse.

Wednesday took the dookie, then as I was retrieving a bag from my pocket, the 130 year old Satan came out on his porch and said something to Will.

And Will replied to him, "Yeah, we have a bag."

So, being already to throw down, I turned to Will and said, "What did he say?"

And Will said, "He wanted to make sure that we were going to pick it up."

So, I turned to Lucifer, who was flaring his nostrils and staring at us and said, "We're picking it up."

And he said, "Pick it up."

And I said, "I'm going to."

And he said, "Pick it up."

And I said, "I'M GOING TO."

And he said, "Pick it up."

At this moment, there was no going back.

This is the point where I left my body, as I occasionally can do.

Had I been sitting on the couch, this is what you would've seen.



I said, with my voice rising, "What do you think the bag is for?? Do you think that I'm going to pull a poop out of my own ass???" (While miming the action of using the bag to pull crap out of my butt. I can't believe that I actually MIMED THAT ACTION.)

And he continued his assault, "Pick it up."

And my character continued to deteriorate, while my voice raised some more, "Why don't I pick it up and smear it on your face???"

And he said, "Pick it up." (Which I had by now, he was just stuck in replay.)

And then I started yelling, "WHY DON'T I JUST SMEAR IT ON YOUR WINDOWS!!! HUH??? WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?? I'LL JUST SMEAR IT ON YOUR WINDOWS!! YEAH!!!"

At this point, 2 car loads of Mexicans pulled up and I thought, that's it. The whole family is here and we're going to be in a full-on brawl. I'm going to have to say, "Hold on while I set my antique terracotta cookware down some place safe...Okay, BRING IT, FUCKERS!! LET'S SALSA!!"

Then, mean fucker realized that I had picked up the poop (which I wish I hadn't) and said, "Go on, get out of here."

I was beyond evil now. Hell didn't even want me.

So, then I yelled even louder, seriously scaring everyone in sight, "WHAT IF I PUT IT IN YOUR MAILBOX!!! YEAH!!! I'M GOING TO PUT SHIT IN YOUR MAILBOX!! WHADDYA THINK ABOUT THAT!!! HUH???"

No one wanted a piece of me.

He continued with his farewells, "Go on, get out of here."

I turned and while I walked away with my antique pottery, as far as Will was concerned, I had stopped screaming. But in actuality, I had reached an octave that only dogs could hear.




And while some folks have nice wreaths of sunflowers on their front door for Summer, this is what will appropriately be on ours. Giving everyone fair warning.



So, I'm thinking that vodka in my oatmeal in the morning isn't such a bad idea. Or maybe some pot brownies...with tranquilizer frosting.