It's Monday, get the fuck out of my way

These boots were made for stompin'...



Could I truly be the psychopathic bitch you've all come to know and tolerate if I didn't have the occasional violent outburst? Well, could I? Don't sit there cowering, bring mommy her bitchy boots and then quiver in silence.

Normally, I'm a peaceful little hippie with an overwhelming desire to avoid confrontation. But there are times, like, say, Monday mornings, where my inner Attilla pops its head out of one of the many caves inside my skull and says "Time to fuck somebody up, you ho-bag." Therefore, I have decided to compile a list of ways that you, too, can get one or both of these boots right up your ass.

• Grab 'hold of my inner lady bits with a cold metal clamp, proceed to twirl the clamp, and then tell me "Oh, that doesn't hurt" as the remaining color drains out of my face and I break out in a full-body cold sweat.
• Attempt to hold a high-speed and meaningful conversation with me before I've been awake for a full hour yet. Thou shalt not.
• When I see an actor or actress and say, "I'm sure I've seen him/her in something else before...", make sure you quickly assure me that this person just has "that generic look" and therefore, I do not actually recognize this person. No, fucker, if I say I've seen that ho in a movie before, chances are, I have. Do not doubt me.
• Hide my Geritol. This offense might go beyond a simple stompin' though, and pass right on to serious beating. With my walker. I might, in fact, put my whole walker up your ass.
• Bring your small children to a nice restaurant, then let them scream at top volume right next to me as I'm attempting to converse (or conversate, if I am with Flanella Jo) and eat my $14.00 appetizer. Do you really want me to get in touch with my inner Fat Bastard?
• Send me repeated emails advertising the jack rabbit vibrator (when you come out with the Jack Hammer vibrator, then we can talk) or ads for improving my penis (my alleged schlong, thank you very much) that say things like "Imagine a new huge Pecker full of energy. Just huge. Smash the ladies like crazy!" Because that's what we ladies want, you know. To be smashed like crazy.
• Wait until you see me come in with a bag of takeout food, then stop me in the hall and attempt to engage me in an intense conversation about converting and cropping a graphics file. Do you see my food icing over as we talk, or rather, as you talk and I squirm and look for an escape route? Your graphics file does not need to be warm to be enjoyed, unlike my lunch. For fuck's sake, woman, let me eat!
• Interrupt General Hospital for breaking news. Does anybody think I seriously care that there's a tornado bearin' down on my neighborhood when I need to find out who fathered Courtney's baby? Priorities, people...

I feel better now. If I haven't mentioned you here, and you'd really like my boot up your ass, drop me a line and we can work something out. I am nothing if not an accomdating bitch.