THE GALL

so i started thinking about what annoys people and what annoys me today... i was thinking about all this on my long, cold-ass walk back to my car this morning because i spent my very last dollar (very last; i have to wait until goddamn payday to eat again) on breakfast for not me, and i couldn't afford T fare. then it occurred to me: we're all spoiled wankers. yes, me too. when i'm done typing this i'm going to drive home in my car (paid for), sit in my huge-ass apartment (w/ butler's pantry!), watch the Pac whup up on the eagles on my expensive-ass flatscreen (present from me to me), and listen to every femur-crunching sound on our badass Klipsch audio system (thank you sam). so i am spoiled, but maybe i feel as if i've earned the right to not take shit from every goddamn person on the planet. rrrrrrrrrrrr! then some people stopped me on the Mass ave bridge to ask directions, and while they were smiling, waving, and driving away i saw one of the bumper stickers on the back of their car: "THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE AREN'T THINGS"... (one of the others read: "BUSH IS A CUNT"... so fair play to them)... food for thought. i instantly melted, and standing there in the sun, over the river, just on the cusp of the ocean i realized how fantastic it is to get worked up over stupid shit. after all, the greatest injustice in my mind is that i seem to be the only one who worries about all these dumb little annoyances, while everyone else goes about their business feeling as if they've never done anything a'tall to warrant any manner of culpability. should i start cramming myself into this self-centered, self-indulgent mold? no man. shit no. that's a no-fucking-thank-you-negatory good buddy. i'm so goddamn proud of myself, i could crap tiffany cufflinks right here in my chair. if i can still get worked up about stupid shit, it means i still care enough about you miserable fucks to worry about you... if not i'd just offer you a big, juicy, gofuckyourself burger to eat. it's what keeps me out of the shadows whence lurks a monster crouched, waiting to attack me testicles-first (and why shouldn't it go for the sack?), to gnaw out my insides and turn me into some superficial facsimile of a person. i suppose that's why i like to start stupid shit with some people, just to remind them they can get worked up over stupid shit. god, i'm such a tricky little bastard, ain't i? muuaahahahahaaaaa! sleep well, kiddies, and remember to stay out of the shadows, the best things in life aren't things, bush is a cunt, there ain't no such thing as a pop-slut, and i'm still keeping a benevolent, watchful eye on you. i want your souls to grow up, be happy, and marry nice jewish lawyers, the lot of you. thanks for getting me so worked up you ungrateful bastards... you might actually turn me into a halfway-decent human being after all. cheers-