Like a two-year old
Posted by TFG on 26th May 2004
Not just cranky, but tired and cranky.
Remember how impossible those days were? Little effer wouldn’t go take a nap, just sat around crying and yelling, all cranky. And tired.
That’s me. There’s absolutely nothing that could be done to make me feel any better.
Now, if you want to try — a pound of ribs, a big old wedge of iceberg covered in bleu cheese and crispy bacon bits (real bacon, damnit, and CRISPY), a twelver of Shiner, and a gallon of that raspberry-chocolate truffle ice cream just might be the ticket a good start. Just leave it on the front porch, holler the code word, and run.
By the way, am I really a reverse snob?
By the time you’ve absorbed his assurances that he’s jes a bumpkin who dunno nuthin about nuthin he’s already removed the shiv from your back and wiped the blade.
Others have levelled that charge at me, and I am always perplexed. If I am anything, I am a common man, and I basically just want everybody to get down off their horse, have a beer and a rib, and relax a little bit. Even Aaron, whose very dangerous blog scares the bejeesus out of me. I imagine him as that X-Man* who can pick up cars and tanks with his massive brain power and hold them stationary, while playing a hand or two of Omaha Hi-Lo (that he just learned), and re-coding Windows to work on a durn Mac just out of spite.
Really, anybody who finds my blade in their back has usually done it to themselves by dumping the clutch while they’re in reverse. Not much to be done about that, except maybe sheathing the machete, and where’s the fun in that, I ask you?
* This is the X-Men of my youth, about 30 years ago, and I’m not sure if I’m really right about the exact comic book. Anyway, he was bald and wore glasses. Might have been in a wheelchair. Pretty bad-ass mofo…never even sweated when the heat was on.
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