Stab. Stab. Stabstabstab.

Can I bitch about people again today?  Please?  I’m still sick — sicker, actually — and everyone is aggravating me.

Like the doctor.  Who refuses to call me back telling me that, yes, she can fax in a prescription for prednisone for my poor, asthmatic ass.  Because I have a cold.  And it’s settled in my chest.  And I have asthma.  And my lungs are constricted and clogged and inflamed from coughing.  And my inhalers alone aren’t doing it.  And because this happens EVERY time I get a cold.  But no.  Let’s fuck around instead.  Who cares that I can’t breathe and I have a headache and am slightly dizzy due to not enough fucking OXYGEN and it’s snowing like a motherfucker and driving all the way to the doc is less than safe but the pharmacy is four blocks away.

Fuck that doctor.  I need to stab her.

And then there are the celebrity bloggers.  Yes, again with this.  It’s on my permanently irksome list.  And every week someone new starts spouting off about how famous they are, what a celeb they are.  Um.  Yeah.  No.  Not. You’re a fucking blogger.  Unless a few million people other than bloggers know who you are, you’re not famous.  You’re just a blogger with a big, fat head.  Paris Hilton laughs at you. (Of course, we also laugh at her but that’s not the point)

Stab.  (Yes, I’m channeling The Bloggess today.  Can you channel those who aren’t dead?)

And then there are my dogs.  I love my dogs.  But I am NOT getting any more.  We’ve had Dazey, the beagle, for like three years.  We got her when she was one.  She peed in the house for two years.  She spent her first year in an outdoor kennel and just did NOT get the whole going somewhere else besides wherever you are to pee thing.  We got Leonidas, the rott, last year. He peed in the house for months but he was a puppy.  He’d just stopped peeing in the house and we hadn’t had more than the occasional accident in a good, long while when we got this…  puppy.  Bug.  The puggle.  And, again with the peeing in the house.  I am tired — fucking bone tired — of having wet socks.

I shall stab them with nylabones.  All of them. On principle.

And then?  And then there are all the people, all over the place, who don’t listen to me.  It starts with my family, moves on to friends and forum pals and pretty much everyone I talk to.  I am a genius, damn it.  Well, ok, maybe not.  But I rarely open my mouth if I’m not pretty sure I’m right.  And I don’t mean opinion stuff here.  I mean stuff like telling Taylor to take $140 out of our paypal account and $60 out of his prepaid Visa thingy to pay a bill when he goes out to do so and him calling me to tell me the paypal is all fucked up and what the fuck, why did it decline his request for $160?  Yeah, dude, it’s cuz I said $140 cuz there’s only $150 in there.  Or when I say something like…  shaking that soda bottle will make it fizz over when you open it…  and the person shakes the bottle anyhow then looks all startled when it fizzes over when they open it.

People just don’t listen.  Not even just to me but at all.  They pay no attention to what anyone else is saying, even when they asked a question.

I’m going to stab everyone then become a hermit in the mountains of Tibet or something.  I am.

Now that everyone is dead, I may just stay here though.  After I go to Walgreens and help myself to the prednisone (the staff is dead, right?).  Stupid doctor still hasn’t called.

Stab. Stab. Stabstabstab.