Every now and then I need to vent. I am not talking about the kind of “hold me while I cry” type of venting. There is a time and place for that, but that is not what I am talking about.
No, I am referring to the moments in which I storm around the house, yell and scream and bring out the uncivilized barbarian. Here is a big clue to my identity, that is an old nickname of mine. The Uncivilized Barbarian. I won’t bore you with the entire story of how I earned it, but I will share a little glimpse.
Someone once made a bet with me that I couldn’t open a steel can of apple juice with nothing more than my hands. I took that bet and I won. Here is the secret of how you too can tear open one of those cans.
- Tear off the label and identify the seams of the can.
- Start pounding the can with the flat of your palm. Take care to stress the seams.
- In time you should see a gap begin to develop between the seams.
- Carefully pull the seams apart.
That is the four step process I used to win the bet. I was lucky that I didn’t cut the hell out of my fingers, but that is in part because I was fearless. That is the beauty of being an 18 year-old male, young, dumb and stupid. But that lack of fear is part of what gets you through some events. You don’t know enough to realize how dumb you are acting.
Back to the ranting. When I really am bent out of shape I really do like to yell, or perhaps bellow is a better term. If you believe in astrology you might be interested to know that I am a Taurus. It takes a little time to get me angry but once I am there I want to gore, stomp and destroy.
I have a heavy bag in my garage that I use to blow off steam. Tonight I pounded the bag and cursed a number of people and things.
To the guy driving the beat up Ford that thought it was necessary to speed through the parking lot. You came damn close to hitting me and then had the gall to give me the finger when I yelled. On the off chance you stumble onto this blog may I wish you a hearty fuck you and encourage you to go rub some salt up your ass.
To Hamas I share the same feelings of good will. Here is a novel idea for suicide bombing. The next time you have the urge try shoving a stick of dynamite up your ass and see what happens.
To the jackasses who think that it is ok to beat up children I wish for you to share the terror that those poor kids must feel. What the fuck is wrong with you and why does it feel like every week I read about more kids being murdered by a parent.
What the fuck is up with that. How can you do that. It is hard enough to understand why people murder but this type of destruction is beyond me.
On a slightly different tack but related I have a hearty fuck you to parents who abrogate their responsibilities. You know who you are. You are the people who drop your children off at the play area at the mall and then leave them there unsupervised. You are the people who think nothing of sending a sick child to school. We are not talking about people who are strapped for cash and cannot afford to stay home with the kids. No, this is for those with the means to stay home with the kids but refuse to.
I spent a good part of this evening covered in toddler snot. I ought to go on Fear Factor because I don’t know what the fuck those guys can come up with that is any worse than the crap I have been smeared in. I don’t like it, but it comes with the job. It is in the description of what your role as a parent is.
Under subsection 1.87 it specifically delineates that your children will sneeze, spit, cough, crap, puke and lick you. And if you are male it also notes that they will find more means to kick the crap out of your testicles than you can possibly imagine.
I grew up with three younger sisters and one older. I am faster, more capable and better prepared to protect that region of my body than an angry junkyard dog and his bone. Yet somehow I have found myself close to being doubled over with more frequency than I care to admit.
Let me tell you how I know that I love my children. It is these moments, the times in which I have been smeared with various substances and the occasions in which one of them has managed to destroy something of mine that I truly understand unconditional love. I grit my teeth and tell them to remember this moment because one day when they are a teenager I’ll show up at their school in my underwear and tell them it is payback for that time when they were two.
Tonight I looked out my window and saw that there was a woman walking her German Shepherd in front of my house. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it but the freaking animal decided that my front lawn was a fine place for fertilizer and I just knew that she had no intention of cleaning it up.
You may wonder what clued me into this. Probably the fact that I watched her start to walk away. So I ran outside and asked her to clean it up. She offered a fake apology and then told me that she had forgotten a bag to clean up after the dog and got ready to leave.
I was prepared for this and told her that we had a full service establishment and that she would be leaving with a doggie bag. I extended my hand and offered her a plastic grocery bag. She tried to decline but I suggested that she reconsider because somehow I knew that she didn’t want her white top to be stained with dog crap.
She did accept and took care of cleaning up and we were able to avoid the literal example of shit flying.
But I still have to ask myself. What the hell has happened to us. Why do so many people feel like they are entitled to leave their crap for someone else to deal with. And related to that why do so many people think that because they are having a bad day they can fling their crap at us without any consideration for the possibility that we might be dealing with our own shit.
Shit, shit, shit. Shit happens. Suck it up and deal with it, but don’t expect the rest of the world to always ignore our problems to deal with yours.
In short, the lack of personal accountability has me bent. But that is a story for a different day.