The Clash

I would love to go on a rant right now.

A really filthy, vicious, hair-tearing, spittle-flecked, aneurysm-inducing, sphincter-straining, "fuck-you-and-everyone-who-looks-like-you" berserker rage.

The kind of scrotum-splitting psychopathic melee that Jesus would weep at.

The verbal equivalent of a Gyppo wedding brawl, bare-knuckled and pickaxe-handle swinging, last-man- standing eats the bowels of his enemies children kind of textual "EAT MY SHIT" tirade.

The sort of ice-blooded, growl-voiced monologue that makes large dogs whimper and revealed miscreants beg for mercy.



Its a good thing, then, for certain people, that the Good Lord, in His Infinite Wisdom, has blessed me with a cat..

Which I can kick to fuck, and further, just to calm me down.