The day started off bad, as every day does. I hate getting out of bed. Sometimes I consider soiling the sheets, just so I don't have to go to the effort of getting up and going to the toilet. But I couldn't have slept on, because as usual there were stupid sounds coming into the house from outside, like kids playing their idiot games and the moron dads of the street that think it's manly to have a good session with their powertools before they head out for a day at the office, doing whatever pointless job it is people do. Drills, hammers, chainsaws, whatever it was, people were just making a lot of noise and pissing me off - this was the first thing that alerted me to a bad day ahead. I put on some clothes, ate some cereal, went out and found the people responsible and broke their necks. It felt really good. This one guy, his neck didn't snap quite right, and he started begging for mercy. But then I just tore my shirt open and gouged his eyes out with my bare hands. Hahaha, man you should have seen the expression on his kid's face. Little pussy. So then I kicked a few birds to death, because they had been making noise too. Let me sleep, damn it.
Next thing, I decide to go out and face the public. Not content with my breakfast, I thought it would be a good idea if I let my girlfriend take me out and treat me to lunch, so she picked me up and we went to KFC to get me some chicken. Hmm, I love chicken. Anyway, what the fuck is with those stupid drive-thru boxes? They get worse every time, or maybe I just get more pissed off every time. You're always expected to sit there for at least five minutes before they acknowledge that you exist. I've taken to shouting into it to get their attention: "HELLO? IS ANYBODY THERE? YOU FUCKING CUNTS, GIVE ME MY CHICKEN WITH LARGE FRIES! HELLO?" (and on that note, what's with large fries? They're not any bigger than regular fries, you just get more of them. If I order large fries, I want big chunky things that you can beat pensioners over the head with)
Why can't I just fucking drive round to the window, grab the idiot by the scruff of the neck, and fucking shout my order in his ear? Actually, that's a good point, I'm going to try that.
But seriously, get rid of the order boxes, nobody knows what's going on. Why not just stick some old crusty deaf git out there, and have him pull down his pants and we'll speak into his arse crack? What's the point? Can't I just speak to a real human being, who then writes down what I want and puts it in a bag, then I give them the money and drive off? What's with the box? Are you recording us as part of some government conspiracy? Does it steal your soul when you talk into it? No? Then what's the point? If I wanted a conversation with some fuzzy robot voice, then I'd phone Stephen Hawking, or better yet I'd just beat the silly-looking bastard up until he squeals for mercy. But I don't want to.
Well, obviously after the fuzzy box experience they've majorly pissed me off. We drive round to the window, and I've got my hand down by my side ready to whip out the old six-shooter and blow the guy's face off. But then he pisses me off so much that I just freeze. He hands over two Pepsis. Idiot, we ordered a Sprite and some Fanta. What is it about your job that's so fucking hard? You can't remember two drinks? Just fucking give me the right thing, I'm pissed off enough as it is. Then my girlfriend hands him them back and explains that they're wrong, and he has the cheek to say "Oh don't worry about it, it's my fault." DAMN FUCKING RIGHT IT's YOUR FAULT! What, so you're implying that it could, theoretically be her fault, because hell, she had the cheek to point out YOUR MISTAKE! Of course it's your fault, you stupid cunt, just get on with the rest of the order and let us get the hell out of here. Man, these fucking kids don't deserve minimum wage. They should just be regularly kicked in the nuts and be grateful, that should be their pay. It's like four items or something, can't you just stick it in a bag and do your job? Fucking tool.
I suppose there's nothing out of the ordinary about that, people always piss me off when I'm in public. People are lame. I just tried to ignore it as best I can and got the hell out of there. Back in the car, put some Nirvana on, reasonably calm again. I'm talking to my girlfriend about something, maybe how beautiful she is but more likely about how good the Evil Dead films are. We come to some traffic lights, 'Very Ape' is blasting out the car stereo. I'm pretty happy. I see three kids waiting to cross the road, and my Pissed-Off-O-Meter starts rising. I can smell trouble a mile away.
The green man comes on, and they swagger across the road. Yeah, they're really cool with their knock-off Asidas tracksuits and their two-stripe jumpers, or whatever the fuck it is people wear these days to be cool. One of them stops in front of this car that's sitting at the front of the lights in the opposite direction from us. He starts shouting at the woman inside, and pointing out that she is ever so slightly over the line that you're meant to stop at. This kid is like ten years old or something. And he's swearing at her. Shouting at her, giving her abuse, and telling her how to drive her own car. The whole time I'm just sitting there thinking: hit him. Foot on the accelerator, drive forward, hit him. I start shouting "HIT THE LITTLE FUCKER, COME ON, HIT HIM!" My girlfriend tries to calm me down, but by this point I'm raging.
To paraphrase something that the legendary Bill Hicks once said, I think I see a solution: he's on foot, you're in a car. Drive. Hit him. Send him flying into the air. Oh, come on bitch, no-one's going to complain. We all saw the little shit giving you hassle, you think we're going to tell the police? It was an accident, the lights had went green for you and he stepped out at just the wrong time. We all saw it. Come on, it'll be a laugh. But no, the stupid bitch did nothing. She sat there like a wuss and took it all. From a ten year old. People are lame.
