I'm not feeling very well these days. Not sick, just, not well. I'm in a mood. A funk. I'm so bored I could kill myself. I have a very short temper. Today, a porsche wouldn't let me into the lane I wanted, in spite of my turn signal and abundant charm, and I missed my exit. I think I called the driver a fuckity fuck-ass fuck face, and flipped him off while he was speeding away. No, Leila was not in the car. When my hair falls into my face, I feel like screaming. My jeans keep falling down, and I want to shred them in the food processor, except I don't actually have a food processor because my house is too damned effing small, and I want to move. See?
There's a Calvin and Hobbes pic of Calvin and he's angry which is indicated not only by the expression on his face, but also the black scribble above his head. I did a brief internet search for the pic, but I couldn't find it. Anyway, that's how I feel.
I completely feel your rage, Bored Housewife, though I think I might have tailed the gentleman in the porsche!
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