School Bus

I hate fucking school buses- with a passion. If they aren't driving 20 miles an hour under the speed limit their fucking flying down one lane roads, towards you. And fucking christ, they are ugly as hell. Fucking loaves of bread on wheels. And the color? Orangey-yellow that is reminiscent of squash soup that has been puked up all over the floor. I have a strong desire to drive a semi head-on into one and when they are sufficiently stopped, throw a molotov bomb into an open window and watch it explode... pieces of whiny snot nosed brats all over the road. Then stick around to enjoy the smell of burning bus and flesh.

The Afterlife

Want to hear what I think happens to you after you die? It's not cynical...

Let's say for whatever reason, heart attach, horse crash, appendix malfunction... you die. Poof. You start to feel like you're floating, but there's no water or mushrooms around. You're in a long tunnel without a trace of graffiti anywhere. At the end of the tunnel is a bright light, like what you see when you're struck by lightening. And you hear a voice saying, 'Come closer, all will be well.' You float toward it and when you get to the end of a tunnel you see a termite.

(Yes, a termite. Have you ever tried to get rid of those things? There has to be some kind of divine intervention at work.) So the termite asks you if you're ready to enter the afterlife. And you say, 'Mind if I float a little longer? This is really neat'. But the termite says that time is short, and says you must enter the afterlife, but first you must perform an act of penance. (Not stomping on the termite is a big one, besides, you don't want to stomp on him in your bear feet.) Anyway, the termite says that to show your penance, you must rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.

You see, it's harder than it seems because you're ethereal, your hands go right through you. So, to get to the afterlife you have to prove you're worthy by going through with the bizarre sensation of putting your hand through your head. (You can practice with a partner now if you wish...)

So, you may be asking, what does the termite do next? Well, I've changed my mind... it's a cockroach. (Amazing how my beliefs about the afterlife can morph so quickly, eh?) Once the cockroach gives you admittance, you pass through a gateway, where your life is reviewed. If you had a good life, you are returned as a baby, ready to begin anew. If your life was miserable enough that the Committee decides you need a break, you move onto the next world.

You may be asking yourself, riveted by my vision of the afterlife, is in the next world? You won't be disappointed, I promise you that. Munchkin land!

Satisfied

Did you ever notice how substandard things are nowadays? This definitely includes people. People can really suck, particularly if you are depending on them. Even when things go basically okay, they still suck. I'm demanding. I want things: piping hot, very cold, neat and clean, NOW. And everyone, for the most part, lets me down. Except me. I don't let me down. Hell, I know me better than I know anyone else. I know what I like. I know what pisses me off. So yeah, I'm good to myself. I treat myself better than I do other people.

Most people are hamstrung by things like affection for fellow employees, honesty, desire to appear to be a 'nice person' and other crippling limitations not suffered by the truly powerful, successful and happy. But I say to hell with people if they don't like you. A bottle of single malt scotch can be awesome company after a long day crushing people.

I guess this is the 'satisfied' blog- because no matter what anyone says or thinks I am content with myself as company and plan on continuing to climb up the food chain... with the end result being the WFTIRLTA getting fired.

Federal Offense?

So I went out stalking, er, I mean I went out for a walk this evening... I know, weird that I was walking instead of jogging or sprinting, right? There is a really good reason behind that. I find it difficult to scope out the area at higher speeds. To really get a good look at your surroundings there is nothing quite like a late night walk. You can see who leaves their windows open (read unlocked/easy access), who works nights, what cars are left unlocked, where they are usually parked, who has big fucking nasty-ass dogs etc...

I had a little fun, which has led me to the following question: is it a federal offense to steal mail AFTER someone has already read it? I know it is if you take it out of their mail box, but what about if you snatch it off their kitchen table? Or off their refrigerator? (Hypothetically of course... Who would actually do a B and E just for an awesome postcard she sees hanging on the fridge, come on.)

Fucking Hell

I am an extremely high energy person, and it takes me a great deal to become physically exhausted. But today has kicked my ass. No, not just kicked it... kicked it, skinned it and dragged it through the mud.

Before I left for work this morning I went for a brief (ten mile) run. This is an every day thing, no big deal. I commuted the hour it took me to get from Cincinnati OH to Georgetown KY during rush hour. I was still early so I went by my new house and dropped off my dog, Bundy. Work went as planned... no big deal. Same thing I do on a daily basis. Move corpses, drain fluids. Fill them up with other fluids. You know, normal stuff. Hell, I even left early so I could miss rush hour and get some packing done.

I drove up to my apartment building and saw a huge fucking U-Haul parked outside and my old boss (Dr. K for you long time readers LOL) sitting in the front seat, waiting. He took the day off to pack and move everything in my apartment (less the piano... he knows better than to fuck with my beloved like that). I didn't know whether to shoot him or to hug him. I'm not big on hugs... and my arsenal was packed, so I would have had to ask him where in the truck they were- that might be a dead give away he was toast. I just got back in the car and led him the hour back to Georgetown.

When we were done unloading the van I sent Dr. K home so I could start unpacking... much to his displeasure. I didn't want to deal with him anymore (big surprise). Of course as soon as he left Bundy decided it was HIS turn to go for a run- and being that there are leash laws (and I am now living in the middle of a Baptist campus, and we all know they EAT dogs haha) I was obligated to go with him... another five miles.

Dear WFT

I admit that I spend a LOT of time and energy on planning the deaths of others and visualizing ways they can kill themselves. Frankly, I don't give a damn about people- especially those who I find over emotional and annoying. I mean- hell... if someone slights you, move on and get the fuck over it. Laugh it up at how pathetic they are for targeting you or wasting their energy on bugging you. I find it amusing when people say mean things about me. But some WFT people find it necessary to bitch and moan and whine and beg for attention and claim they can't protect themselves.

I read this shit and start thinking of ways to end the problem. I'm enjoying the thought of a certain WFT person strapped to the hood of a car and scaring them to near death by off roading through thick brush.. Tie them behind the car and let their WFT skin get ripped off by the asphalt. (There is nothing quite like road rash... blisters well up then skin starts pealing off like the peal of a banana...) Beating with a tire iron is always fun. As is using lead pipes. I love the thud from hollow pipe, especially on skulls. My personal favorite, or course, is to lightly restrain the WFT victim and cut off their toes and testicles and make a stew of them. *yummy* (Other methods I approve of are burying the WFT victim alive, beheading, electrocution, firing squad and acid baths.)

Of course, as much as I enjoy fantasizing about killing WFT people, I think I enjoy thinking of them ending their life on their own accord to be just as appealing. Throwing themselves down stairs, under trains, and off tall buildings is always fun. As is setting their WFT self on fire. (I do love a good fire.) (Along with bullet to the brain, falling on chain saws, throwing yourself into a meat grinder, hanging and self-starvation.)

I guess my point is there is nothing wrong with a good fantasy- and there is nothing wrong with sharing it with others. Just don't overreact- it's fucking weak and pathetic.

Sincerely,
Psychopathic Bitch

This Is A Title

I am hollow... empty inside and unable to feel. I don't mind faking every mundane interaction and I don't see it as a big deal. That doesn't mean I don't get tired of it. Why should I have to interact with the living when ninety percent of the time I am thinking of ways to kill them? As of late I have been able to cap the well and bottle the beast inside (mixed metaphors, but screw it). But now it has found its way back out and its claws are tearing me apart from the inside. I don't believe I am insane, but I'm about as far away from reality as you can get. I am the type of person who would be happy to torture and kill a helpless person strapped to an operating table.

Perhaps one day my knife will experience the joy of flesh. I think there is nothing wrong with this or anything else I've done, and that's my right. However, I do know that society views it as wrong so I try to hide these dark and possibly unhealthy thoughts and fantasies. I try and feel guilty when I violate their important commands, but it's beyond me. I don't really care what they have to say or about their rules, but I do enjoy my freedom. So no matter how much I want to go out and have an adventure called the WFTIRLTA, I shall try to restrain myself.

100 Foot Lake Monster

I have always been a handful. I would kill my child if he acted anything like me (though for some reason I have a feeling Des won't be all that different...). Mother tried to get me to play with dolls, but from a young age I knew I wasn't the motherly sort. I will go ahead and say it- I was Satan's Understudy. Every doll or action figure I was given were punctured, dismembered, melted over an open flame, sunk in homemade quicksand, and tortured with minor acid from brothers chemistry set. Their cries for mercy went unheeded.

When I wasn't mass murdering my action figures, I was on the piano. I don't know many six year-olds who have the patience to sit and play music for hours, but it was always something I enjoyed. I suppose it's odd since nobody in my household played at the time. Maybe I just knew early on that death (whether doll, human or animal) and the piano would be my passions. But perhaps the reason is a little more obvious.

My parental unit had a fascination with being at the nearby lake. They used to drag all their kids there and try to get us to swim and boat and so forth. I am not a fan of water (unless it comes from a tap and is used for cleaning). I hear people talk about it like it's a special force or something spiritual. I look at it and see a series of billions upon billions of molecules consisting of two parts hydrogen combined with one part oxygen... and nasty stuff. Nasty, nasty stuff. I look into lakes (or worse, the ocean) and see demons writhing in their tormented agony.

In case anyone is wondering why I have such an aversion to water I will go ahead and write it. If you aren't the least bit interested- move along.

Please keep the accusations of 'creative license', or 'slight exaggeration', or 'blatant lying' to yourself. When I was learning to swim in the lake I was attacked by what must have been a ten foot monster under the surface. I didn't feel it grab me but why else would I suddenly be unable to swim? (Not that I could swim before... but since everyone else could I should have been able to.) As soon as the 20 foot long creature started pulling me under, cocoons of demon butterflies started hatching in my stomach. I certainly didn't know I had those so it must have been the 48 foot creatures kin, trying to help it drown me. I almost died and have never really wanted to go back into the lake of death- or any other lake for that matter.

(Did I mention this disgusting lake monster was at least 20 tons and 100 feet long?!)

Seventeen Other Unseasonably Hot Locations

I met my boss today, also known as the-weasel-faced-twerp-I'd-really-like-to-asphyxiate. A lot of people have the Boss From Hell. I have the Boss From Hell And Seventeen Other Unseasonably Hot Locations. Evidently I act like I am on cocaine. I guess the WFTIRLTA has never worked with anyone with energy or who likes their job. And someone getting a bloody nose while being hyper? Pfft. DRUG TEST!

The WFTIRLTA came up behind me while I was working and I jumped. Caffeine + energetic person + working with the dead = jumpy person. I guess he has never seen anyone do that before. Later he came back while I was trying to stop a nose bleed. Anyone who has worked extensively with Formalin and bleach knows it causes them. (If the WFTIRLTA ever left his cushy office he'd know that.) He confronts me and says I wasn't drug tested because I came highly recommended- but obviously they do things differently where I am from because here they don't tolerate drug usage on the job.

Uh... come again? I clenched my fists and thought if I could just kill him right now I could go to the electric chair a happy camper.

A Horse Story

I don't consider myself a horse hater. Having 4 wouldn't really be recommended if I was. But Booger is a sieve-brained miniature pony who usually just stands around sweating. I haven't had him that long so didn't know that he was a terrible creature to get on the trailer. After pulling on his lead rope and smacking him on the ass for what seemed like the hundredth time (but was actually only the 93rd...) I was fed up and wanting to rearrange his body so his head would never see the sunlight again. I gave up and tied him next to the trailer to go find someone to help me pick him up and toss him in.

Turns out Booger doesn't tie. He jerked back and broke his halter before taking off running. I was a little surprised because, as I said earlier, he doesn't move around much. He's about as active as a 400lb transvestite... and in about the same shape. Anyway- he was running like an idiot trying to get away from the people trying to capture him. But his speed lessened his accuracy, and he tripped over an inconveniently placed piece of dust and tumbled to the ground. Despite the fact that he had officially turned into my personal pestilence, I couldn't help but laugh as he laid there, dazed and looking as dumb as ever. At least he stayed down long enough to be caught.

Job Hunt Over

Not that I was actually hunting for a job... but I got the one I interviewed for today. I start on Monday- and sign the lease to my new house (yes, house... not apartment) tomorrow. A very productive day indeed.

I really don't understand the purpose of a verbal interview. Some people just suck at it because they are shy or too nervous to function. Other people are completely suave and manipulative and can get any job any time because of their mad interview skills. If I was to hire someone I would look over their resumes, call previous (or current) employers and then throw them directly into the job to make sure they know what the hell they are doing. Nathaniel just asked me general questions. Never even asked if I knew the procedure. After the interview he said I was hired because he thinks I am 'wonderful', then showed me around. BTW- it looked like every other funeral home I have ever seen.

But what the hell does 'wonderful' even mean? I know the dictionary definition (admirable, astonishing, marvelous...). My confusion come in to what is he referring to. My skills in talking my way into (and out of) anything I want? My resume? My outfit? The way I can control mass armies of destruction using mind control? (Okay, I can't really do this, but his long monologues were soporific so I was day dreaming.)

End Of An Era

The lease on my apartment is up next month, and I have decided no to renew it. I need a change- it's time to move on. I got out of my job at the morgue, don't ask me how. I figured I was going to have to be on the slab myself before Dr. K gave me up. But he was awesome about it. After stopping by work this morning I went over to the mortuary and spent a bulk of my time in my old roll. Perfecting the dead is something, one of the only things, I am content doing. There is an opening at one of the mortuaries in Georgetown, KY. I am interviewing there tomorrow, and if I get the job I will then go exploring for a place to live.

Something clicked in my brain today as I was draining a dead mans fluids. I never have thought about death before. Not really. I have always been around it, yet it has never crossed my mind that one day I will die. Odd seeing as how I have put myself in many situations where I probably should have died- but until today it never crossed my mind. It wasn't an in depth thought. I didn't dwell on it. I was just the sudden realization that death is a given, and in my situation, it will probably happen sooner rather than later. I am at peace with it.