iDallas!I was in a good mood this week. I don’t really notice my mood much, but every once
in awhile, it just hits me, and I look around and I see the same old irritating stuff,
but for some reason it makes me happy. Sometimes, I’m just delighted to have the chance
to sit in traffic a little bit longer with the same jerk that cut me off the day before.
Sometimes.
But not all the time. So I take it when I can get it.
This week was one of the good ones.
just to leave the house. People should have to pass some sort of test or at
least some sort of examination before they are allowed out into the world. I’m not
talking about the wackos walking around Westwood (hip part of LA near UCLA), or the
homeless people that dig through my trash. It’s the numbskulls that think its
a good idea to do things like race ahead to turn left or right in front of the
crossing pedestrians at a busy intersection, or the lunatic old man that shot like
a bat right out of the pits of hell right in front of my walking self as he turned into
his parking garage. His frickin’ parking garage!
That’s one thing I’ll never understand about LA… everyone here seems to be
in the biggest damn hurry you’ll ever see, and all to get somewhere they don’t want
to be. Then they leave after a long day doing things they don’t want to do,
and hurry their asses home to watch the news and find out about
everything they missed during the day.
What’s up with that?
Fortunately, however, trouble is an interesting thing in that once you get out of trouble,
you have a great reason to party. Now, that’s what I call a blessing.
people are giving their lives so the blood-sucking corporates can drive a frickin’
Lexus (a very lame car). People just need to live, you
know? And the fuckers want to charge them money for the lousy food that they have to make
for themselves. Maybe next somebody’ll figure out a way to make me pay for the food
I eat in my own house, even though I bought it and prepared it. I’m sure some fucker
somewhere is already working on that. Then I bet they’ll make me pay them for the privilege
of cleaning my own house with my own cleaning supplies. Where’s the love?
That’s what I want to know.