How could I tell thee?

How could I tell thee that thou art full of shit? Seriously, though, you must find out that fact for yourself as I myself did not too long ago when I achieved "satori" while taking a dump in an open field in one fine glorious Sunday morning when the sun was at its zenith and shone brightly upon me. My mind was racing like a ballistic missile through space. In a flash, I took stock of my life and I realized I was stupid and dumb and full of excuses and phony rationalizations. Since then I've been at peace with myself. Flashbacks have been swiftly dealt with; homicidal urges have been acknowledged as normal and stupid and thus discarded; recollections of romantic failures and triumphs have been seen as efforts of finding out about my attraction to the fair sex and not accurate assessments of my true worth. In the end, I must account for myself and I did. Self-honesty is the first step toward liberation from delusions and excuses.

Still, I would have to tell you that my blood boils each time I think of the cheap insults the motherfucker Asshole dished out at me. I can't help but get astounded at his stupidity for playing with fire and his pettiness. No wonder his dog hates his guts. It didn't him to its betrothal with a bitch at the City's Animal Pound. He(The Ashole, not the Dog) is a vile and loathsome animal deserving the most painful punishment.



(to be continued)