So, I am driving around and listening to my Ipod (is this legal?) and the song "Dirt Room" comes on--a Blue October song. Now if the band finds out I am downloading their music, my ass is in big huge heaps o' trouble cuz I think that technically breaches the restraining order (chillax--I am phukyn joking). Anyways, it is a new song off of the new CD called "Approaching Normal" (wow the multiple entendres of that title) and when I originally heard it, I was also watching the killer video and was so unnaturally obsessed with it that I really did not hear the lyrics, but today, thru the almost deity-like, hot pink Ipod Nano, the words blasted thru my ears like some sort of high frequency, euphonious catharsis.
So just savor this sampling of lyrics so you can catch my freakin drift here man:
I'll be standing by your back door
Reaching for the knife in my coat
I'm going to put it to your throat
You sweaty piggy, you're a bad man
What a fucking sad way to go
Your mother raised you as a joke
I should have wiped away a burden
Use the curtain in the kitchen to choke
You.
You think you own me
You should have known me
You took the future and the food off my family's plate
You'll think you'll use me
You take my money, but it's useless
When you see what I do to you
Killer, right? So upon hearing these lyrics, I begin to reflect in my scum lined emotional pond way back into yesterday when the burgeoning Exopotamus told me how he did not appreciate all the "vitriol" I have spewed about he and his lady friend on Facebook. Oh really? Now, to be perfectly fair, he said this in response to my comment that I was not at all phukyn appreciative of the lies he has told about me to his family and others. Oh, and by the way, have I spewed vitriol? Well, I don't think so since every damned word I have printed has been, um.....true.
So in keeping with the idea of expressing my angst through bitter witticisms, please indulge me the following fake letter to the blossoming ex-spouse.
Dear Dickhead,
I want you to know that I am relatively sure that you are not even good enough to breath my air. Your sidekick/butt pal/corn fed girlfriend is a freakin farm animal and I agree that the two of you may eventually need a place out in the country since her girth alone constitutes her as livestock. Can I get a moo-moo? And listen, even if she does not win a ribbon at the rodeo, I want you to know that you both have my blessing. I mean, how two people as common and desperately unattractive as you both are found each other and dared to get naked or (jesus lawd dare I say it out loud) have intercourse is in all likelihood a sign of the apocalypse. I hear the thundering of the seven horsemen...oh...wait...that was just y'all. Never mind. But can I just say "thigh master"? Anyway, I am now and ever shall be grateful for the first hand warning of the end of your world as you know it--apocalypse or no. While basking in the glow of what I believe will be your misery upon reflecting on my absence later down the road, I have now been able to look forward to each day as if it was my last. Each day that moves me further from my years in indentured servitude and designated driving is brighter and more filled with joy than the day before it. I have been able with the support of friends and Ted, to see myself for the person I really am and the value that I actually have. So in short, this is just my way of saying, "thanx man."
The moral of this rant is: There is a definite line, however thin, between forcefully ejecting the truth in an unflattering but really amusing fashion and "spewing vitriol." And if the vitriol fits, then I say 'wear it you sleazy creepy exasperating muthr phukyr."
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