Kids are like the Krazy Glue of my ass!

I know. Your thinking what the hell is he thinking now. I did not know if I should write this before or after my session with Lucy this afternoon. I decided to at least start it. If Lucy makes it more interesting then I will add a part 2 or something. I just want to let you know that this is going to be a fairly graphic post. Not as graphic as the stuff I save for the book. But, it will rank up there. I usually hold back a lot of the details here on the blog. Especially since my mother has gained access to this. But today. I just can't censor myself. Not this time. And, as always I expect the secret 'hate mail' from people I do not even know telling me how horrible I am for getting so aggravated with people that go to Food Addicts meetings. Bring it on Bitches! I am going to wipe your ass with this one!

And so. Those of you who know me in the least know that I have a very small tolerance for small children. And it is NOTHING personal against them. I know. They are innocent little bastards...I know. It has been mostly the parents that I blame for my level of dislike. I wont tell the stories again of how I have left restaurants, stores, and even the movie theater because of unruly little tyrants. Instead I will attempt to describe to you what happens to me when a small child shrieks. The feeling to me is worse then when metal scrapes on metal. Even more chilling then the finger nails down the blackboard. When a child screeches out of control it makes my head feel as if I have just been electrocuted. It stops me in my tracks. It makes me tremble. But it isn't until I observe the reaction of the parent that I find with in myself an uncontrollable rage. When the parent at Walmart simply ignores the belligerent screaming child and takes no action for the child's behavior. This is when I feel murderous. This is when I have to restrain my self from taking my Walmart cart and bashing into the parent over and over again while I scream obscenities to them even louder then the little bastard who started it. You get the picture?

I am aware that this is trivial and terrible. The level of fear that I now have of small children is intense. Even though there are some that I get along with just fine and love very dearly. I find my self avoiding small children at ALL cost. Well. Guess what? A block and a half behind my current residence in Portland is of all things. An Elementary School. Yes that's right! And! For the most part it is unavoidable. To avoid it can carry me blocks out of my way. But, when I here recces in session. I do just that. Lucky for me. I have a hearing problem. A bad one. This allows me to sit in comfort with the windows open and not hear the daunting screeches that come from the play ground. Today however, the play ground came to me!

After work this morning I went downtown to poke around. It was not long before I desired food. So, knowing there would be no food just lemonade and salt water... I hoped on a bus headed towards home to whip up a lemonade with maple syrup and Cayenne pepper. I get off the bus on Falmouth st. I listen hard down the road to make sure recces is not in session. It seems the coast is clear. So. I begin my rock star trek on down the red carpet. Just as I am approaching the school I notice many people with Bright green safety vests on placing equally bright green cones around the school and in the road. Next the police are either end of the street blocking off the road. And by the time I get to my place they are standing guard at the road blocks. What are they going to let these little fucking zoo animals do? I thought to myself. then my stomach started growling reminding me of my mission for a lemonade.

Once inside I am quickly distracted from my hunger as I open the windows and draw the shades. Instead of manufacturing a lemonade drink. I choose to roll a smoke instead. I stand just past the window with enough curtain protection and smoke my cigarette with a suspicious feeling of terror. With each drag I stare at the police man and lock my self into a Bettie Davis like stance. Drag after drag after drag. I should shut the windows and the blinds. I think. I know they are going to let these little rats from hell take to the streets. After plotting several different types of traps that I could set outside. I realize my ill fantasy only to blame the fact that the real reason I cant set traps is because of the police presence. So, I turn my attention back to my drinks.

After the lemonade I prepare the quart of salt water. I take my time drinking it because, as you can imagine, it's kind of hard to swallow. The purpose of the salt water in this time of fasting is to 'make you go'. And that is just what it does. And. I plan on describing it. So. This is your final chance to bail from reading this any further. IF you think you can 'stick it out' then I would further urge you not to take a drink or attempt to sallow anything until you have reached the end from here on out!! With that said.

Ten minutes after the salt water flush I was sitting checking my email. Though, I was still suspicious of the green cones all around outside...I had moved on. It was time to visit the toilet. Timing is everything. A few minutes later it was time now to wipe my ass. So as I went thought the motions I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. It was like an avalanche of screaming kids. Hundreds of screaming kids running all around out side. I felt the zap in my brain and the chill in my bones. I knew I had to wipe my ass as quickly as possible and get up to shut windows after all. Now I was in a frenzy to wipe ass. BUT. There was a new problem. I could not withdraw the paper from my ass. It was stuck. It was like I had dipped it in rubber cement. The more I tried to wipe the more it got stuck. I was now in a full blown state of panic because I really needed to get the windows shut but my finger was stuck in my ass hole. When I finally freed my finger from my ass it was covered in shit. I couldn't reach the sink. So, with all the commotion going on outside. I reach with my clean hand and grab more paper. Only to get THEM stuck in my ass as well. So now I am stuck on the fucking toilet with both hands covered in shit and two wads of paper stuck in the crack of my ass. This on top of hundreds of screaming children running a fucking marathon out side my windows makes me want to cry. And I did just that as I crawled to the shower with the drama of Joan Crawford. I get in the shower and reach towards the knob trying to decide witch shitty hand I should use to turn it on. The sound of the gushing water did not put a dent into the volume of the screaming kids. So I just laid on the shower floor and covered my ears. With my shitty hands.

Time to go see Lucy!