...
I have just emerged victorious with another goddam allen wrench and a new desk chair. My arms and spine and fingers are quaking from the exertion and I'm too wiped to care how I've soaked through all my clothes and my spanking new leather is getting sweat drips all over it.
I motherfucking did it myself.
I did not go whine to the sturdy, sighted, muscular types somewhere within earshot of my back door. The UPS guy's worried/skeptical/rueful smile said it all. He knew this really heavy box with the picture of its contents on the outside was going to ruin my life, but tried not to let it come out of his mouth. He didn't even marvel that my pants were on when he got here. He took a backward glance at me on the way back to his truck. It telegraphed, "I hope you're here next time I come."
He loves me.
I love him.
I motherfucking did it myself.
So, of course, now I hate it too much to feel happy about my purchase and feel like writing the bastards and telling them I should get my money back because I used up that much in labor assembling it.
Oh, never mind! I'll just situate myself in it like it's always been here and let its virtues or lack thereof sink in through my subconscious over time... my subcutaneous over time. Fuck it! I'll kill the bastards later.
Right now I'll just go over to Murdock's piece of shit potpourri, flip my fingers all over my Magic Mouse and click on wherever it lands... smoking two cigarettes simultaneously and sipping a nice thick cup of mud... fling off my ire and rinse out my fevered brain. Yeah, that's the ticket!
YOU BASTARDS!
Do you realize how much tuition those kids are paying?
always and any time....
