A Stream of Consciousness Born of Rage

My landlord is a dumb-dumb and his dumb-dumbness is negatively affecting my life. Below are my immediate thoughts as he dumb-dumbed his way around my bathroom fixing a pipe that burst at 9:00 on Wednesday, that he said would take him two hours at most to fix. That was 21 hours ago. An astounding set of excuses and authoritative nonsense later, he showed up and I documented my hemorrhage of wrath (if you're looking for a band name, how dare you NOT use the name "Hemorrhage of Wrath"). Here is the arc of my fury as it happened:

I am a crystallized ball of anger.

Every piece of me tingles with ferocious animosity.

Dreams of fire, pummeling, and bludgeoning dance through my head.

That I will not act upon these impulses makes the rage swirl attack itself and replicate.

For every head of my hydra-of-rage that is slain, two more take its place.

I feel envy for Carrie for she could exact proper revenge upon her tormentors.

My tormentor doesn't even know how his lackadaisical, laissez faire attitude toward pressing problems has shrouded my every good sense and thrown my patience into a wood chipper.

Thus, the anger fornicates and births miniature rage babies that feed on good nature and understanding.
Pacifism and stoner's sense of human interaction used to be my default, but he has adjusted the dial so that I now begin at "f*ck you until further notice".

If someone were to hand me a sack of kittens right now, I would...probably let them go because I'm not a total monster, but I would take two of them, sharpen their claws and throw them at the brewmaster of my rage.

The philosopher Yoda once said, "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." But what that condescending "master" with a hand up his ass forgets is that "fear" is often leapfrogged in to go straight to anger. Anger is appropriate. Well-placed anger leads to hate. Hate leads to heavy drinking...or legislation. But I suppose that was too wordy for Lucas.

Okay, I'm calming down, sort of. Now, instead of wanting to beat my landlord like he was Joe Pesci at the end of Casino, I only want to make all golf courses explode because I know that's the one thing that brings him the happiness, well, that and my torment.

Almost back at my normal level of "let's send viruses to all spammers" level of anger. I'm getting there.

Nope, still want to hire a guy to treat my male landlord like Jodi Foster on a pinball machine.

~Fin~

What you have just witnessed is my James Joyce-esque process for dealing with the unfiltered apoplexy induced by my landlord's confident idiocy (you know, people who think they're smart and talk authoritatively because they maybe watched half of a documentary but are actually spectacular dumb-dumbs). There are no pictures or illustrations because it's now late at night and I've been dealing with this idiot all day.
Thank you for reading, and f*ck my landlord with a million diseased demon dongs.

On a much much lighter note, I contributed to Mynx's art contest. If you want funny instead of my dumb anger poem, check out her blog. http://littlemynx.wordpress.com/2012/10/10/i-dont-think-there-is-anymore-i-can-say/ It's a lot of fun and I had fun with it. It's almost a guest post.