Fuck, am I in a fucking mood. Don't read this if you cannot abide by my use of the word fuck because I'm letting it fucking fly today. Down to 2 lousy votes to use, am up-to-date on voting for fucking Iron Noder except for Rancid_Pickle, sweet Jesus, man, I feel like Scotty on the Enterprise, except how cool would it have been if he said "I canna fuckin' do it" when commanded to warp them to safety?
Mostly, I'm fucking mad at new fucking mail order prescription company that has fucked up my meds since day one of their takeover after promising the same great service. FUCK. Ten phone calls later, and that doesn't include the calls to the fucking DOCTORS who prescribed the meds to which I'm having all the fucking small print side effects anyone can get but usually don't. Except me, how many fucking people do I have to tell this to?
Here's some fucking irony: I'm on hold, thanking God they're not playing fucking Christmas music yet and not-so-helpful customer rep gets back on line, asks me for the same fucking info I gave the robot and everyone else when she puts me on hold again. Only now it's fucking Bob Marley singing, "Every little thing's gonna be alright..." and I start talking to HIM in my head. "Easy for you to say, dead man."
So, fuck, my mouth hurts, my balance is fucked up, I'm itchy unless I take antihistamines. I'm hungry but things taste fucking weird and my head hurts, my pacemaker aches, I'm alternately too hot or too cold and I can't for the life of me stay awake during a documentary I've tried watching three fucking times called Chasing Coral.
On the fucking bright side, Iron Noder is almost over. Night is about to fall here in New Jersey. Pajamas sound like the best fucking thing with more tea and either pumpkin soup or shrimp and broccoli. I'm out of fucks, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for lending your eyes.
IN