A barrage of vile bile pours forth from my keyboard in my letters to the editor, whether taking out some climate denier, castigating drivers speeding to pass me and cut me off as the lane narrows in a construction zone. Taking all to task and eviscerating them all for their indiscretions, impositions and plain rudeness , afflicting the quality of my life. And then, after finishing my vicious invectives, placing them in an envelope, thinking about them and my reactions... then throwing them all into the trash?
Oh Hell no,no, NO- I pound on upside down flag stamps and get those suckers into the mail pronto, in my maelstrom of vented anger.
One of the grand rewards in creeping curmedgeonism is the release from throttles and safeguards of propriety and constraint . It is but small compensation for having to get up to pee every two hours in the night. No longer shackled by the bonds of “political correctness,” I am freed to gambol freely in fields of outrage, indignation, and vented anger.
A barrage of cabbage induced flatulence clouding toward the damned kid who will not stop kicking the back of my seat on a seven hour flight to London. Take that, you little rug rat !
To the woman with a Las Vegas buffet piled cart, in the 15 items or less grocery line, flipping thru her double cross- indexed partitioned portfolio of coupons delaying further the long line (in which I take up the rear) growing behind her dalliance, I loudly inquire - “I guess you pretty much slept thru remedial math in your school, huh?”
Reserved for the jock oaf who pushes past me in my actuated handicapped door entrance- the new knowledge that I have become very adept at my cane insertion between rapidly moving past me ankles.
That vexing child who was a endearing precious precocious darling at 4 and now has become a snotty loudmouth tedium at eight, insinuated by doting parents into ADULT gatherings, will surely enjoy the hades hot capsaicin-laced treats especially destined by me for her Halloween basket.
For the troll who flashes me in the restroom of the convention I am attending, the flip comeuppance, “Yes, it has a cute resemblance to a penis, only smaller.”
And to the “augmented” eye candy offending an entire Wal Mart in her straining top and barely confining pair of fushia spandex leggings (forever staining my gay fashion sensibilities) - “ I must compliment you on your outfit dear, it’s too bad they didn’t have it in your size.
Yes, the freedom of being able to direct all this bad energy into the ether is soothingly cathartic.
But, surely you do realize I am not capable of any of this at all, don’t you? I’m w-a-y too much a wuss. Condemned to my stifled life of “grin and bear it.”
And this is what REALLY pisses me off !
Old Man Wendt 470 words
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