And Where's The Big Fucking Joke?

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What the FUCK was I thinking?

Fuck was I really thinking? I don't know. I don't know what's going on half the time in my head. Yesterday, I just got up and started exercising. Out of the fucking clear blue sky. Push ups, sit ups, everything. I even made some weights out of jugs of water and I curled and power lifted those until I couldn't lift those fuckers any more and I felt great. I really did. Then, I went through the rest of the day, and some of the next day.

I got up after having his really fucked up dream. I was helping two guys with some work they were doing. It was up on some scaffolding, but not that high up off the ground that death was absolutely certain if you fell. I remember the scaffolding, a long ladder, and being on the ladder and working with them and then finding a freshly killed corpse and money. Stacks of money stained with blood. I saw it, but they didn't know I did.

I then tried to tell them I had to leave and they kept making excuses for me to stay. There was still more work to do. They had something up their fucking sleeves for me. A Job foreman was coming to check the work. Blah, blah, blah. But I was no fool. These fucks were aiming to kill me the instant that they had the chance. I climbed down the ladder, leaving the corpse. They brought down the scaffolding with them. I went over to a tool box. The big one flanked me on the left, the one my size on the right. There was a hammer. I knew if I picked that up they would be on to me.
   

I picked up the screwdriver instead, rushed the big guy. Planted the tip between the ribs. It went in a little. I drove it the rest of the way down to the handle with my palm. The other bum rushed me from behind. I dropped to the floor in front of him, tangled my hands at his ankles. He fell over. I rolled over on him. Stuck a finger in his eye up to the third knuckle.

I rolled over, damn near off my bed, arms and legs kicking for my life. I was gasping, trying to call for help. I think I was saying: "Don't Make Me a Target!" Yeah, I think that was it. A Spoon song. How can I fight for my life, thinking about a Spoon song? You tell me. What the Fuck was I thinking? And then I got up and my muscles felt like I was really in a fucking fight. I felt as achy as a stepped on roach.
   

Fuck? What in the Hell? How in the Hell? Then, I remem- bered.Two days ago going apeshit with the exercise. Now I was feeling sorry for my dumb ass. And I wondered, should I take a pain killer now? Yeah. I think I will. I got up, made coffee then made Iced tea, then made breakfast. The spoonfuls of food. Very little. I'm starting to lose my appetite again. I start. I get full right away. A friend of mine, when they take me out to dinner, they TELL me to stop eating, because I hate to waste their money, and it looks bad if you order food and then only pick at it. They'll ask you: "If you're dumb ass didn't feel like eating , why did you order?" No, they never say that, but that's how I feel. Why did I order in the first place? So when they see me struggling, and they watch me now, they TELL me to stop eating. I appreciate them for that.

Why? I feel less guilty when I do. Then I ask for a doggie bag and eat it days later. Works pretty good. I take a doggie bag all the time now. The pain killer settles in. It feels good. I like the easing of the muscle aches. Now I feel like I can be productive today, but exactly what I'm going to do? I don't know. I'm readying to do battle with the New Jersey Motor vehicles again. I want to get my driver's license privileges back from those bastids. I call them bastids because I called them up to do it the EASY way. I always do that. EASY first. So I make a phone call. I get a typical phone maze. I go through the menu, then press my choice and I'm told that I have a thirteen minute wait for a representative, which is just a nice way of saying a GED phone jockey. HEY! HOBOBOB, AT LEAST THEY'RE MAKING A LIVING AND NOT LIVING OFF THE FUCKING STATE!!! That's true. I agree.

BUT FUCKING HELP ME!!! Don't fucking pick up the phone and DO NOTHING!!! IF YOU DID SOMETHING I WOULDN'T BITCH!! But because you DON'T you're collecting a PAYCHECK from the state, MUCH MORE THAN I DO, for DOING FUCKING NOTHING!!!

Ahhhh, that felt good to get off my chest. So this 'repre- sentative' gets on the phone and I ask my question about getting my license back. She tells me: "Oh, okay, please hold for Revocations." Thank you. Takes a minute. The phone rings. Another phone maze...NOW this is after waiting 13 minutes already! My choice is number seven. The phone rings.  The same exact phone maze starts again. My choice is again, seven. The phone rings. The SAME EXACT phone maze starts again. I press seven immediately. It ignores me, and goes through the selections. I press seven when prompted. The phone rings. The same phone....

I slam the phone down. Son'sa-bi-hatches!!! Okay, I call back. Phone maze. Wait time 30 minutes. Fuck this shit. I hang up and write two letters to two DMV offices. Let's see what this does. Letters always work people, because everyone is fearful of lawyers, and lawyers make corporations and bureaucracies eat shit with letters. They do. And I'm good at making clerks lives miserable with letters. I'm very good.

 I want to inflict such pain now, because I called them up. What the Fuck was I thinking??

Hobobob