How To Be Livid
I will feast on your soul.
Prattling on about this nonsense and that is all well and good, but the time has come to put lofty ideas into action. It’s time to be livid.
Pro Tip: You may want to keep some napkins handy just in case veins on your forehead pop.
Sometimes life will lope up on you from behind and give you ample reasons to be angry. Sometimes (although I can’t imagine why) you aren’t even in the mood to be angry yet life will foist itself upon you regardless. It will literally force you to be livid against your will.
True, those are sublime experiences, but they do tend to be rather random and when the chips are down, you really can’t count them.
So, what to do? Take matters into your own hands, of course! With my tried and true techniques, and a bit of practice, so you’ll soon be livid with the best of them, as often as you want and when you need it the most.
Sound too good to be true? It probably is. See? I can feel it working already!
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First Thanksgiving: Smoke Gets In Your What What?
The wrong kind of Bellows although, in a pinch, he could probably still get the job done.
Remember learning about history in K-12? I don’t remember much but when it comes to the first Thanksgiving a few images do come to mind. The following paragraph is pieced together relying solely on my recollections.
The Pilgrims and the Native Americans came together for a feast. The Pilgrims wore funny brown hats topped with a column adorned with a belt buckle. There was maize. There was jellied cranberry sauce featuring distinctive rings from an aluminum can. There was even pumpkin pie. There was a horn of plenty that provided a veritable cornucopia of magical fresh fruits and vegetables. And, of course, last but not least, there was turkey aplenty that looked a lot like simple outline drawings of my hand.
Have you ever experienced that moment when you realized history class left a lot of things out? It was decidedly not the place to go if you wanted the big picture. Or an unvarnished viewpoint free of bias that didn’t accentuate a certain narrative. No doubt there were time constraints or contractual obligations?
My exhaustive (you’ll get this pun after the jump) research turned up something else that was given to the Pilgrims. It wasn’t on the dinner table, perhaps, but I’m sure it was still something to be very thankful for.
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Survivor: Abyss Island – Days 21, 22 and 23
The challenge scene upon my arrival.
Abyss Island: S1E8 – A Filthy Scramble for Immunity and a Splurge
Day 21
I was informed by the producers of Survivor: Abyss Island that even though I’m the only contestant, it has already been decided by the powers that be I will not be invited back to participate in season two, All Stars – the Re-Abyssening.
That was a body blow to the ego. That hurt. Whatever. I haven’t got time for the pain. I have to do what I always do and soldier on, chin up, and all that. I still got a job to do.
Day 22
It was a week of twists and turns, including a reward challenge and the delicious taste of victory (jalapeño poppers, pizza and chicken). The producers inexplicably delayed the reward challenge until Thursday throwing off the timing of my entire existence.
Suddenly another Saturday and another immunity challenge was at hand. Tree mail contained cryptic portends:
Fuck, damn, shit
Boobs and gonadIf you don’t find them fast
It will really be too bad
I have to admit. I had no clue (aside from the actual one in my hands) about what to expect.
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Hello in a Restaurant
My wife told me to be short when writing. I told her my height doesn’t change.
When I walk in a restaurant, I don’t expect much. But I do like to be greeted. A little eye contact. The word, “Hello.” This should be from the first person who sees me. If even a single employee walks by and gives me the “I pretend not to see you because greeting customers is not my department” then I become irritated.
I understand that employees in a restaurant may be busy. Hell, they may even not be poised at the ready saying, “Tom should be here any minute. Look alive, people!” All it takes is a second to say, “I’ll be right with you.”
Above all else I’m a reasonable guy.
Without eye contact, a greeting and a friendly “I’ll be right with you” I can wait about two minutes before saying (to myself), “Fuck this place!” For every employee who gives me the “not my department” routine you can take a minute from that time.
If greeted, though, I’ll happily wait five minutes or more.
Then there’s this other guy…
My wife and I were in the restaurant, already at a table, enjoying our lunch. A guy walked in. I’m not sure why but he caught my eye. It might have been the way he bellowed.
He strode in, stopped a few feet inside the door, which had just closed behind him. He then waited 1.5 seconds without being helped. No wait staff was in sight. Then he bellowed, “Hello???”
Every head in the restaurant turned. Forks dropped to plates. Everyone was stunned. What the fuck was going on here? It’s rather unusual to yell like that. Something must be up.
A waitress ran from the back. I watched the whole thing go down. I was zoomed in. I had the tunnel vision.
“What are the hours of the haircut place three doors down?” the man demanded. “Their door is locked.”
Ah. I see. You obviously saw our sign that reads, “We help customers from all businesses that are not are own.” Yeah, why don’t you go fuck yourself?
The waitress, who is naturally a nice person, tried to help. “You see, we don’t know about that. That’s like a whole other business. They don’t check in with us. We have no information.”
The guy angrily strode out.
This is the planet I live on. A planet where people like that exist. Then, as we were leaving, the guy came back in for more! I gave him laser beams of death as we fled the building. What an enjoyable meal. Speaking of meal, I would very much like to feast on his soul.
Hey, look. This was less than 500 words.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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