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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Bonus Post: Drivin’ It Home!
This post is brought to you by your friends at the emotion “anger” – a proud sponsor of the American dream.
In the beginning I made this blog. It took six beers. On the seventh beer I rested. Ooops. Did I go too far?
It’s time for a mid-post reboot. Eat that, J.J. Abrams.
In the beginning of this blog, I worried a bit that it would be all about the wacky wide world of driving. Somehow, someway, I found the intestinal fortitude to branch into other areas and a guru was born. Yeah!
Even though, sometimes I have to return to my roots. This is one such time.
Tonight on the way home I began to notice that something was amiss. An urban assault vehicle in the lane next to me seemed to be going out of its way to seriously fuck with my Wheaties.
I tried to be calm. I tried to not let it bother me. I tried to assume it wasn’t personal.
A few seconds later I blew up. It probably didn’t help that I was still recovering from a self-induced embolism early in the day at the shit sandwich factory. I probably shouldn’t have been driving in my condition.
I tried to get around and in front of the asshole. No dice. Same result when I slowed down and tried to get behind. This person was clearly messing with me and I had no clue why. I hadn’t done anything wrong. As usual I had been a perfect angel, an innocent babe in the woods, yet somehow the Universe was giving me the what for.
Finally I was about to get around the idiot. As I went by, I turned to look at my opponent and gave the classic stare down of “I’m passing you, motherfucker.” Also known as the glinty eyes of steely death.
WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCK?
It was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of that famous American Gothic painting by Grant Wood. Her hair was pulled back tighter than … well, suffice it to say it was pretty damn tight. The only thing missing was the pitchfork. I assume that was in the back of her gigantor SUV.
And …
S H E W A S R E A D I N G ! ! !
I repeat, “She was motherfucking goat clusters of evil reading.” She had something stretched across her entire steering wheel and she was driving at the same time she was intently studying it.
This was game on time. She picked the wrong time, wrong guru, wrong place to beg for someone to finally straighten out. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, right?
My lawyer advises me to cut this post short. But he will let me add this:
FUCK!
Shouts from the Abyss 
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