;796408']As I predicted, I am getting a little pissy now that I can't run.
Tday is already a shitty day. I got a higher-ranking individual in my face wanting to question why her security clearance papers were never processed. Hmmm... maybe it had something to do with you NOT filling out all the information on the application? It's a BACKGROUND investigation, you fuck-tool. And you need it to go to OCS (Officer Candidate School)? FUCK YOU. Yes, I threw your application in the trash. No, it is not my job to track your ass down and tell you that it was incomplete. I personally feel you are too incompetent to be anything close to an officer, because you can't even fill out a goddamn piece of paper without half-assing the IMPORTANT details. So fuck you, go eat a dick with a nail in it.
Anyway, I decide that it is best if I end my day by going and buying some sushi and a CD. I go to the exchange. I have to dodge the 300+ pound brides of some of these GI's. If you are that fat, you do not count as a pedestrian. You are a vehicle, and if a larger vehicle runs over you then God bless trucks. Not to mention, all these retirees hold ID cards and can shop here, too. The old war vets are cool as hell, but they are also married to OLD BITCHES that cannot fucking drive. Yes, you may have sruvived the great depression, but you cannot see over the goddamned steering wheel. I'm glad your social security sucks, you daffy bitch. There are programs for you, take advantage of them. Shit, as soon as I get old enough to go to a nursing home, sign me up. I'll let people come and wipe my ass and feed me.
Then I go inside. I get to the CD's section. I am already pissed because on base, the 'rock' section is about as big as this text box. Somewhere between Hillary Duff and The Harry Fucking Potter soundtrack, I find a couple of albums I like. One is Job for a Cowboy (a pretty decent metal band). I'm holding the CD and straining to not lash out at the MASSIVE R&B/HIP HOP section and set it ablaze and piss it out, when I hear a female voice say this:
"Damn, some folks be liss'nin to sum stoopit shit."
To make matters worse, it's not a black person. It's that shitty white-mocking-ebonics-because-I'm-a-fucktard version.
I hate whiggas. I really do. I don't even think of them as people, to be honest. Here's a short list of whiggas: Vanilla Ice, Kid Rock, Fred Durst, Eminem. The last one is the only 'decent' one, because he's funny to me. I am also convinced that whiggas are actually reincarnated inbred trailer trash. When whiggas die, they become reincarnated as Down's Syndrome children- it's a descending process.
I look, and she has a kid. It's white. Her husband/baby daddy/whatever, is also fucking white- and he's got a fucking grill in his mouth. I wanted to tear the infant from her arms and beat them both to death with it, burn their bodies, and scatter their ashes in suburbia. I walk away, a few lyrics stuck in my head...
I remember when "phat" was spelled with an F.
I remember when you couldn't hear you were def.
I remember when you were where you were from,
And not what you saw on the television, son.
(M.O.D.- "Wigga")
I paid out, left, and I got here and had to vent.
Tday is already a shitty day. I got a higher-ranking individual in my face wanting to question why her security clearance papers were never processed. Hmmm... maybe it had something to do with you NOT filling out all the information on the application? It's a BACKGROUND investigation, you fuck-tool. And you need it to go to OCS (Officer Candidate School)? FUCK YOU. Yes, I threw your application in the trash. No, it is not my job to track your ass down and tell you that it was incomplete. I personally feel you are too incompetent to be anything close to an officer, because you can't even fill out a goddamn piece of paper without half-assing the IMPORTANT details. So fuck you, go eat a dick with a nail in it.
Anyway, I decide that it is best if I end my day by going and buying some sushi and a CD. I go to the exchange. I have to dodge the 300+ pound brides of some of these GI's. If you are that fat, you do not count as a pedestrian. You are a vehicle, and if a larger vehicle runs over you then God bless trucks. Not to mention, all these retirees hold ID cards and can shop here, too. The old war vets are cool as hell, but they are also married to OLD BITCHES that cannot fucking drive. Yes, you may have sruvived the great depression, but you cannot see over the goddamned steering wheel. I'm glad your social security sucks, you daffy bitch. There are programs for you, take advantage of them. Shit, as soon as I get old enough to go to a nursing home, sign me up. I'll let people come and wipe my ass and feed me.
Then I go inside. I get to the CD's section. I am already pissed because on base, the 'rock' section is about as big as this text box. Somewhere between Hillary Duff and The Harry Fucking Potter soundtrack, I find a couple of albums I like. One is Job for a Cowboy (a pretty decent metal band). I'm holding the CD and straining to not lash out at the MASSIVE R&B/HIP HOP section and set it ablaze and piss it out, when I hear a female voice say this:
"Damn, some folks be liss'nin to sum stoopit shit."
To make matters worse, it's not a black person. It's that shitty white-mocking-ebonics-because-I'm-a-fucktard version.
I hate whiggas. I really do. I don't even think of them as people, to be honest. Here's a short list of whiggas: Vanilla Ice, Kid Rock, Fred Durst, Eminem. The last one is the only 'decent' one, because he's funny to me. I am also convinced that whiggas are actually reincarnated inbred trailer trash. When whiggas die, they become reincarnated as Down's Syndrome children- it's a descending process.
I look, and she has a kid. It's white. Her husband/baby daddy/whatever, is also fucking white- and he's got a fucking grill in his mouth. I wanted to tear the infant from her arms and beat them both to death with it, burn their bodies, and scatter their ashes in suburbia. I walk away, a few lyrics stuck in my head...
I remember when "phat" was spelled with an F.
I remember when you couldn't hear you were def.
I remember when you were where you were from,
And not what you saw on the television, son.
(M.O.D.- "Wigga")
I paid out, left, and I got here and had to vent.
