Guess whose head i'd like to take an aluminum bat to?

That's right, DIPSHIT. A Good Friday, it's NOT been. I've dealt with him for exactly 24 hours now, and i've NEVER been closer to violence. He came home with his "stomach not feeling right." This happens ungodly often...fucking little pussy. And yet he was well enough to giggle at God knows what for hours on end in his bedroom, as I sat here in the living room listening to him. Those who know him can imagine this giggle...HE, HE, HE, HE in his whiny, Jay Leno-esque, nails on fucking chalkboard voice. I also had to endure his phone calls, TV, and general PRESENCE. Being the day Christ died, he's naturally off today. So the PURE HELL has continued. HE IS IN MY FUCKING WAY, COMPLETELY interrupting my personal feng shui. *Side note...i'm still waiting for him to clean his pot of rice from last night. It's fossilizing more by the hour as it sits on the counter, unaided by water and soap. He's covered it, though...I guess his way of warding off BUGS and, um, my SEEING it?? The icing on the cake that precipitated this blog was, as it often is, his OBSESSION with 1) talk fucking radio and 2) leaving his goddamn door open. I'm trying to tend to personal finance matters, engage in various online activities, AND watch DALLAS...and I have to hear his radio on...and, yes, HE, HE, HE every now and then. CLOSE your fucking door!! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, I canNOT stand competing TVs and/or radios!!!!!!! As I write this, he's turned it off...could he possibly be getting the fuck out of the house? For the record, I'd like to get out of the fucking house, too...but I have nowhere pressing to go. And will God grant me the pleasure of him leaving tonight for Easter? Or must I endure him until Holy Saturday? OK, I'm done. I HATE that I have to waste precious time slamming him, but it gives me the SLIGHTEST bit of personal satisfaction. Now HOP home to mommy, Dipshit, and have a splendid fucking Easter!