Dipshit can't carry too many ShopRite bags

I am SURE i've discussed this before, but since I hate him more by the hour, ever more aware of the wasted minutes of my fragile life spent angered by him, it takes less and less to set me off. Even when it doesn't even remotely affect me...well, besides his mere presence. And, yes, i'm well aware of the cruel irony of my wasting MORE time writing about him...but it's cathartic. Sigh, it's a tricky tightrope.

So this stupid fuckjob NEVER comes home from the supermarket without making two trips up the stairs. FUCKING PUSSY. I, meanwhile, am a hardy urban genius...only making ONE trip...ALWAYS. Let me call him a FUCKING PUSSY one more time. Wrap 8 bags around your two fucking arms and hike it up the two flights ONCE, asswipe! How DO these suburban hicks make it in the big city?!?! Infuriating. I know, I have issues. Fuck off. I've got a lot on my mind. Big issues. Important things. Life and death even. And, yeah, I'm a moody sonofabitch. With precious little patience. And I wish I wasn't so moody around my parents...it bothers me. They're the only two I'll ever have. I wanna do things that matter...with people that matter to me. Life's too short. Now, allow me to go enjoy my first of 2 cupcakes I took home from the 40th birthday celebration of the creative genius who inspired me to start writing this blog. Props, Mark.