That's A Lot Of Cock

It's been about two weeks since Dick has been back and I have seemingly developed tourette's syndrome. You see, we discovered that we drive each other insane quite often. We then allow those annoyances to turn into heated arguments which in turn, escalate to an all-out brawl. In order to squash all that, we devised a plan -- when we get on each other's nerves, we say the word cock to get the other to shut the hell up. So far, it is working.

The only problem is that I say the word a lot. While grocery shopping, I shout cock as Dick's complaining about the prices began to sound like nails on a chalkboard. While fishing, I yell cock as he is constantly bitching about how windy it is. I said it so many times yesterday while painting that I thought I would begin to show rooster-like behavior. I had already had a habit of saying oh god when I was displeased with something -- throw cock in the mix and I appear to be mental.

The looks I've received are just as funny. The way people react to some crazy bitch shouting cock is downright hilarious. I'm sure some think I'm some sex craved loon, but that's fine by me. It'll give them something to talk about at their next boring luncheon. I'm just glad that I haven't felt the need to polish up my forks and stab Dick in the eyes (yet). I know things will not always be peachy, but for now, I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet (even if I have to yell cock to get it).

Not So Hot Haters

There is nothing more amusing than watching a bunch of haters. Their jealousy shines through like nipples in a wet t-shirt contest. I'd like nothing more than to round them all up in one great big room, sprinkle them with gasoline, and throw a match right in the middle of them all. They piss me off to no end and I dealt with my fair share of them this past weekend.

Every year, we spend the Fourth of July weekend at the river. There's nothing like fishing and laying out in the sun to forget all your troubles. I had every intention of doing just that this past weekend, but of course, fat chance.

I had set my chair up along the beach and rubbed myself down with lotion. No sooner had I sat down and opened my book, I heard giggles and whispers. I look over and see two women chatting it up and looking my way. I listened a little harder while I pretended to pay them no mind and discovered they were talking about me. Their comments ranged from my big ass to my pale skin. I wanted peace and quiet, but was obviously not going to get it.

I finally had enough. I got up, grabbed a bucket, filled it with water, and marched my ass right on over to the pair. I stood directly in front of their chairs and threw the water on them. They looked at me as if I had lost my damn mind. I politely said that since they thought they were so hot, I figured I'd be neighborly and cool them off. Without giving them a chance to say anything, I turned around, marched back to my seat, and began reading my book in peace. The rest of my weekend was rather enjoyable (and yes, I could probably benefit from a little therapy).

Golden Cock Award - Tom

About a month and a half ago, my brother and I realized that both our football teams were playing each other the first week of the season. The game would be at my team's stadium and I've never been so we decided to order the tickets. I have been waiting for them to arrive ever so patiently and was thrilled when I checked my email and saw that the tickets had been shipped. It has been over a week since they were supposed to be here and of course I'm upset.

I called the post office to inquire as to there whereabouts and was told that a package was left on my steps a few days ago. Now I'm pissed!

For those who don't know, I live in the 'burbs with tons of houses lining snooty little streets and lots of nosy neighbors. When we moved here, I specifically asked that no package was to ever be left on my doorstep. I'd rather pick it up from the post office rather than risk someone swiping it from my steps. I even filled out a little form stating the same thing. Now here I sit, no package -- no explanation.

This week's golden cock award goes to Tom, my mailman. For his inability to follow directions and perhaps fucking up my chances of watching my team crush my brother's team live and in person, I award him five golden cocks. I am also plotting a way to kidnap him, cut him open, steal his organs, and sell them on the black market in order to purchase new tickets.