I stand on the mountain top shaking my fists at the sky and screaming my protest against the trials of it all. The beurauracracy, my stupidity, my lack of forethought. I am drizzling my nickels & dimes. I will never get out from under this heavy rock . My tiny heart is pinched. I will hunt down the president of Dell and fart in his general direction. I will kick the insurance covered pets of Comcast employees . I will pee on every meter in the city of Boston. Aaarrrrgggghhhh !!!!
There is no recourse for the little rank & file ant customer againt the cog-churning behomouths that run everything. I have to get off the grid. I need to be self -sufficient, learn how to survive in the wild . Just me, a down sleeping bag, a knife and a trusty uninsured mutt. Just me and books in a cave in the woods. . . .And Cheetoes. I will not go gently into that good night without snacks. . .
2 Comments
Tiny fists of rage. I feel your pain.
But, go get them, Tiger. I'll mail you a Bowie knife and a survival guide.
Oh, but please cook your turkey before you enter the cave off the grid. I want to hear how that goes.