19 May 2014
0721 hrs
(c) Properfessor
Good Monday, Patient Reader
I want
to get going on my rant this morning about fucking tweakers. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. You fucking dipshit motherfuckers who burn
your brains out on meth. You noisy damn disinhibited
pre-frontal cortex assholes who can’t seem to get your shit together, even long
after you “get clean.”
Now don’t
get me wrong, Patient Reader. I
understand addiction and its role in the destruction of humanity. Beginning
with the brain and its newly-established rewiring, all the way to the
disintegration of our society. Remember
all, I wrestled with the bottle more than once in my own youth.
But jesus,
you fucking tweakers. You just can’t
seem to get your criminal mentality out of your head. With your shattered moral compasses,
you
careen through the lives of others, making everyone your victim. You steal from everyone who ever cared about
you, and then you make no apologies.
You’re twitchy and loud and suffer from your oro-bucco-lingual movements
brought on by the ingesting of the poisons someone cooked up in their
bathtubs. You stupid bastards.
I knew one of you dipshits who actually told
the (12 Step) group I was involved with that he used pond water for a while to
mix up his dope. Why do you think they
call it dope, anyway? So you can have
polliwogs and sepsis flowing freely into your body, relying only on the
blood/brain (brain? What brain?) barrier
to keep you from dying?
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Your self-induced akinesia, you stupid fucks. All of you should just hang up instead of
taking the transmission apart in your living room, perched on the windowsill
like a fucking pigeon, every bit as filthy, thinking someone is pulling up in
the driveway while your banging the bejesus out of some under-aged girl you
turned out for a “teener.” You pieces of
shit are no better than child-molesting pimps.
And don’t tell me you were, or even
are, one of those conscientious meth cooks/dealers who wouldn’t sell to those
kinds of cats. How do you know what they
did once they left your Breaking Bad double-wide? And even if they didn’t commit the
aforementioned atrocities, who knows what the next part of the chain did, those
whom your trustworthy friends sold to?
An ex GF of mine suffered through the loss of
her daughter’s bikes, stolen from the storage unit in wherein they were
stashed. How do you explain to a ten and
twelve year old that their prized possession was stolen so it could be sold and
turned into intravenous junkie juice?
You pricks
broke in from the back, peeling away the corrugated steel and busting through
the layers of plywood until you broke in.
Dipshits.
One thing I
know for sure: y’all didn’t chew through
the wall; y’all have no fucking teeth, you toothless-on-purpose dumb
motherfuckers.
Worst of
all, this happened back in ’06.
’06? WTF, right, Patient
Reader? Why would I still be so upset by
an incident that happened several years and GFs ago? Because you’re still encroaching on my lives,
Tweakers, all these years later.
There’s the
noisy, disrespectful bastard that lives in my apartment complex that keeps
everyone up Fridays and Saturdays. And I’m
not talking until midnight; I understand the need to party. I’m talking 0200-0300 hrs in the godforsaken
A.M.
The other
night he was hollering at his next-door neighbor, waking up the block, calling
him out, etc. When I went outside to
tell him to shut the fuck up, I already saw another neighbor of mine looking
around the buildings with a baseball bat.
Finally, the idiot at hand showed up outside his apartment. Blah blah blah- he says he’s getting tired of the Tweaking neighbors (like good grunge
music and white supremacists, the Pac NW is the birthplace of the Idiot Tweaker
Epidemic). I tell him it’s bullshit, all
this carrying on, and that he’s the
only one I hear.
Long story
short (too late), he comes down to my apartment a few minutes later and tries
to explain himself through my window.
After I tell him to shut the fuck up, as it was midnight-30, he decides
to call me out. So I got dressed again, and promptly accepted
his invitation to come and kick his ass.
Well, I
suppose he wasn’t expecting it, and he became quite sincere and apologetic,
trying to explain to me why he was such a stupid dick.
I went back
inside.
You see, Patient
Reader, I’m a very mellow guy, but do not confuse calmness and kindness for
weakness. Especially if you are a
tongue-rolling, dyskinetic, pre-frontal-cortex damaged, self-induced, Parkinsonian-symptom-exhibiting,
sociopathic narcissists. You know, me,
but in Junkie Tweaker mode.
So, as you
can see, Patient Reader, due to interruptions, it took two days to get this one
rant posted. If I have time, I will post
the next of many long and poignant rants later today. Please check back later today in case this is
the case. Meanwhile, have a better day
than yesterday. And for all you Tweakers
out there, put down the pipe or the syringe, pick up the pistol or shotgun, and
blow those damaged brains out of your soft little crania. You will, won’t you? Splendid!
Later, Patient Reader.
Always,
The Cunning Fennec Fox
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