I Heart Indies

Sunday, August 10, 2014

I'm Peeved as Heck and I'm Not Going to Take It Very Much Longer

I've Had Jusk About Alls I Cans Standsk and I Can'tsk Standks
Very Much More.
(Forearms Not Actual Size)
If you think I'm going to put up with this much longer, you're entirely mistaken.  I mean it.  I'm fed almost up to here with this foolishness.  Not all the way up to here, you understand, but almost.  Like three-quarters full.  This may not be the last straw, but it's the next-to-last.  It's the penultimate straw.  At the very least, it's the antepenultimate straw.

You know Popeye?  He'd always say, "I hads alls I can standsk and I can't standsk no more?"  And then he'd squeeze a can of spinach - like just crush it in his fist until the lid popped off and spinach came gooshing out, straight into his gullet?  Immediately he'd go about whipping Bluto's ass with those weird forearms of his that were way bigger than his biceps for some reason - like his anchor tattoo had to be on his forearm because there wasn't room on his upper arm which was no bigger around that Olive Oyl's thigh - I mean, what kind of exercise did he do to have such massive forearms and leave his biceps like soda straws?

Sorry, I forgot what I was talking about.

Anyway, I'm almost at the point - not quite, but almost - of considering going all Popeye in this situation.  And believe me, my upper-arm development is way better than Popeye's.  My forearms may be no match for his, but my upper arms - I'm not bragging, I'm merely stating my upper arms are better than Popeye's, and if you don't believe me, you can come over some time, and I'll show you.

You're cruisin' for a bruisin'.  You're headin' for a shreddin'.  You're motor-vatin' for a de-capitatin'.  These are just some of the many rhyming threats I may be prepared to utter at some point in the future, along with, You're hum-veein' for a bumble-bee-in'.  The last one doesn't even make sense, but that's the sort of thing that happens when I really lose it, which could happen at some soon point in the foreseeable future.  You'll be there thinking, bumble-bee-in', is he threatening to sting me? when kai-yow, I open an extra large can of whoop-ass much like Popeye's spinach, only mine is only a metaphorical can and I have regular-sized forearms.

I'm not ready to say f- you and the horse you rode in on, but you and the horse might want to get better acquainted, if you know what I mean.  Take the horse out for coffee or go to a movie or something.  See if you have common interests.  Tell the horse she has a very sensuous mouth.

That's just the kind of mood I'm in.

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