SUCK THE LINING OF MY WOMB, YOU WRETCHED BEAST

I wrote the below ventfest last night thinking I would publish it. Instead, I passed out from egg-zzausgion.

I am so angry. Using Insanareesta's face as my menstrual product of choice this month couldn't quell my level of rage. In fact, neither could turning her into a train-pulling-record-breaking stunt cunt, or watching her mattress surf in freezing cold mud, naked, clinging to the rope attached to a John Deere tractor driven by a misogynist woman (a-la Palin), named Billie with a heart above the "I" (just to piss me the fuck off). Nothing will extinguish my severe level of frustration, not a damn thing.

Well, I guess moving will... help.

Snatcheeola continues to bang. Bang. Bang. When she smells smoke. I'm this close to posting an add on Craigslist for every smoker in LA to stand at her windows, chain smoking.

What DICKS me off the most is that the landlord is taking her side because she kvetches three times a day. Do you believe? Who does that? Worse, when I'm in the kitchen doing whatever-the-fuck-I'm-doing (dishes, heating something up, taking something out of the fridge, ya follow), she clangs pots and turns on the water full blast (FYI: You don't have to be wasteful to hate me).

I've never seen such a thing, it's appalling. This shit would never happen and never did happen in New York, or San Francisco, or anywhere else.

I swear I'm not being a giant pussy by not banging back, really. I'm handling the sitch another way. To be discussed when I can spill.

Oy yoy yoy. I wonder. In this deeply recessed economy, during this supposed "season of giving", what kind of person would choose to take time out of their day to make another person miserable? Why would you make time for such a thing? Then I think, something must have happened, a trigger of sorts that made her deranged. Not that I'm passing out compassion-candy-canes to her right now. Although, if she righted the wrong, I would.