Saturday, November 21, 2009

The Homicidal Blog about Nothing

Have you ever been so mad that you're pretty sure you're going to high-blood-pressure yourself right into cardiac arrest? Or an aneurysm? Or maybe that you're, just going out on a limb here, going to finally snap like you've suspected you could alltheseyears and end up wearing a fetching orange one-piece while learning to cut and style hair, along with your best new friend Pootie in cell block D?

We'll just say that I might be, at this very moment, THAT angry. We'll just speculate I might be talking about myself (it's my blog homies) this very minute and not even hypothesizing at all! Wouldn't that sound likely?

I mean, you know that most days I'm full of Joy and Love and Harmony and that I often sing songs about loving Jesus, and my boyfriend too... oh wait, that's a Tom Petty song. You get the drift. Then there are days (Bitch Ass!) when things get a bit...unpleasant at Casa de Sammo. We'll just say that I'm not ALWAYS full of the Love and the Harmony.



I am writing and NOT committing diabolical homicide as we speak, and doesn't that mean something? First off, it means all you homies out there are my airtight alibi if shitgoesdown. That means, I won't be wearing an orange-one-piece unless something goes tragically awry with my alibi theory. Furthermore, it means the pen is mightier than the sword and all that - although honestly, I've never killed anyone with either, so that is still up for debate. (I'll let you know as I expand my murderous repetoire.)

Why Sammo! Why, you ask? Why are you so forlorn and angry and vitriolic? (PS that is an awesome word that I might just tattoo on my ass someday for fun.) Well my closest cadre of unknown internet friends, I simply can't share EVERY single cause of my angst. I know I share about the Bitch Ass, and I share about my neighbors who sell crack and try to shoot each other. I know that I share my Birth Stories (!) and that you know all about my vicodin penchant once a month, and my issue with my vacuum cleaner. This is all well and good, but when I am so angry I'm about to cutabitch, I really can't divulge it, no matter how much you cry and beg and plead. So shut up already!

Just send me some Captain and light a candle and say a little prayer and hum some Wish you Were Here or something. And if my luck holds and no one finds the body we'll all meet up here again tomorrow (or the next day) and laugh about how crazy I am! Won't that be fun? Shut up. I said stop crying!

Comments, questions, you wanna be my partner in crime?