Bring on the Bleach!
Loop around to Uttar Pradesh, India, another life ago. Recall the Bleach. Then, I used it eradicate a broken heart by combating an infringing army of roaches and rats. Appropriate in retrospect..The village watched bemused by my daily assault on floors and walls and the local shop made a years profit every month thanks to the ongoing battle. Toilet paper, bleach and toxic mosquito burners specifically for the White People. White Privilege, if only I knew...This was a war I did not win, but it kept me busy.
It's about the bleach. An external representation of the need to eradicate- Something. Productive Therapy. The infestation of political correctness bred the passive aggressive response. Which leads to ulcers..Sometimes a human just needs to RAGE.
It's been that kind of week. And here we are barely scraping Wednesday.. Teresa May, I would send you a bottle, I feel you may need it by the end of your week... Brexit Bleach.
Meantime, my bathroom literally squeaks. One look at me with scrubber and spray and my boys do an About Face and abandon the field. Years of experience has taught them the value of flight when faced with -Bleach. Now you can say I am the bat shit crazy one or, call it a adverse affect to dealing with bat shit crazy people. Take your pick.
Turn on the news, it's a WTF fest of bat shit crazy. Leave the house and it's bedlam and Looney Tunes run amok. Welcome to Crazy Times. Did you know that is an actual Urban Dictionary term? Defined as "the point in an argument where logic runs out but your opponent refuses to concede". Sound familiar? Live and bloody learn. Poor English language, small wonder nobody understands anyone. Happy is not Gay anymore - or is Gay not Happy. Shit, can I SAY that? Am sure someone will come out of the woodwork and slam me with a politically correct baseball bat. Freedom of speech has left the room.
The Brits are a lone bastion where irony and verbal wit still play ball.
Where's my bleach?
I'm signing off here. There may be a corner of the bathroom I missed... Happy to share if you feel the need to clean some stains off your soul and floor..
It's about the bleach. An external representation of the need to eradicate- Something. Productive Therapy. The infestation of political correctness bred the passive aggressive response. Which leads to ulcers..Sometimes a human just needs to RAGE.
It's been that kind of week. And here we are barely scraping Wednesday.. Teresa May, I would send you a bottle, I feel you may need it by the end of your week... Brexit Bleach.
Meantime, my bathroom literally squeaks. One look at me with scrubber and spray and my boys do an About Face and abandon the field. Years of experience has taught them the value of flight when faced with -Bleach. Now you can say I am the bat shit crazy one or, call it a adverse affect to dealing with bat shit crazy people. Take your pick.
Turn on the news, it's a WTF fest of bat shit crazy. Leave the house and it's bedlam and Looney Tunes run amok. Welcome to Crazy Times. Did you know that is an actual Urban Dictionary term? Defined as "the point in an argument where logic runs out but your opponent refuses to concede". Sound familiar? Live and bloody learn. Poor English language, small wonder nobody understands anyone. Happy is not Gay anymore - or is Gay not Happy. Shit, can I SAY that? Am sure someone will come out of the woodwork and slam me with a politically correct baseball bat. Freedom of speech has left the room.
The Brits are a lone bastion where irony and verbal wit still play ball.
Where's my bleach?
I'm signing off here. There may be a corner of the bathroom I missed... Happy to share if you feel the need to clean some stains off your soul and floor..
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