...and all happy and "nyuk, nyuk, nyuk".
Other days you're like Moe and want to give the world an eye poke.
Today's a Moe day.
So I go to pull out my Harley last night to head over to my buddy Snake's chopper shop. I go to kick my shifter into first gear and - "snap!* - my whole shifter pops off. Turns out the shaft sheared inside the shifter lever. $39.99 to get a new gods-damned one and no riding the Harley until I get a new one. Which I can't frelling afford right now because I just spent about $400 switching the handlebars on the Harley over to frelling ape hangers.
Then, I go to leave for work this morning, and forget my lunch. I'm busy as hell as it is, so it's a colossal pain in my nuts to leave work, drive home, get my lunch, and come back within an hour. But I do it anyway and, don't you know, the Dogs of the Living Dead got into the kitchen, ravaged the wife's tupperware, and feasted upon MY lunch of Chicken Parmesan and salad. Stupid, fat ass dogs. Useless flea bags! Mangy mongrels!
On the way BACK into work, I run out of gas. While I'm there, at the side of the road, cursing my Jeep in the most uncivil and foul language I can use; a Willoughby Hills police officer stops by.
"Problem?" he asks.
"Ran out of gas." I mutter darkly.
"There's a gas station a half mile up Route 6. Make sure you push it to the side of the road." he says, as he pulls away.
"Thanks, fucker," I yell as he disappears into the distance.
So I manage to get the Jeep started up and chug it the half mile up Route 6, coasting into the gas station. As I'm filling it, the cop cames back by, giving me a thumbs up. I glare at him and give him my own thumbs up, but with a different finger.
To protect and serve my undead ass.
I wonder what else the dark, Pagan gods have in store for me today...
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