I'm beginning to remember why I hate you.

For a minute there I almost forgot and then...WHAM! It hit me like a ton of bricks. Ha ha ha ha...I've always wondered why people said that. "Hit me like a ton of bricks..." Why not "It hit me like a ton of sardines...or spaghettio's..."? Anyway. I was just sitting here thinking of who I would really enjoy punching in the face in light of the horrible day I have had...and your name popped into my head. Funny how that happens. One minute you're thinking to yourself, "Man, I wish I could have punched Ghandi in the face, just to teach that pacifistic little shit a thing or two!" And then one of the little voices in your head says, "No, you should punch (BLEEP) in the face!" And you can feel the blood rush to your head, and your ears get hot, tiny beads of sweat form above your brow...and it almost feels like an orgasm. An orgasm of HATE and then you can't think of anything else. All of your thoughts are overwhelmed with visions of your fist flying through the air just waiting for that second of impact when it hits (BLEEP'S) jaw like a freight train taking out a Honda. Blood spraying out of (BLEEP'S) mouth showering your face and neck with tiny rubies, warm and sticky. B/c everything is stored in the farthest reaches of the mind and one by one memories sneak up on you. Then moment by moment you begin to remember all the times (BLEEP) has spit on you while talking, or stole your pen, left the toilet seat up, drank your last beer, cut you off on the highway, ran a red light, parked in the hadicapped zone...illegally of course...or maybe not illegally, it doesn;t really matter. Maybe (BLEEP) snaked the last Tickle Me Elmo, or was talking the entire time you were at that movie wout really wanted to see. Punch them in the face...and watch the weather change.