no, no, no. that's not what I meant at all.



It was nourishing a sense of deeply covert catatonia.



It was sublimely mediocre Chinese food.



It was a widely publicized picture of gross cellulite on celebrity booties.



It was the feeling of spontaneous onset of clinical depression engendered by entering any of the "-mart" stores.



It was a fussy little man (a "Marketing" personage) waxing his teal blue BMW motorcycle in its parking space in front of his condo.



It was that same man mincing down the street after a "really great" first date unexpectedly having his fucking head bounced off a plate



glass window and then him falling down and losing conciousness as his head hits the edge of the fucking curb all because some big



drunk asshole, perpetually enraged because his girlfriend will fuck anyone, doesn't think he likes the fucking looks of him.



It was the podiatrist greeting you with a meat cleaver.



It was laughing at the bar before getting hit in the temple by a stray dart.



It was skin shavings in the Thanksgiving gravy.



It was a dead fish in your mailbox.



It was a new wife fisheyeing the mailman.



It was warts on your dick.



It was "Jarts" - from conception to final, horrifying lawsuit and settlement.



It was everyone's genitals blithely sailing along at 35,000 ft.



It was a $300 handjob that everyone gave themselves.



It was the calculus of road rage.



It was a rabid fox on the fairway.



It was crusty residue on your last clean shirt.



It was a misdemeanor committed in a public restroom.



It was whatever the computer said.



It was you sitting and suddenly feeling you might cry watching a developmentally disabled woman with purple sacks beneath her eyes cleaning and re-cleaning and re-cleaning again the drink station at Burger King.



It was a man with a car for every mood pretending he thinks he's level with you.



It was persisting in its cubicle, wondering how long it could continue to get away with it.



I take it out to the parking lot and slap the fuck out of it like a bad movie of brutal losers and their loudmouthed wenches hanging out at the local bowling alley



and still it grins gamely up at me