A Personal Rant

WARNING!
The following post is of a personal rant which has no affiliation to politics but is more about personal experience. For those of you who know me, I'm in rare form. For those of you who don't that means that this particular rant has the potential to offend even the moderately laid back person who doesn't normally get too offended. I also must caution that any child with the ability to read needs to stay the fuck away from this shit unless you want to expand their repertoire of insults and offensive material. Now if you are offended by the 7 words you can't say on television, the C-bomb without quotations, AND don't appreciate the semi-god like versatility of the word "fuck" then stop now, hit the back button, and ignore this particular blog. Everyone else, continue at your own risk, but don't say I didn't warn you.

So picture if you will a mundane office with a lone plant, some pathetic excuse for a calming Native American wall hanging, and some quasi-peaceful colorations on the chairs. The Doctor has a calm voice and a nice demeanor. For some reason all of this irritates the fucking dog shit out of me.

There I was, in that fucking place. "Have you cut down on Caffeine?" "Nope, that would be possible if I could sleep, but I'm still not sleeping so yeah, the coffee is basically keeping me functioning." Seriously, what the fuck. The nightmares, let's talk about the fucking nightmares shall we. Yes they fucking suck worse the 1970 Porn Star Super Legend, Debbie from Debbie Does Fucking Every Dick that she can get her cum guzzling mouth around! Holy shit, really. Yet instead of talking about that shit. Instead of rooting out the proverbial demons we have to work on relaxation techniques so I can go back to sleep afterwards. ARE YOU ON FUCKING CRACK! You dream about getting blown the fuck up and launched into fucking oblivion and then tell me how fucking long it takes for you to get your useless fucking heart beating at a normal fucking level! Jesus Howard Fucking Christ where the hell did you get your fucking degree? Did you wipe your ass one day and find a fucking shitty ass degree in your fucking hand? God dammit trying to calm down after that shit takes fucking hours. I can't think of myself laying on some fucking peaceful white sand fucking beach without the water turning the color of blood and end up making shit worse. Getting told I need to work on turning my mind off in a sense is fucking more retarded the Boehner thinking his dumb ass looks good with an Oompa Loompa fucking tint. My mind works at eleventy fucking miles an hour and it doesn't fucking stop. The only way to stop that shit would be to put a fucking round through it which is a pretty fucking dumb ass option. Oh great, the demons stopped throwing shit out from the subconscious but now I'm worm food. Fucking dumb cunt. Seriously think about what the fuck you're saying before you let that shit fly outta your mouth like you've been taking fucking diuretics that makes you puke like some anorexic cheerleader trying to be like a fucking dumb cum sucking gutter snipe slut from some show on the WB. At this rate you could run for President in the next election.

I don't fucking get it. I always thought the point of this shit was to figure out what's bothering a mother fucker and face that shit head on. Like when you get fucking ambushed, you don't fall back and reconsider your fucking options. You fucking gain fire superiority and assault through that fucking shit like a crack addict going after that last fucking rock rolling through a fucking crowd of unsuspecting nuns. You bowl through that shit and make it look like a strike with inside out fucking pins! Is this the only kind of help out there. I feel like I'm fucking screaming and the fucking retard fairy put my ass on mute. That fucker, you want to hear about a relaxing fucking image in my mind. It's running the next fucking window licking ass clown that cuts me off on 495 off the road, ripping his ass out of his fucking $60,000 Mercedes by his shriveled up excuse for a fucking pencil dick, then curb stomping his fucking ass American History X style. That fucking relaxes me. Oh yeah, never mind I put that I didn't have a desire to fucking mutilate the general populace when I filled out that stupid ass fucking form because I didn't want you to try to commit me because in all honesty I fucking shit to do and I can't do that shit from a padded fucking room.

Relaxation techniques. Oh and you need new meds. God knows in wars gone by that we had a plethora of fucking Lithium and Paxil to doll out to the knights of the round fucking table. King Arthur didn't pull a sword out of a stone, he pulled it out of his fucking foot but they were so fucking high they couldn't tell the god damn fucking difference. Come on, lecturing me on the fucking dangers of stopping drugs without consulting a Doctor doesn't help. Let me clue you in on something. Keeping me on anything that will raise my level of anger in any way shape or form is a danger to the general fucking populace that already piss me off numerous times a day. I can barely hold back the urge to choke the shit out of your average idiot that thinks the world revolves around them and that we can keep slinging people into combat with no ramifications. Or the politicians that covers up what's really going on by not entering shit like veterans killing themselves after they get out of the service. Great you fucking useless piece of flesh. Stop wasting my fucking oxygen and go choke on one of your fat slob lobbyists fucking wallet.

As for shrinks. Let me clue you in on something that's mildly fucking important. When it gets bad enough that we can't sleep and we can't think of anything truly relaxing without being interrupted by the demons chillin in the subconscious then fucking relaxation shit just isn't going to fucking work. It's time to gain fire superiority on the demons and tear those fuckers up like the god damn fucking exorcist. Don't feed the bitch. Kill the fucker. That's gotta be the only fucking way I can think of to do anything productive. Jesus fucking christ, don't you get it. Put us in combat and we know what to do. We've rehearsed the shit so many fucking times we can do it when we're shit housed drunk. That's the fucking point of it. We have Immediate Action drills pounded into our muscle and the most common thing after a fire fight is for guys to tell you they didn't even realize they were returning fire until they were changing a magazine. The thing is we were never taught an IA drill for shit like this. We aren't sure how to gain fire superiority on this enemy. Yet you tell us to relax. I've missed it. I was at the airport but apparently I was supposed to be at the bus station. I'm calling someone to find out where the fuck I'm supposed to go from here but apparently the "Can you hear me now?" fucker never walked by here. Either that or someone else who got fed up with his stupid fucking ass shoved his cell so far down his fucking throat that he's farting fucking ring tones.

Then again how the fuck do you communicate with someone who has no fucking idea where you're fucking coming from. Fuck. It's like I'm speaking a different fucking language and the fucking haji interpretor is more concerned with Man Love fucking Thursday instead of telling this dip shit what I'm saying. Fuck it. Lost cause.