Get excited—it's Primal Scream Friday

As that old biblical proverb goes, "It's my blog and I'll whine if I want to." Here it is, once again, a chance to vent about whatever's bugging you. Shouting encouraged! Permit me:

I AM SO OVER MY WINTER CLOTHES, MY WINTER SKIN AND MY LAME-ASS WINTER EXCUSES FOR NOT EXERCISING.

TWITTERING IS OUT OF CONTROL. WHY DO PEOPLE FEEL COMPELLED TO SHARE EARTH-SHATTERING UPDATES SUCH AS "I'VE GOT A BIG LOAD OF LAUNDRY TO DO"?

STIMULUS PACKAGE, TWO WORDS: HURRY. UP.

I AM TOO OLD TO TRY OUT FOR AMERICAN IDOL.

That is all.

Yipppeee! It's Primal Scream Friday

Complaining's an underrated pleasure, isn't it? Join the fun! Note, I fully encourage the use of capitals, it's ever so much more satisfying. Here goes:

I JUST READ A PREDICTION THAT THE RECESSION WILL LAST TILL APRIL OF 2010—AND THAT'S THE BEST-CASE SCENARIO. CRAP.

INSURANCE COMPANY, NOT ONLY ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU WILL NO LONGER PAY FOR MAX'S THERAPY BILLS, BUT YOU ARE SAYING THAT YOU HAVE NOT RECEIVED BILLS THAT I SENT TO YOU (YOU KNOW, THE ONES THAT YOU DO NOT WANT TO PAY). INSURANCE COMPANY, THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR YOU AND WHEN YOU GET THERE AND BEG FOR A DRINK OF WATER YOU WILL BE TOLD, "SORRY, YOUR PLAN DOESN'T COVER THAT."

CHILDREN, WHY MUST YOU KEEP SLEEPING IN OUR BED? WHY DO I KEEP I LETTING YOU? WHY AM I SHOUTING AT MYSELF?

A POOL OF WATER KEEPS FORMING AT THE BOTTOM OF MY DISHWASHER WHEN IT'S NOT EVEN IN USE. MY PLAN IS TO KEEP PRETENDING THIS IS NOT HAPPENING, AS THERE ARE APPROXIMATELY 459 THINGS I WOULD RATHER SPEND MONEY ON THAN DISHWASHER REPAIR.

CHEETOS, THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR YOU, TOO.

That is all.

Photo by Gregory Pleau

It's Primal Scream Friday!

Here it is, back by popular demand. Shout out whatever's been bugging you. Me first:

I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT OUR INSURANCE COMPANY INFORMED ME YESTERDAY THAT THEY ARE NO LONGER PAYING CLAIMS FOR ANY OF MAX'S THERAPIES BECAUSE CEREBRAL PALSY IS A LIFELONG CONDITION AND THEY ONLY PAY FOR SHORT-TERM REHAB. INSURANCE COMPANY, SUCK IT. YOU CAN BET YOUR CORPORATE ASS I'LL BE FIGHTING YOU.

I MISS MY FRIENDS. WE'RE ALL SO BUSY KEEPING UP WITH LIFE THAT WE'VE HARDLY SEEN EACH OTHER LATELY.

I AM SO OVER TRYING TO ORGANIZE THE KIDS' TOYS. WHY DO I EVEN CARE? WHEN I AM 85-YEARS-OLD AND IN THE NURSING HOME, I WILL MOST CERTAINLY NOT SIT AROUND THINKING, "THANK GOD I FOUND EVERY SINGLE POLLY POCKETS PIECE, ESPECIALLY THAT MICROSCOPIC GREEN SHOE" AND "I AM SOOOO GLAD I KEPT ALL OF THE THOMAS THE TANK TRACK SET IN ONE PLACE." ORGANIZATION, SUCK IT.

OK, your turn!