I'm too fucking pissed right now even for political blogging. That's right. If I were to say to you kind folks with the tender sensibilities what was really on my mind, half of you would have grand mal seizures and the other half would be tickling their wrists with a straight edge razor.
Despite the Red Sox' 17-8 rogering of the Angels last night, people currently infesting my life, especially a certain literary agent in La Jolla, California, have me teetering on the edge, my arms windmilling and my back to the abyss, and all it would take is a good exhalation to completely send me over the edge for good. And the last thing I need right now is to melt my keyboard and to put more fingernail gouges into it than I already have.
I'll be back tomorrow, maybe.