<h1>"Something wicked this way comes".....</h1>

I can feel it. Brewing within me. Like a fowl and festering witch's concoction....

~Make way for PMS~

I am only safe from it's clutches 2 out of 4 weeks of the month. The remainder of my fortnights are plagued with insatiable school girl giggles, and quickly replaced with suicidal lows that would make your fecking GRANDFATHER curl up in a ball and cry themself (I don't even think that's a word:themself) to sleep.

The heirchy for today? A bowl of mushroom flavored pasta with dried up mushrooms for added texture, and a peanut butter and jelly sammich. Yep. That's fucking it.

Mike got home from work smelling like a steam piled piece of wood, and left with the fucking QUICKNESS when invited to his buddy's to play a "champion's game of HORSE". So fuck him and the HORSE he rode out on. He's probably SICK TO DEATH of seeing me play Guitar Hero 3 everytime he gets home, but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, when he gets home, that's usually the time that I FINALLY have a chance to sit down and relax and do what the fuck I wanna do, instead of following around after shitheads all day washing/drying/folding laundry, cleaning bathrooms, bedrooms, dustbunnies, dishes and buttholes. So what the FUCK is it to him if I wanna play Tenacious D's "The Metal" on medium and make his sorry ass so jealous that HE can't get a 99% acuracy with a 454 note streak?

I should take my maxi pad off and rub it all over his face while he's asleep, you know it?

......and to top all this off, I turn the game off (after playing for a whopping forty-five minutes) just to find the house a mess again because he has a tendency to "shed" his working skin whenever he gets home from work. So when he gets home from his little game, I'm going to leave a "trail" all my own....
Yes....
A "trail" of used maxi pads leading from the front door all the way to the back bedroom that we share each night. The pads will cleverly lead to something under the covers.
Something evil.
Something lurking.
And when he lifts those said covers, out shall I pop, with carnaged maxi pad in hand, to smother him in the death he dealt to me so quickly all these years.

.....I'll not let him see this published post.