Well damn. I didn’t get to kill who I was gonna, but later in the day I had good reason to kill someone, and alas, the slob was nowhere in sight.
But I got him good and fired, or rather he got himself good and fired.
Short version: BigStupidBusDriverGuy, is at a high school, and as kids are loading, a gust of wind hits the bus door, blowing out a hinge pin which is needed for the electric door to work. BSBDG manages to get the door to close, HE THINKS, but since the pin is a necessary part of the door assembly, the door won’t STAY closed.
QUIZ: You are BSBDG. Do you, (A) Decide you ain’t driving a bus full of kids 2 miles down a rural highway in a bus that doesn’t have a door that will perform the essential function of STAYING FRICKING CLOSED??? This would require you to call your office on the radio, say “send a replacement bus, I broke mine”.
OR
(B) Drive the bus, down a 2 lane highway, at 50 mph with the door flapping in the breeze like a…like a…oh I dunno, like something, which analogously flaps in the breeze.
Hint: Pick (B) and you get your old, bald-headed, gap-toothed ass fired.
I can’t actually fire him, as he works for a contractor that runs some routes for us, but I got him banished, and that’ll get him canned.
I have found that my afternoon trips to the gym to abuse myself (hey. not like that) in the gym for an hour or two, really does get the stress-killing endorphins working. So, I’m in a better mood now, also thanks to some killer Pork Almond Ding, and a chilled beerverage.
Speaking of the gym, I’ve also developed a crush. New trainer-type girl there. She’s probably all of 22-23, thin-athletic, in a really thin, zero-body-fat kinda way. (This is how guys my age euphemistically say "nice butt. No, incredible butt) Wears ONLY spandex, not flashy or all made up, just simple pulled back skinny-athletic-spandexy person blond hair, and the BIGGEST smile ever. Smiles with her whole face and when she laughs at my stupid-old-bald guy, “not really flirting because oh yeah married and also fear of being laughed AT and not with” jokes, she touches my arm, or rests her hand on my shoulder to talk to me.
So, if, in the next few weeks, I run off with someone half my age, and that only eats greens and negative-fat foods, and I start talking about getting all buff and shopping for male ‘enhancement’ remedies (not like I need that, it’s for a friend), then her name’s Audrey.
Yeah, Audrey, like in Hepburn, she of whom I had possibly the steamiest dream I ever had in my life (that I can remember). (And, no I haven’t told her of the dream, I’ll save it for the honeymoon)
And by the way, back in the 80’s, who was naming their kids “Audrey”? My future in-laws, that’s who.