Wastrels

I slept wonderfully on Monday night, woke early-ish on Tuesday, got dressed and completed my morning ablutions by a decent hour. This means that I got out for a good walk, right? I ran errands, went to Super Cuts for a long overdue shearing too, right? No, I did not.

It was a beautiful, warm day but I was frozen solid and totally beat. What the fuck?! Do I have a cold? I don’t believe so. Was I exhausted from a busy weekend? Can’t be. All I did was read, blog, watch teevee and take a couple decent (but not heroically long) walks. Am I thoroughly drained from reading the news, keeping up with my fucked up health woes and other annoying horseshit? *DING* *DING* *DING* We appear to have a WINNAH!

Three things:

• If I just stop fretting, finish my tax prep and send it off to the damn tax form people, a LOT of my stress will be gone...like soap suds down the bathtub drain.

• It’s truly okay to take a day off from walking. I’m still building back up after a bad/low exercise April. I can’t go from zero to light speed as easily or smoothly as I once did.

• I have GOT to take a solid week off from the news. 

At this point I just want to launch von ShitzInPantz, Bibi, Putin and Hamas into the sun. Actually, that’s unfair to Sol. What, I ask you WHAT, did our poor little yellow star do to deserve such twisted filth being hurled into it? Not a goddamn thing, that’s what.

Maybe I could dump them on a passing comet and the boys can fight amongst themselves as to who gets to be king of a barren, oxygen-free rock speeding through space. 

Better yet, I’ll ship them to asteroid TB145, (AKA The Death Comet, AKA The Great Pumpkin Comet). Death Comet's a dead comet. ’the fuck’s a dead comet you ask? That’s one where the volatile elements—frozen water, carbon dioxide, ammonia, and methane have been previously shed, so it has no tail. Dead Boy is 1,300 feet in diameter which might make for a tight fit for all those horrifically bloated egos. S’OK, they won’t be drinking in the views and lack of atmosphere for long. heh, heh, heh!

Oooo, I’ve got an even better idea! Let’s ship these power-mad syphilitic vampires to Uranus’s North Pole. Why Uranus? ‘Cause it’s funny (if you’ve the sophisticated humor of a 12 year old. GUILTY!) Also, there’s a giant stinky storm churning there—it’s roiling over roughly 6,800 miles of the planet. That’s about the distance from Boston to Shanghai. I betcha Google Maps won’t work well in the storm, eh? Seems like a serious no-escape sitch. I wonder how long they’d last?

Unlike Earth's cyclones, Uranus polar vortex is not formed of water vapor but of ices of methane, ammonia and hydrogen sulfide. Nor does the storm drift, instead remaining rooted to the pole. (source)

Sounds painful! They should wear their good galoshes for the trip, huh?