…though my two homicidal impulses (thus far) today have been toward dudes.

Seriously though, Shit Head with the Hose Outside: I don’t care if someone out front was crushed by a falling grand piano full of entrails, you turn the friggin’ hose off when someone walks by. Asshole.

My lord, I just lost my train of thought because I was ruminating on how much I want to punch that dude in the mouth right now. I can’t even remember who the other person I wanted to kill was. Perhaps that’s a good thing?

Oh wait, it was this guy. Was he part of a John Hughes Memorial Procession? (Ed note: Can’t remember if Flock of Seagulls was featured in any of his movies, but it’s close enough.)

I finally finished last week’s New Yorker (yup, this issue). Last thing I read was the Michael Savage profile. Yikes. I ask you–no, wait, I ask myself–on days like today, what is the difference between him and me? (A Chomsky library? An ACLU card? Jello Biafra’s I Blow Minds for a Living on vinyl?)

*This is actually the first line from Big Star’s “O Dana,” not a battle cry, and I believe it is the only song ever written about someone with my name. I used to jokingly tell people my parents named me after it, but actually I was three when it came out.
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