I’m sitting on the deck trying to murder wasps with the hose.
It’s on the “jet” setting and I want to take them all down.
I’ve been doing this frequently, while the Beast watches, concerned. He’s of the “leave them alone, and they will ignore you” school, which sounds like a school for people who share Deepak Chopra quotes on Facebook. It just doesn’t make any sense.
Worse than the wasps this summer are fellow cyclists. Every commute to and from work, I imagine what I would say to the really bad ones. Sometimes I even say these things out loud, to myself, while kind of laughing, like someone who maybe needs some disorder management.
Whoopsie, just some open streetcar doors that you didn’t stop for! I know we’re riding up a hill, but you still have to stop, fucker!
Oops that’s a red light you just ran and look at how far you got ahead you piece of shit and now I have to pass you for the fourth time because I don’t run reds but thank you for endangering my life every time I have to pass you, again! LOL!
Good for you! Kick that car while you illegally pass it on the right while they were trying to make a right-hand turn! That will show them you little fuck brain!
Oh guess what I am not a mind reader so when we’re in the bike lane and you pull over–with no warning while 25 other people behind you!–in front of that grocery store advertising “GMO and gluten-free cabbage!” you’re supposed to use your “slowing down” hand signal so that I don’t ram myself up your filthy ass!
Oh god this feels good.
There was also the cashier at the Shoppers Drug Mart: I needed three bucks for the streetcar so I bought some shaving cream, which I didn’t even need, just to get the change, but then I paid with my Debit card and guess what? The till only opens when there is a cash transaction. “Would you mind just doing a no-sale?” I asked her, smiling–and using my inside retail lingo for pressing a button to open the register–to try and persuade her. “We aren’t supposed to do that,” she said. “Why don’t you get some cash back and then I’ll give you your change?” That sounded like a really great compromise. So I do the Debit transaction for like $25 and guess what? She forgets my cash! Guess how she finally gets me my money? She does a motherfucking no-sale!
And to the two dudes in a shitty Dodge with a shitty spoiler on the back who threw a bag of fast food refuse out their car window and into my path riding north on St. George, bad things will happen to you, eventually, or maybe they won’t, because the universe doesn’t care about good and evil, about balance, about Karma, even though most civilized human beings–and Deepak!–believe that to be true! Still, go fuck yourself!
To the people who don’t signal on the 401, or who drive 110 km in the left lane, suck my big old dick!
Oh fuck there is a wasp literally just circling around my head.
I haven’t always been like this. What is happening to me?
Luckily, the Beast has provided some refuge from my rage. The other night on the patio we got to talking about Martha Stewart. Listen, I don’t remember how or why–that’s not important. The point is, the Beast asked if she was single.
Foodie: I think so, why?
Beast: Well, this is very interesting.
Foodie: What do you mean?
Beast: Well for starters, she’s beautiful, she’s mature, she’s funny, she’s business-savvy, she loves to cook, and she loves Chows.
Foodie: You know, you two would make a really good couple. You’d be such a good “plus one” for her at any party or event, anywhere from the Hamptons to Venice. You’d always have something nice to wear, and she’s probably not interested in having really long sex.
Beast: That was incredibly cruel.
Foodie: What are you doing?
Beast: Just working on one of my collages.
Foodie: Like, using an app?
Foodie: You actually downloaded an app to make collages?
Beast: It’s a creative outlet.
Foodie: Let me see some.
Foodie: What does all this mean?
Beast: I’m the kind of artist whose work speaks for itself.
Foodie: Is your beard trimmer broken?
Foodie: Sometimes I use it to trim up down there and it wasn’t working. I have to do something because I’ve been wearing a lot of short shorts.
Beast: Do you know when the last time I trimmed my pubes was?
Foodie: [Spraying wasps with the hose]
Beast: 12 years ago.
Beast: It was the night that we first–
Foodie: Maybe I’m just hungry. Are you hungry?