Sunday, November 24, 2013

Going Postal

What happened to the term “going postal”? I mean there was a period there, for like a good decade, where people fed up with having to deal with bullshit rules, stupid people and inconsiderate douchebags on an hourly basis had a phrase that properly captured their level of rage. That free-floating hostility so deep that you wished you were motherfucking Godzilla come to bring the reckoning so richly deserved. I kind of miss that phrase now. And I just don’t know what happened to it. It can’t be that working conditions at the USPS have been so drastically improved. You’re still dealing with the public and the public is still mostly made up of assholes (funny story, as I typed that I misspelled it as ‘assholds’ which my mind at this moment interprets as my being so angry that I go elbow deep into the nearest open orifice, get a strong grip, and start fist pumping like I’m in the cast of Jersey Shore and did something almost adequately, but I digress).

So I don’t know where that term went, if it’s still valid now that kids are so lazy they speak by abbreviating two-syllable words, or if maybe it was replaced by another, more modern term and I’m too old to have heard of it. Like those high-frequency tones you lose the ability to hear after a certain age, my ability to express outrage in up to date vernacular is probably gone. But I would like the phrase to come back. Every time I have to listen to church music blaring from the TV of my neighbor over the fence at 3 in the morning, I need a phrase like “going postal”. By the way, I’m not a big fan of church, but me and God are good. We get along fine, I stay out of his way, he stays out of mine, I’ve agreed that if I make it to old age I’m going to get Alzheimer’s and He’s agreed that if I can’t remember my sins there’s no reason I should have to go to confession. It’s not the fact that it’s church music. It’s the fact that it’s 3 in the fucking morning and the “universal” remote control is either out of range or needs to be sued for false fucking advertising.

I need a term that I can use to explain to the arresting officers, so they understand there was no other option for dealing with the guy who nearly ran me over then had the audacity to honk at me when I had the walk signal, than to chuck an incendiary grenade into the top of his convertible then stand in the middle of the intersection, unzip and laugh while I took a leak on his smoldering remains.

Without a term like “going postal” when I just start throwing my Blackberry (that would have to be the work one ‘cause honestly who has as Blackberry for personal use. Right?), it just looks kind of silly. Because language is important. It’s how we communicate concepts, ideas and outright fucking enmity to the myriad of nimrods who have already starting ruining my Sunday morning before the actual SUN has come up for the fucking DAY. I’ve got about three feet of potting plants, a fence and a couple of palm trees in my way but I need to go find the main power junction going to that building and shut that TV off. It’s a holy day and even God thinks that singing is fucking awful, especially at almost 4 AM.


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