what is this i don't even Ladies and gentlefen, rage-fuel can come from the darnedest places. Like "Dear Abby".
There's the lite variety: say, someone's auntie refuses to return a crystal punchbowl lent her years ago, claiming "oh
dahling, you GAVE it to me, don't you remember?" and they're asking good Mrs. Van Buren whether they should let go, or let lawyer.
Then there's mid-grade.
Por ejemplo: a heartless golddigger snatches up your elderly dad, destroying his marriage, hastening mom's premature death, and cutting him off from all contact with his "old" family. And he won't stand up to her, because young poon >>> seeing his grandkids. Or something. What to do, what to do.
And occasionally,
( there's something like today's headliner. ) I...I have no words.
Well, I got a few, but I fear the sheer ræg might cause my keyboard to combust.
(Is it Happy Hour yet? Because this calls for hard liquor and lots of it.)
Current Mood: GRRRRRR