Friday the 13th, are you fucking kidding me?
I hate this day.
When I was younger, I figured I would come to a point where it wouldn’t bother me anymore.
Not working out.
From the moment I see it coming up on the calendar, I am filled with a sincere feeling of dread.
My ass is in full clench from the moment I get up to the moment I fall fitfully to sleep.
And there is a voice in the back of my head that is SURE that the second I relax I will get rickets or aids or bite by a dog or something.
Like a foamy mouthed pitbull.
The breed used in the line above is to piss off a friend that rescues pitbulls.
I like to stack the “Piss off” deck every now and then.
Maybe it is due to still recovering from a lack of sleep after flying in on that flying gulag known as SouthWest airlines.
(Also got an email protesting my description of what SouthWest did to my flight schedule as “Slipping it a roofy and raping it without a condom.” And that is STILL funny.)
However, it could be a sense of dread that comes with the understanding that Friday could be the day the shit hits the fan.
Not sure, zombie holocaust type of shit, but definitely shit of some sort.
I gassed up my car and checked the oil.
Checked my stockpile of canned goods and potable water.
Made sure my ammo stash is full.
Dropped by the church and lit a few candles, I am hedging all bets at this point.
And I am still not ready.
But there is only so much you can do, other than hiding out and laying low on the day in question.
Which I am planning to do.
Don’t call me, don’t text me, and don’t even think about trying to Skype me.
I am not answering shit.
If you see me Friday, its because you are hiding in my closet and what the hell is wrong with you?
The internet is not helping.
I just found a website that has dozens of horrid things that have all happened on Friday the 13th.
The last thing I need right now are facts, mainly because the fantasy in my head is powerful enough to keep me sleepless for weeks.
So, let that be the only warning I will give.
Lay low, avoid strangers and strange things, and above all, keep me out of it.
Wrote the previous a few days ago.
Seems a little dour on the re-read.
I wouldn’t want everyone but me to take this less serious than I.
My plan? I will spend my day with a rabbit’s foot in one hand and a St. Christopher medal in the other and both ass cheeks in full clench for the entire day.
Swamp ass? It goes without saying.