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my afternoon with berzerker-girl.

There is no more fun a time for me than that lovely 48-hour time span where muscular spasms from her "female time" turn my wife into a raging bee-YOTCH.

Example:

We leave work and are walking to the car. I look over to her and say:

"You know, I wonder--""
"I DO NOT FEEL LIKE TALKING RIGHT NOW."

I maintain my silence on the way to the car, and proceed to drive. She starts talking to me. I know better.

Keep the mouth shut. There is safety in silence.

(She later admitted she was "testing me". oh, the love I have for womankind)

I drive home and to get there I need to drive through these housing developments that we commonly refer to as "the ghetto". Not because we look down on the folk that live there, thats what they refer to it as.

San Francisco proper is mostly ghetto interspersed with little pockets of gentrification to break up the diversity. Most people from other cities would mock San Francisco ghettos as weak anyway.

Picking your way through this area is always a challenge not because of any danger factor, but because the streets are not a place for travelling, but just a flatter place to hang out. Having people in front of you come to a full stop so they can talk to their buddy in the middle of the road without even thinking about leaving you room to get around them is not only commonplace, but expected and considered part of the charm. Pedestrian traffic simply looks at these streets as if they were big asphalt sidewalks.

So I'm driving along and about halfway down the block I see this teenager walk out into the crosswalk against the light. No big surprise. Shes just ambling along, looks directly at me, but doesn't try to get across or stop.

No. Shes going to get in my way if it results even in her death.

I'm not prepared to kill her so I start slowing down and then I hear next to me, in a voice that can only be described as exorcistesque...

...run the bitch over...
...and I hear hands groping at the passenger side door and I can't tell if they're going for the door handle or the window crank.

I'm just thinking "must get insane PMS woman home...light is yellow...i can go aroun..."
"I said run over THE FAT BITCH WALKIN HER SLOW FAT ASS THROUGH THE CROSSWALK AGAINST THE FUCKING LIGHT!!!"

gun it - get home - must escape...

By the last half of that explosion shes got her head half out the window...

Yeah. Nothing more fun than knowing you're forever connected to a person that turns into a half-starved rabid badger once a month.

The funny part is, all you need to do is stick them in a hot tub full of "bath product" and they calm right down.

hunh.

Slap Out.

20 Jul 00

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