Breakfast (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: american breakfast (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Comics (Photo credit: Richard Masoner / Cyclelicious)
Sunday morning. I used to love Sunday mornings. It was a day to relax. A day not to worry about anything. To read the newspaper, especially the magazine and comic sections. It was a day to have a really good breakfast. On Sundays calories didn’t count. I could have anything I felt like eating. I could have bacon, donuts, eggs, french toast, big glass of juice, and drink as much coffee as I felt like drinking. It was a day to do absolutely nothing and luxuriate in not getting dressed.
I haven’t had a normal Sunday in years. I’m always taking care of some problem, or trying to get my computer into working shape.
This morning, for instance, I spent two hours plus trying to fix my computer. Of course, it’s still not working right. And the idiot that is working as a hacker today has already deleted what I’ve typed.
I imagine it’s a man who is doing the hacking. I know women do hacking, too, but most of the hackers are men.
I’d to take my foot and put it right where it hurts the idiot, and I would do it over and over until he would be yelling at me to stop. And I don’t care if they write me up for writing this. I can just see them now saying that I’m going to beat someone up.
What they do to us is torture, and they’re going to complain about being hit in a certain spot! Aren’t they all such girls?
I bet they wouldn’t be able to handle what we targets have to put up with every day. They’d probably be crying about how everything hurts. They’d probably have to call their mommies “Mommy, some nasty woman hurt me. Mommy, she really hurt me. Oh, poor thing. My heart breaks for all of them.
They act as if they’re so strong. So in command of their lives. Sure, they are. If they were in command of their lives, they’d have a soul and act like human beings. But they’re not humans. I don’t know what to call these things that walk around on two feet and are supposed to be human. Human, they’re not. It is an alien thing that tortures human beings for absolutely no reason at all.
I miss my Sundays and want them back. Sundays are for relaxing, not for fighting a war.
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