"'Roid Rage" is Real

I thought I'd covered all the bases.  I stashed the cutlery in the garage and tuned the television to a leprechaun movie.  I now want to stab leprechauns.

A concerned friend, who knows I live near Notre Dame asked how long it takes to get to the Golden Dome.  "Don't worry," I said, relieved my mountain climbing gear is buried in boxes in the back of the same garage where the steak knives are vacationing.   "Jesus is safe."

I can breathe and thanks to a lovely little nightcap of antihistamine and codeine, I can sleep for hours at a stretch.  I slept through the sunrise this morning, but awoke feeling like a werewolf must feel just before a full moon.

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No more leprechaun movies.

I found a movie about a woman who returns for her high school reunion to find her mother has opened a bed and breakfast in their home.  The main character, who is a doctor, is offered her old room.  Her mother takes down the imaginary velvet rope she's placed in the doorway after begging her daughter to stay there.  Daughter agrees, provided her mother agrees to treat her the same as any other guest.  

Okay, so I now I want to jump INTO the picture tube and strangle them both.  Then I want to find the people who wrote the script, tie them to straight-backed chairs and make them watch the entire film.

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Awww . . . a sweet drama about an elderly couple who find each other after years of being alone.  Now I'm waiting for one of them to die.

I'm turning off the television.