Being petty
Sometimes I just want to give in to my petty side. I still haven't quite gotten over the whole Freedom's Place incident. It just struck my sense of injustice and raised ghosts of the past.
For some reason growing up, I always felt guilty regardless of whether I'd done something or not. We used to go to this Five and Dime store when I was a kid. There was this old fart who worked there that would follow us around whispering to the other clerks to watch these kids to make sure they don't steal anything. I was mortified. I had been raised never to even think about taking something that wasn't mine. But still I felt guilty.
When I was in first grade, I remember going to another classroom to sing or something. The kid next to me was talking and the teacher in that room asked where the noise was coming from. My teacher pointed to the kid next to me but the homeroom teacher thought she was pointing at me. I got hit in the head.
One time in junior high I sat down in the lunchroom next to a wall. I looked up and noticed someone had stuck a catsup cup on the wall. I pulled it off, turned around and was handed a rag by the janitor who was glaring at me and lecturing me for trashing the place.
Each time I was mortified at being accused of something I didn't do and no matter what I said it didn't matter.
Thus Freedom's Place burns me. I despise the goat man. You can't have the last word with the goat man. Even deleting my link to his page can't be done with out a cheap shot from him protesting his innocence and my childishness. I never really liked being linked to his site. I have always felt obligated to provide a link to people who link to me. More often than not I was embarrassed to be associated with him. I cringed at the thought of people finding him through me and thinking I liked his rambling babble and amateurish prattle about politics and his BDS&M fantasies.
And I despise that fact that the little prick hides behind Buffalo turd and his odd bevy of bobbleheads. And my vindictive self wanted Freedom's Place to crumble and take with it the bad poetry, stupid cartoons and sad political rhetroic.
Being sick feeds my pettiness.
For some reason growing up, I always felt guilty regardless of whether I'd done something or not. We used to go to this Five and Dime store when I was a kid. There was this old fart who worked there that would follow us around whispering to the other clerks to watch these kids to make sure they don't steal anything. I was mortified. I had been raised never to even think about taking something that wasn't mine. But still I felt guilty.
When I was in first grade, I remember going to another classroom to sing or something. The kid next to me was talking and the teacher in that room asked where the noise was coming from. My teacher pointed to the kid next to me but the homeroom teacher thought she was pointing at me. I got hit in the head.
One time in junior high I sat down in the lunchroom next to a wall. I looked up and noticed someone had stuck a catsup cup on the wall. I pulled it off, turned around and was handed a rag by the janitor who was glaring at me and lecturing me for trashing the place.
Each time I was mortified at being accused of something I didn't do and no matter what I said it didn't matter.
Thus Freedom's Place burns me. I despise the goat man. You can't have the last word with the goat man. Even deleting my link to his page can't be done with out a cheap shot from him protesting his innocence and my childishness. I never really liked being linked to his site. I have always felt obligated to provide a link to people who link to me. More often than not I was embarrassed to be associated with him. I cringed at the thought of people finding him through me and thinking I liked his rambling babble and amateurish prattle about politics and his BDS&M fantasies.
And I despise that fact that the little prick hides behind Buffalo turd and his odd bevy of bobbleheads. And my vindictive self wanted Freedom's Place to crumble and take with it the bad poetry, stupid cartoons and sad political rhetroic.
Being sick feeds my pettiness.
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