A Heartfelt Letter to The Little Black Cloud Or the Mo fo who won't get the fuck away from me

Dear Little Black Cloud Following Me Around,

Don't try and hide, mother fucker. I see you. Yeh. You. You, the one who constantly stalks me?

Excuse me, but isn't it about time you move on to someone else's parade about now? You've been following me pretty consistently for some time now, and well, you see, I've fucking had it. I swear if I find the son of a bitch that gave you my new address...

So, um. Cloud. Could you maybe let me know what I did to whomever or whatever that was awful enough for my family to be constantly soaked with this bullshit deal you must have going with Karma, the Universe and that fucking jackass, Murphy's Law...because, I'll say I'm sorry and make some damn ass cookies if that's what you need. But I'm getting pretty tired of you constantly fucking my shit up. Damn.

Today the little stunt you pulled with the air conditioner compressor in my fairly new to me Jeep was a load of fucking bullshit. Where the fuck am I going to pull the money for that when the damn thing already needs new tires? Hmmm? C'mon, I'm asking you a question, damn it! The least you can do is look at me!

You could throw me a freakin' life jacket or something. Maybe a little part time job that works with our current lifestyle with little interuption, or maybe a windfall from some dead relative that I didn't know I had, or how about one I do know I have? Eh? I know it's not nice but I don't really give freakin' rats ass at the moment. How about a super-happy-fun time-smile all day long- pill? Can you at least hook me up with something like that so I don't strangle my husband in his sleep? Sigh. I didn't think so.

Well. If you can't help with any of that shit couldn't you at least, pretty fucking please with a nice neat of bourbon, just move the fuck out of the way for a while? I'm sure opportunity is knocking, but I just can't hear it over the constant thunder and umbrella breaking downpours. Yeh. Bitch. That's right. I know it was you who got my favorite Monet umbrella stuck and bent in my old Jeep because of the accident which I'm sure you and your little jackass buddies had something to do with. It was my very favorite. I had it for like 10 years. Jerkwad.

Alright now. Really. I've had enough. Move along already so I can resume my old gleeful, sweet, darling, happy go lucky self. Yeh. I know. I'm full of shit, but I'd at least settle for a bit of happiness. It's hard work being a pissed-at-the-world jerk all the time. So, you know. It's time you get going now. Here's your coat, and there is the door...

Seriously, get the fuck out.



Thanks, you're a peach. And yeh. That was my foot kicking you in the ass,

Donna Freakin' Reed




xoxox



The next day...


I would like to add an edit here because my mechanical genius of a husband has somewhat temporarily fixed the problem (bang on the clutch assembly of the compressor with a flash light while the switch is on and you're good to go until you shut it all off) and may also have a cost efficient short term fix until the whole the whole damn compressor blows (something about coil, clutch wheel, something, something, around $150, etc. etc.), which better effin' be after freaking August.


Sigh. I'd sure like to strangle him sometimes, but he has such a fantastic mechanical mind. If he can't find the part, he makes it. He really is amazing in that department. The other areas? Well, they cost us about $80 a pop to sort through.

Smooches, Donna