Right

Oh, yeah. This was a great idea. Why the hell didn't I think of it? What a great idea: why don't we move me from a safe place in a quiet neighborhood where I've spent years networking and am making money off the books to a shithole in Butt Fuck Egypt full of Republican idiots and a population who can't even speak proper English and doesn't speak any goddamn Spanish? Great idea. Yea. And while we're at it, why don't we move him into a place where he has to share a kitchen with a genious who says, “I farted. It's stinky. Woo-wee. I farted. I up-chucked” at the top of his fucking lungs from 6:30 in the morning until 9 pm at night? Wow. Think of it like a cruise. If this WAS a cruise, I'd ask for my fucking money back. We are not allowed to go outside the gates for our safety. Meanwhile, this genious next door has made holes in the walls by punching it and broken my coffee pot full of fresh coffee because I told him to shut the fuck up. But, here's where you feel safe.

Then, there's the staff. Who go above and beyond to make sure they get paid on time and don't give a rat's ass about us. Once, family weekend was coming and these employees busted into my room to clean it and I told them I had cleaned it last friday. But, this fat fucker pinned me to the ground, I felt like I was going to sufficate, while his genious partner swept my floor. Imagine if someone came into your home, who you told to leave, and cleaned without your permission. Oh, wait, that's called robbery, except here.

And the genious staff can take things away they think we could harm ourselves with. You're thinking guns, bombs, moonshine. Oh, those are nothing compared to a fucking pill divider. God fucking forbid I should be allowed to take my own pills since I made one goddamn mistake. But, when they make mistakes, know what happens? Jack-shit nothing. If it was up to me, all these bastards would be disbarred. Assholes.

I swear, everyone in fucking Georgia is deaf, since it would take so much fucking effort to get out of your goddamn chair and walk to the person to talk. No, let's scream their name across the goddamn room over and over at the top of our lungs. That won't annoy anyone. This brings me to this other great idea these fucking geniouses have. Two people who know each other are on each side of me: one's on my left, one's on my right. So, instead of, oh I don't know, asking if I could change places with one of them, let's scream across me so they can talk to each other. What a great idea. And the stupid staff won't allow us to have guns here so we can shoot these idiots or maybe get a decent meal. Cheap, white, spagghetti, canned vegetables, fried meat, a fruit cup, and iced tea. Oh, and here's a tangerine for dessert. Yum, yum. Oh, I'm sure the other fucking cruiselines are going to try to copy this elequent cuisine any day now.  

Then, there's these conversations these savants keep wanting to have with me. Like, I'm sitting on a bench with a black suitcase waiting for the geniouses at this motherfucking company to take me to the airport and one of these savants looks at me and my suitcase and asks, “Hey, is that a suitcase?” So, after a beat, I say, “No, it's a rocket which I'm going to fly to the fucking moon.” “It is?” She asks. I reply, “What the fuck do you think it is?” Why do people keep asking me stupid things they know the answer to.

Then, there's the weather. Oh, what fucking fun to talk about the goddamn weather. You know, because talking about it is really going to make a big difference in God's plans for the weather today. You don't like the weather lately. Okay. What the hell do you want me to do about it? Who cares? Stay inside. Watch a movie. Go far, far away . . . away from me.

Then, people ask me shit they think I know. Are so and so and so and so dating? Why the fuck would I know that? Are you still dating so and so? You know who I'm dating. I'm dating the most intelligent being on this whole fucking campus. Know who that is? No? It's my right hand. I'm dating my right hand. We're both happy. Leave us the hell alone.  

Then, there's work. Work was supposed to be a place to be around semi-intelligent people away from the hellhole I live in. Then, there are genious customers and genious employees. One Einstein emloyee tells me, “I'm here to make cheeseburgers”. I say, “That's nice. I'm here to make money.”  

Then, somebody says something else actually intelligent: “I hate this place. So, I'm getting the hell out of here,” but instead of, I don't know, say, filling out an Against Medical Advice form so you can leave and the staff can't do anything. You, genious, at age 65, with no car, motorcycle, bicycle, or skateboard, are going to literally run away. And, as I just showed, tell someone who's so smart, they can't keep their mouth shut and this is definetely going to work? Right. Right.

I got it, the reason why we're not allowed to have our Second Amendment rights or our 21st Amendment rights, isn't because they think we'd fall or shoot each other, it's because they think we'd drink ourselves to death or blow our own fucking brains out. That's how to escape. Forget, renting a car or calling an attorney, let's blow our fucking heads off. Right.  

One morning a case manager said they got reports of people touching others in inappropriate spots, indecent exposure, fist fights, verbal arguments, threats, etc. But, you know what a bigger problem than all of these are? It's that the house parents aren't happy with our apartments not being clean enough. Forget about broken walls, kleptomaniacs. Clean, clean, clean. I'd like to clean the world of government run facilities.  

Then, there's the nurse practicioner we get to see. No, no. We don't need a real medical doctor when a nurse practioner can give us perscriptions? Why the fuck would we need that? Because they're a goddamn moron. Let's keep giving them more drugs and drugs for the symtoms of the drugs and drugs for the symptoms of the next drug. Then, why does he need Prozac? I can't imagine. Gee, could it possibly be he's locked in a cage with complete idiots who can't even speak properly? No, he just needs to think happier thoughts. Happier thoughts? Shooting myself with a gun. These are a few of my favorite things. When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I just load my gun and load it into my load, and then I don't feel so sad.  

See, people tell me they've been here for twenty years, thirty years, etc. and I don't want that. Remember what John Henry said: “Give me liberty or give me death.” Looked up suicide assistance on Amazon. Take sleeping pill, put bag over my head, fall asleep. It's a dream to be free. Free. Married, kids, home, car, free. So, I take a bag from my grocer, Goodies, and think about it. I swallow the sleeping pills and think about it. Which is worse? The afterlife or living here in Hell? Sometimes I wonder.