Theft of Peace of Mind
Yeah, it's that time again. We're back to blogging and not sleeping. Stress has led me to this horrible place once again. So, it's 4am and I'm here writing instead of sleeping.
What kind of stress might you ask? Well, my reactions aren't working. Mostly because I can't get some material purified. Our God-like Chinese worker has a procedure for cleaning this stuff up, but it's like trying to follow the directions of an Olympic sprinter: "Just run fast." Right. I've learned that when he says "This reaction not so difficult," that I need to be worried. And when he says "Ah, this reaction somewhat difficult," that really means that you have to give up a winning lottery ticket after sacrificing a goat on the zenith of Mars coinciding with a full moon on an odd-dated Thursday to make it work. Needless to say, work is going slowly, which is stressful because I want to get the fuck out of here.
The other stressor is the break-in. While I have to live like a prisoner and keep everything I value at the lab, it is a headache to keep everything locked up all the time. And, the little fuckers have been back. Twice. First, they came to steal my propane tank off my gas grill. What the fuck are they going to do with that? Have a cookout? They didn't steal the grill. Then, sadly, I found out that they stole a package off my porch that my mom had sent me. It had clothes, books, and a fake book with a hollowed out inside to store stuff. Both of these happened during broad daylight in the afternoon. It means that the crooks are brazen enough to jump my porch wall during the day, and it also means that if they come back, the book safe they stole may give them the idea to start tearing books off my shelves. That would have been bad, as I had some IDs stuck in there. No more. All my IDs are now at the lab. And just for insurance purposes, I have also taken all my chemistry/pyro/explosives books there as well. I figure that these idiots probably won't steal books, but if it's a bunch of kids, they may see the titles and think they're cool. So there is the stress of the assholes stealing shit off my porch.
I despise this state. It truly is the land of criminal empowerment. It is illegal here to booby-trap your house. If it were not, the floors in front of all my windows would have plywood boards with screws driven through them waiting for someone who came through. The porch railing would have razor wire. And I would have fitted my propane tank with an RP-1 detonator and a trip wire. And, just for fun, the porch would have bear traps covered in straw.
Now I do hope that someone breaks in while I'm here. I will kill them, no matter what kind of consequences that entails. I'm ready to split a head open with my hand axe. Fuck shooting them. That's too quick. I want to get my aggression out with my bare hands. Let them feel the wrath of 5 years of graduate school. Let there be no question whether or not I was within the legal 21' for self-defense required by state law. Yeah, I may take a bullet or a knife wound, but that's not even going to slow me down. Criminals take note: come in here at expense of your life. I've got plenty of kitchen knives I don't need to put in your hand to explain my 45-odd 'self-defense' hatchet wounds to your head, and I have lots of bleach to clean your blood out of my carpet. Hell, it'd probably make the place smell a little better.
Man, I need to get the hell out of here.
What kind of stress might you ask? Well, my reactions aren't working. Mostly because I can't get some material purified. Our God-like Chinese worker has a procedure for cleaning this stuff up, but it's like trying to follow the directions of an Olympic sprinter: "Just run fast." Right. I've learned that when he says "This reaction not so difficult," that I need to be worried. And when he says "Ah, this reaction somewhat difficult," that really means that you have to give up a winning lottery ticket after sacrificing a goat on the zenith of Mars coinciding with a full moon on an odd-dated Thursday to make it work. Needless to say, work is going slowly, which is stressful because I want to get the fuck out of here.
The other stressor is the break-in. While I have to live like a prisoner and keep everything I value at the lab, it is a headache to keep everything locked up all the time. And, the little fuckers have been back. Twice. First, they came to steal my propane tank off my gas grill. What the fuck are they going to do with that? Have a cookout? They didn't steal the grill. Then, sadly, I found out that they stole a package off my porch that my mom had sent me. It had clothes, books, and a fake book with a hollowed out inside to store stuff. Both of these happened during broad daylight in the afternoon. It means that the crooks are brazen enough to jump my porch wall during the day, and it also means that if they come back, the book safe they stole may give them the idea to start tearing books off my shelves. That would have been bad, as I had some IDs stuck in there. No more. All my IDs are now at the lab. And just for insurance purposes, I have also taken all my chemistry/pyro/explosives books there as well. I figure that these idiots probably won't steal books, but if it's a bunch of kids, they may see the titles and think they're cool. So there is the stress of the assholes stealing shit off my porch.
I despise this state. It truly is the land of criminal empowerment. It is illegal here to booby-trap your house. If it were not, the floors in front of all my windows would have plywood boards with screws driven through them waiting for someone who came through. The porch railing would have razor wire. And I would have fitted my propane tank with an RP-1 detonator and a trip wire. And, just for fun, the porch would have bear traps covered in straw.
Now I do hope that someone breaks in while I'm here. I will kill them, no matter what kind of consequences that entails. I'm ready to split a head open with my hand axe. Fuck shooting them. That's too quick. I want to get my aggression out with my bare hands. Let them feel the wrath of 5 years of graduate school. Let there be no question whether or not I was within the legal 21' for self-defense required by state law. Yeah, I may take a bullet or a knife wound, but that's not even going to slow me down. Criminals take note: come in here at expense of your life. I've got plenty of kitchen knives I don't need to put in your hand to explain my 45-odd 'self-defense' hatchet wounds to your head, and I have lots of bleach to clean your blood out of my carpet. Hell, it'd probably make the place smell a little better.
Man, I need to get the hell out of here.
posted by ChemicalJesus at 4:03 AM
1 Comments:
For the record:
"Roller-chair monkey"?
Oh, how I laughed. :)
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