A collection of half-inebriated, non-sequitur rants and ramblings from the hellish mondane world of retail pharmacy.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Rage Against the Machine

Rage Against the Machine once said 'Anger is a gift.' If that is true, consider me extremely gifted. I am one blessed pharmacist if this is the case. I have yet to hear someone attempt to disprove my claims of being quick to anger.

Now, as much as I would love to punch every other person that walks into my pharmacy straight in the teeth, laws and some other bullshit like that prevent me from doing so. Nor can I jab them in the ear with my counting spatula. (It fits, and don't ask me how I know.) So anyways, I pretty much spend each subsequent day building on the anger and rage carried over from the day prior. As they say, necessity is the mother of all invention, I think today I had an epiphany on how to cope with this infinite rage.

I strongly believe in property rights, and that people have a right and responsibility to protect their property. Furthermore, we the people cannot always rely on the government to protect our property, so, we must protect it ourselves at times.

From now on, I will park my car, armed with a wake-the-dead alarm, with a stack of cash and empty bottles of Oxycontin in plain sight. Someone (we get plenty of addicts, and this ain't exactly Beverly Hills out here) will surely try to break into my car. And when they do, trust you me, I will be thankful. They will experience the fury of a thousand bitchy patients. The anger pent up from a million rejected claims. The murderous blood lust caused by standing on my feet for the better part of my 20s while the idiotic public yells at me for no good fucking reason. I swear, people treat stray cats better than they do pharmacists.

So anyways, as I pummel this douche, I stop just short of death, feel the most divine happiness transcend upon me and have one purely, blissful moment, completely void of rage and anger. Then the anger comes rushing back as I have to listen to my victim whine and cry with pain. Pussy. I throw him a bottle of the Oxycontin he was trying to fill. He will yell and me when he realizes it was empty the whole time. I will laugh.

And that my friends, is the perfect solution to my problem.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think we may be the same person.

12:59 PM

 

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