BULLSHIT ON THE BULLSHIT ALREADY

I am getting a little tired of bullshit.  Bullshit on the news; bullshit on the radio; bullshit on television; bullshit in the newspapers; bullshit on the Internet; bullshit at work; bullshit at home.  I guess it's a damn good thing I am not a farmer or a rancher because bullshit would be my business, and I'd be damn tired of it.

There's nothing in particular to report on the bullshit front.  I mean, I got my car back from the repair shop and the body work (from an accident at which I was officially 0% responsible) looks fantastic -- even the dealer cannot tell anything has ever been done.  I did not lose electricity, not even for one second, during the recent two-day wind and rain storms that paralyzed several communities.  I actually went an entire week at work without having my ass reamed out for anything and/or everything.

I guess I am suffering from Bullshit Buildup.

This happens when one's constant state of high alert resumes to its pre-crisis homeostasis of near-calmness.  Apparently my system crashed officially about five days ago, causing me to go to bed early an be completely and soundly asleep by 8:45 p.m. on a weeknight.  When I awoke the next morning following eight-plus hours of nearly uninterrupted, dreamless sleep, my normal cynical self returned.

Since hitting the wall and resuming an almost even keel of mental stability, I've had a lot of time to reflect on recent events, both personal and global, and declare the entire first part of 2020 to be complete and utter BULLSHIT.  This revelation has morphed into systematic clearing of my personal belongings at work (if I disappear suddenly and the police are looking for clues, my desk and cabinets will yield nothing), the continued purging of my personal belongings at home, and a renewed fervor for writing (not all of it sane).

I have also developed a highly suspect and frightening obsession with the Guy Ritchie movie King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, a movie in which the completely wicked and horribly demented antagonist suffers total retribution and annihilation at the hands of the rabble-rousing commoners (led, of course, by an ass-kicking but clueless good guy).  I seem to have developed a psychic connection with Goosefat Bill, the hooligan you love but who also has a mental scoresheet of debts to settle.  He does all the wrong things for all the right reasons, and I suspect that I identify with his cause.

No matter.  I have discovered a cure for the Bullshit Blues: Pinot Noir.  Well, that and Ginaritas (Margaritas made with gin instead of tequila).  Okay, and beer.  Oh, and chocolate and cookies and cheese and crackers and pizza and salads with lots of feta and ham rolled up and dipped into mustard.  I might have to add cannolis and cake and maybe even hamburgers and ice cream as the political primary gets closer and the bullshit meter goes into high gear again.

Judging from posts online (sorry, Tic Toc, but you're just not on my radar) from many different sites, and judging from friends and coworkers and acquaintances, I'm not the only one suffering from severe bullshit buildup.  Remember, though, when it comes to the magic cure, commiserating is great, but never discount the curative powers of red wine and Hershey's.  It may not slay your enemies ala Excalibur, but it will certainly put that (double) edge back in your zest for justice.  (P.S. My "enemies" and their machinations have been warned.  Just kidding ... not.)