When The Fan Hits The Shit

… I wouldn’t want to be anywhere within fifteen feet of that debacle. But, this post has nothing to do with fans or motors or shit. Seriously, there is no toilet humor in this post. Yeah, I know the feeling. I’ve become boring. Can’t help it. I’m probably in a very interesting phase of my life right now, with absolutely no idea what’s going to happen in the future. I’m poised precariously and I can either end up going to jail for murdering an endangered species of bird (out of frustration) or hitting the jackpot big time.

Most of the people who have made it big in life have been through this situation some time or the other. The stronger ones have come out smelling of roses. The weaker ones usually don’t come out of it. If they do, roses are the last thing on their minds. They would be on the hunt for that bastard bird to kill.

What bird, you ask? I have no idea. That’s the great thing about rants. It need not make sense to anyone, even the one ranting. Let’s all clap our hands together for no reason, sniff our fingertips and spit at the nearest wall. It’s going to be a three-legged race on the sharp edge of a razor blade. Hooah!

4 thoughts on “When The Fan Hits The Shit

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