If you were in the greater Kansas area around, oh, 9:55 p.m. tonight, that gigantic BOOM you heard was my head exploding. Fucking morons in my state with their fucking hatred and their predictable but somehow still shocking intolerance. And then, to top things off, my poor mother, who told me the news, had to take the brunt of my reaction, which included a solemn swear that I was going to have to get the hell out of Dodge (which is sooooo in my state, I get to use that cliche because it became cliche for a reason, who wants to stay in Dodge City?), by which I mean the Midwest, ASAP. Apparently my vague talk of going away for grad school hadn’t sunk in yet, and so there was crying. Oh joy.
I have GOT to find some kind of pastime through which I can release some of my pent-up hostility, or my poor fiction writing class is going to have to read a 57-page story that will combine the themes of my last story (let’s call them “Protagonist Needs to GET THE FUCK OUT OF KANSAS” and “Protagonist RANDOMLY STARTS WANTING TO KILL PEOPLE”) with new and exciting things like NRA membership, the ways to start a militia, and possibly the random theivery of candy from babies — but only if the babies are GAY, in which case they shouldn’t be allowed to have candy or happiness.
No, really. BOOM. I either need to start venting about politics again — and find a good columnist slot somewhere — or I’m going to have to take up kickboxing. Amish kickboxing.