Articles from Harrangue Man
I watch people who make up and I'm jealous. I'm jealous that I didn't get that; I just got fucking bollocked and then I'd get bollocked again.
I was piece of shit who wasn't worth the effort.
I sat on my bed, fat tears rolling, because I never had it.
Nature loads the gun and nurture fires it until the magazine goes dry.
And now JBKH get to work.
As a person in a long-term relationship I have learned there are certain stress points. It's different though similar for most but for me it's naming clothes.
There's this arsehole Joe Abecrombie who is so great it makes my head blow. In his fantasy world when a fighter hits about ninth level they become a "named man"; a title bestowed after a epic win and or fail that gives that fighter a kewl name such as "Ninefingers". Ladies, I presume, can also be named.
We moved around furniture and my spot is next to the kitchen where plates are kept in a drying rack.
I can't see it and unless forewarned the sharp crack of crockery on crockery is scary as shit and I typically yell with fright and scream "What the fuck was that?!"
Hyperaccocius and PTSD caused by workplace injury an injury still present years on; the conditions that allowed my injury still in place.
I skulked off to my room and put white noise on.
"Remember, if you fail anything we're cutting you off".
That was said to me just before exams. She said it more than once.
Some people should never have been parents; my parents are some of them.
In the trenches of bureaucracy a risk of a paper cut still remains high in spite of digital first preference.
I had to leaf though 300 booklets to check I'd inserted a paperclip in each correctly and in bending an inside straight bit on one I jammed it under my right index nail.
A paperclip cut; that's like breakdance fighting.
I have a fat, hairy back. When it's sweaty it itches.
I needed to deal with that in situ on a stationery bike and the most apt to hand device was my novelty DAD ROCKS licence plate---display only, the metal too thin for actual (and illegal) use.
But that very weakness was at the core of its admitted utility as a scratcher as the slender plate could flex then whip-scrape across the afflicted slurry of sweaty back hair and skin bringing gushing of relief.
I grew up as a PoS; and there’s no real need to break that out. But I did. From about eight or nine my life went fully man-tits up. Like, Holy Shit, that’s some fucking messed-up shit.
Now I am a white male and with location and money am in the top three per cent of world wealth earnings and as The Crown so artfully reminds us we are in danger of forgetting our status when whining about bullshit we deal with during our en-rule from dawn to fucking dusk.