Rant time. You have been warned.

I’m waiting for it. It’s that time of year again, when the bovine excrement starts to fly. Question is, do I sit back and say my usual prayer of if I ignore them long enough they will go away, or do I say screw it, and drop and elephant sized ‘present’ on a few heads?

Now to go any further I have to explain something. We are dealing with the mental equivalent of a small group of custard pies. And not even the really nice baked custard pies either. To get into an argument with this lot is something like out of the movie Matrix, when Neo realised he could kick ass on an epic level, one handed. The question is why bother? Well let’s face it, everyone has plenty of times when the more mature and noble thing to do would have been just walk away. But of course you also are dealing with your basic urge to watch someone else’s composure, brains and what ever else explode just because you can. So you do your slightly bored Neo look and one handedly mop the floor with the snot ridden, brainless wonders who are of the obvious delusion they could take you on. You know it’s a battle of wits and you are fighting an unarmed enemy, but what the hell. You go for it anyway.

Like the cat and mouse, you let them go, then hook them one with claws extended, dragging them back and watching them try and control their composure, sphincter and their fast fading hope they might have any chance of success. You are the grunt free Serena Williams of the verbal volley, and you are playing a blind turtle in the finals. Not much of a contest really.

Once the patience is gone, you realise nothing and I mean nothing other than the good old fashioned verbal lashing is going to get the message through to some irritating maggots, desperately in need of a large and sound squashing. Preferably between to house bricks. Now normally that would seem somewhat of the overkill side, but I am dealing with the truly delusional and obnoxious. Subtlety is not in these little custard pie’s universe. I tried, Lord knows I tried, the only thing I didn’t do was supply pictures, diagrams and mud maps. But still the hint wasn’t taken. Your average house plant would have worked it out but sadly I was not talking to something so clever as a house plant.

I am still holding out the hope that all shall be well. However, should we be subject to annoying reminders these little flea farts are still the custard brained wanna bes they have been, by way of their attempting to ‘lay down the law’, well, lets just say my usual sweet and pleasant demeanor shall be replaced with all the compassion and warmth of a shark with PMS.