There’s no point in bitching about the way The First Bank of Satan gouges you with service charges. They’re going to continue to do it. You can’t stop them. But standing in line watching three bank tellers chat and giggle amongst themselves while one window serves the Friday lunchtime rush…that’s the sort of thing that makes me grip the rifle a little tighter and climb another step up the bell tower.
A righteous bitch (and a bitch can be a man, yes, an asshole is something totally different) is accompanied by a passionate and barely restrained desire to reach out, grab someone by the ears, and shake them until they explain why they’re so stupid. While lots of folks would love to grab the President by his monkey-like earflaps and demand some answers, a slight possibility of it actually happening ought to exist. For example, you can bitch about the moronic driving of the guy who cut you off in traffic, but you can’t bitch about the moronic driving of the drunken Exxon Valdez captain (unless you happen to live along the Alaskan coastline).
Has that cranky old bastard Don Imus possessed radio Host Joshua-Paul? What gives? Actually, life gives that's what. So listen up and learn something.
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