Pickaxe to the Brain

They're conspiring against me to cause a headache.

I swear. First there was the sun, jabbing my eyesockets with his unwanted cold rays of blindness. Then there was the weather, which like an uncertain highschool girl, blows hot and cold and can't decide whether to be cool or warm. Now, outside my office door, there is an army of anklebiters, touring from a nearby elementary. None of them have learned how to control their voices. They're all yelling.

A couple are crying. Where the fuck are the teachers? Parents? Guardians? Don't tell me they let these little buggers out without some kind of supervision? Something terrible could happen to them, like being accosted by an angry editor who's trying to get his work done.

I'm turning Pony Boy up, hopefully a shock of rock right to my brain will alleviate some of the building pressure. Either that, or little skulls will be having a quick and decisive date with a nine-iron my boss left outside his office.

Gah. Somebody knock me out now. This has not been a good day.

Edit: Now somebody sprayed some kind of berry-fruit something-or-other shit, and it's making the whole house smell like poorly manufactured esters. Fuck. FUCK. Why do people have to sample fucking Fruits-o-the-sun in MY house?