Yeah, I call myself Petey, but don’t you call me that. I get pissed, that’s what. And when I’m pissed at you, you’ll know it. I don’t blow my stack or nothing, but I just won’t talk to you. And after a while, you’ll know I’m pissed.
One time, a guy came around calling me Petey. I had been givin’ him the silent treatment, and he showed up at my house one night yelling “Petey’s mad! Petey’s pissed!” all mocking-like. After a few minutes of that, I went out with a golf club and knocked out two of his teeth. Then I told him to fuck off and stop bleeding all over my goddam sidewalk. He ran away pretty quick, and I yelled after him, “Petey’s mad! Petey’s pissed!”
Of course, I’ve calmed down a lot. God told me I had to change, or I was gonna die, and no one can change you except you. And religion.
Thanks for stopping by Phillystine, my on-again, off-again personal blog. firstname.lastname@example.org