Peace protests make me want to kill people.

I know this might be hard to fathom, but I'm not as perfect and ruggedly handsome as this blog may have led you to believe. I usually participate in, and am the cause of, several shenanigans per week. Julia puts up with a lot. To show that I appreciate her, I've promised that I won't use any swear words in this whole blog post. She didn't say I couldn't be creatively profane though...

Last Saturday, all I wanted to do was go to work for 5 minutes and then get back to my apartment; the Fates decided put my penis into a light socket, figuratively speaking. For some reason, while I was driving to work from the general direction of Julia's house, I ran into a buttload of traffic. As I crept along in my car, I discovered that the intersection ahead was blocked off.

Undaunted, I took a right, slunk through more traffic, took a left, and then tried to take one more left that would get me to work. BAM! That road was blocked off too.

With a bile-like rage coursing through my veins, I took a long and convoluted back way to get to my building, and finally did my little bit of work. Continuing my theme from earlier, I found that the experiment I was checking was a complete failure - much like Britney Spears' adult life.

But hey, what are you going to do? I shrugged it off and headed for my car. An ungodly mess awaited me.

I pulled out onto 5th Ave. and all I needed to do to get home was make a quick left onto a cross street and another quick left onto Forbes. The unmoving trail of cars in front of me told me I was in for a blood pressure spiking event. And my rage did simmer the entire 10 minutes it took me to drive 50 yards to that cross street.

When I got there, I saw that the street was blocked off, and then I saw why. There was a crowd of unwashed, placard-toting hippies protesting the war. These seminal fluid guzzling rectal lepers were holding signs saying "Bring our troops home!" while their useless complain campaign stopped me from going home.

I've never been so sickened by humanity in all of my life. These wastes of skin thought they were doing something. Well let me tell you this, if the first peace protest years ago didn't end the war, their pathetic attempt to get noticed and make a difference wasn't going to work either.

What the deuce is wrong with these penis wrinkles? Seriously, how much sand can they have in their vaginas? They better watch out, or they'll start queefing out pearls. No one cares what some hippie with dreadlocks on his grundle thinks. If your friend or relative joined the Armed Forces, they did so knowing that service included the chance of combat. Quit pissing and moaning about it, get a job, and get out of my way you urethral scabs.

The worst part was how slowly the traffic was moving. I was close enough to this seething mass of body odor radiating anuses for so long that I was tempted to get out of my car and open up a path with my tire iron. Where's your Earth Mother now you festering axe wound? Thankfully, traffic eventually got me out of earshot of the bullhorn that the ringleader was screaming into. I calmed slightly as I neared the next cross street, and then I had a brain aneurysm when I saw that it too was blocked off.

So was the next street and the next street.

By the time I could actually turn, I was closer to Ohio than Squirrel Hill. I don't think I've ever been so enraged in all of my life. Why did those prostate massaging vaginal discharges need so many streets blocked off? Did they think they'd have a bigger crowd? Are they afraid of gas-guzzling cars being too close? Or did they realize that the sheer patheticness would put a red blooded American man in a killing frenzy?

My god, I'd like to beat each and every one of them with a paraplegic person and teabag their grandmothers. What right do they have to ruin my weekend? The right of peaceful protest? Well what about my right to avoid sperm burping peter leeches crying their syphilitic eyes out about the issue of the month so I can live my life, drink my beer, and make the internet proud?

Bring our troops home? How about let Matt Bochman go home? How about shutting the crap up and letting those troops kick taint and blow stuff up like they should. If the American Armed Forces had swept in, destroyed their enemies, and left nothing but a smoking hole, then they'd be home in bed right now. You hippies ruined it. You cry about human rights and want to give peanut butter to Muslims. Maybe we should send all of you to the next war. If I was the enemy, I'd commit suicide just to get away from you.

Sweet creamy Christ!