Am I Speaking Pig-Latin?

I know what I’m saying.
I can understand it completely.
It makes sense to me.
Why don’t other people understanding what I’m saying?
At times like these I often think….obviously:

“Hell, I hate when I speak in tongues. What language am I speaking this time?”

Apparently you people aren’t getting it! I’m beating my head against the damn rock again. To be honest….it’s too early for this crap.

When someone tells you something, why do some people fail miserably and believe, “she didn’t mean me to follow that request!” The horror at having to wait for further instruction. You know what? Sit you little tushy down and wait for it. I’ll give you more information when I’m ready to.

I was being polite, providing a little heads up so people could start thinking about “project X” coming down the pike. Thankfully, about 10% reply with a “fantastic, let me know how we can help.” Another 88% provide no confirmation, notta, nothing….so you have to assume your carrier pigeon arrived with the news and they opened it. Lastly, the remaining 2% are the ones that want more.


Since I have bat-like hearing, I hear the screams from around the region. Like the shrieking heard all over amusement parks as people go over the first big drop on the roller coasters….this 2% storm around the countryside demanding to know MORE!

Well, when the time comes and it’s your turn to know, I will tell you more. Until that time arrives…sit down. Shut up. And don’t bug me.

Honestly, ever year at this time I could tell you which people are going to want more. I can tell you without a wavering doubt which individuals will start harassing me about the “big picture.” It exhausts me just thinking about it. I mean really, why do some people think they’re exempt?

It’s like riding in the backseat of Volkswagen Beatle, on a cross country trip. You don’t get fourteen miles down the road and your brother starts poking your arm.


Your Dad now threatens to pull the car over and leave your brother on the side of the road…out in the desert. You're thinking this would be a great idea and ask God to send the aliens to pick his ass up. Your Mother thinks that's not a good idea and sadly for you, the torturous road trip continues.

Just as you fall asleep, your brother sticks his wet finger in your ear. THAT'S IT! You leap up out of your seat like a Jack-in-the-Box and start to pummel him.

(your parents can't get the car pulled over fast enough)

I (smack)
TOLD (smack)
YOU (smack)
TO (smack)
STOP (smack)
IT (smack)
AND (smack)
YOU (smack)
KEEP (smack)
BUGGING (smack)
ME (smack)

By the time your parents are able to pry you off your brother, you've given him a bloody nose and cracked ribs. Good on ya!

If I could teach my carrier pigeon to bitch slap some of these people, just for good measure, that would be priceless. Just the ones that have a check mark next to their name. Cause I already know they're going to annoy the shit out of me about this stuff.

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