Beware the Angry Vegan

So it seems I'm angry. Or so I've been told.

I can't imagine why...

I mean, externally, all I have to do is click on the latest news and I'm body-slammed with such shiny, happy snippets as " Bush appoints Bolton to U.N. while (those fat lazy overpaid motherfuckers in) Congress are (probably having anal with prostitutes on) recess (while the rest of us worker-bees don't get any vacation you lazy, piss-poor excuses for human beings)."

Good to know we have a system of checks and balances...

Thankfully, there's also good news: seems dead diet-guru chronic-halitosis-thanks-to-ketosis mega-glomerate Atkins Nutritionals has gone big, fat, pork-filled belly up.



Which means that all those people sitting around the Ponderosa all-you-can-eat artery-hardening fat-soaked meat products can now, again, be called what they truly are: greedy, gorging pigs.

Which also means they probably will not be asked to participate in the BeautifulPeople Web site, a jarringly superficial site that is at least refreshing in its upfront shallow vapidity.



(All I can think of is Marilyn Manson when I see the site name ... )

Of course, it's Monday, which could be he biggest cause of my mental malaise.

Not like I haven't got room to whinge as I sit in my teeny, tiny dark, narrow cubicle (aptly named "The Bat Cave" by a fellow temp) doing the monkey-work for all the salaried worker-bees with phat benefits who have no problem delegating their shit work to me.

At first if was fun: no stress, no worries, out the door at 4:59 p.m., but once word got around that the poorly paid temp in the cave has a master's degree from a top communications school and experience to boot it was a free-for-all and suddenly I find myself with lots of work and responsibility, and none of the corporate perks that go with it – like some well-needed vacation time, sick time or decent benefits. (Oh, I got health insurance: Aetna. Need I say more??? The worst health insurance company on the planet in my experience …)

And so, Monday morning is like the cherry bomb topping on a big, full-fat chocolate-covered lactose laden ice cream sundae, keeping me up all night stressing over the fact that my very existence is a dead end.

I feel like I need to do something wild, something drastic, a big, proverbial fuck-you to the bitter jaded angst that's invading my psyche.

Unfortunately, I can't seem to think of anything … which makes me wonder, am I really that uninspired, or should I stop using the aluminum pots and pans?

Anyone else out there feel the same way, or is it just me?