My Feelings (Mostly Negative) About Ice.

What's that you say? It's the only known non-metallic substance that expands when it freezes? That it's an important part of global climate and the water cycle? That glaciers are pretty and stripey? 

I DON'T CARE! FUCK YOU, ICE!

Yesterday was the first time I've seen ice in probably years. It is ice, not snow, that drove me from New England. Think I'm exaggerating? I cried when I heard the words "wintry mix" uttered over the radio a couple of days ago. Cried! Like a baby! 

Ever since the day I slipped and fell on black ice outside the chapel of St. Catherine's School (since I'm already grumpy, I might as well mention: FUCK YOU SISTER SUSANNAH! I have had a happy and productive adulthood without learning how to write the letter "b" in cursive according to your arbitrary rules. Although I have lived in sin and no longer believe that Jesus is my Savior and for that matter, I assume the Pope is kind of a twat, so maybe you should have tried HARDER!), I have hated ice. 

I walk around like a little old lady which I always think is going to help but it DOESN'T, because if ice wants you, it will have you. And you can say hello to a bruised tailbone, is all I'm going to say. Nothing hurts more than a bruised tailbone, except maybe getting shot or having a baby or getting your toenails torn off or occasionally really bad indigestion which is NOT THE POINT, let us just say that it hurts. And that I really, really, have strong, distasteful feelings for that slippery stuff. Okay? Let us never speak of this again.

Except to say that here's a really suggestive image of a girl sucking on a icicle. Like, almost NAFW. This girl's going to be one hell of a troublemaker when she grows up.