It's Not Over Until You Eat The Baby

Well, the holidays have just ended, and I hope you're all in the happiest, cheeriest, sugar plum mood imaginable because I'm about to spit in your soup, piss in your cornflakes, and projectile diarrhea into your matzo balls.

That's right, I'm really pissed off, and if there's one thing I hate more than sorting through questions, it's getting hassled by all the other sins to actually answer them.

Pickleope asks:
Dear Wrath,
How do I best vent my frustration on every other person in the world whilst stuck in traffic?
Sincerely,
A Road Rage-aholic

Great question. The key is to take everything as personally as possible. Whether they cut you off, or drive faster than you, or make eye contact with you, it's all a sign that they want to "throw down." Don't let those innocent "doe eyes" being thrown by grandma the ignorant lane-merger or the baby in the backseat distract you, because it's just a clever ruse, one that'll quickly fade when you punch both of them in the face. Have no mercy. There are no victims here. That baby knew what he was getting into when he hopped into the car with grandma the asshole driver.

Know thy enemy

Anonymous asks: Every time my boss talks to me, I imagine I am on The Walking Dead and he is a Zombie. I just want to shove this letter opener through his stupid "think outside of the box" skull. Is there something wrong with me?

Yes, you giant walking vagina, complete with big butterfly wing labia that could fly off into a double rainbow, there is something wrong with you. You haven't done it yet. I had a boss once, and he made me so angry I put his head into my desk drawer and slammed his brittle little skull until the bones in my hand shattered. So you've got the right idea. Just DO IT ALREADY.*

*do not do this. At all. Ever. Or so says our legal team, who make me so angry I want to feed them tie first into a woodchipper coated in AIDS

This lady knows what I'm talking about

Geoff from (sent from my iPhone) asks: I really think that Jonathan Swift was onto something in A Modest Proposal. I think everyone's satirical view on the article is misguiding, I really look upon the piece in a literal sense. Am I wrong or is everyone else simply hiding from the truth?

Let me tell you, nothing makes me angrier than misinterpretation of classic literature. For those of you who haven't read it, which let's admit, is all of you (you uncultured swines), it's an essay written in the 18th century that suggests the impoverished Irish should have used their children as food. What some see as "satire" I see clearly as a "10 page recipe book." It's a staple in my house, and I just made a baby stew last week that was simply amazing. I don't know what these fruity English classes are teaching, but Geoff, my friend - you get it.

It tastes so much better when it stops crying

Jeremy from New York asks: This redneck was making fun of my "Visualize World Peace", "Coexist", and "Violence Never Solves Anything" bumperstickers the other day. At the next stop sign, I shot him in his face. I know that's not a question. But that guy just made me so mad, with his intolerance.

Okay, forget Geoff. This guy gets it.

Dan from Chicago asks: I hear that some people can actually see red when they get angry. I haven't achieved this level of anger before. I can get pretty damn angry but I have yet to see red. What am I doing wrong? Grrr this makes me so mad!

Well, Dan, you've got the right idea, but I don't think you want this anger enough. You need to feel it in every fiber of your being, not just in your bones but down to your DNA. Your hands should be fists, and those fists should be shaking like Michael J. Fox on a washing machine. Your blood should be boiling hard enough to send you into cardiac arrest. Your eyes should be so red you burst blood vessels. Only once you've achieved this can you master true, seething, venomous, seeing-red anger.

Hell, I got so angry writing this up I just punched a hole through my chest and resuscitated my own heart, which had stopped from all of that rage. It only made me angrier, so I headbutted a hole in the wall, broke a lamp over my knee, and shook a kitten. I don't even know how a kitten got here or whose kitten it was. Now that's anger.

I'd be angry if I looked like her, too

Anything else just makes you look like this, and this cross-eyed halfwit couldn't scare a social security check out of your senile grandma.

So that's it for me. Until next time, keep sending in those questions, because if you don't, it'll make me angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

...Well, you wouldn't like me when I'm not angry, but you'd like me significantly less when I am angry. And that's a damn promise.

-Wrath