The Brooklyn Crusher will smash cinder blocks.

I astonished that you can buy quality products off of the internet that perform the same tasks they will in the promotional videos.

It's late, can't sleep, everything sucks; business as usual.

Wife has requested that I don't ask her for sex for a few days, and it is a reasonable request, but sent me storming off the living room before she fell asleep to fume and sulk. Selfish prick, much? Indeed. But it was a bad day, and my typical fiendish disposition ruined the night previous, and it seems to carried over to tonight.

Garden variety feelings of worthlessness snowballed from the afternoon until coming to a head after work, and Liz went about the evening as always, and I was upset that she wasn't as sympathetic as I would have liked her to have been. But in the same breathe, I didn't want to be coddled because it's not her duty to be a 24/7 cheerleader whenever I scrape my knee (in the half-assed figurative sense).

There were some other minor incidents that pushed fomenting teenage angst into full-on grownup tantrum, but those details are too embarrassing, even for the internet. Consider yourself spared. But they struck a nerve, and now I'm pissed off, mildly chilly, and alone in a dark room ranting via a keyboard.

If I were born with a sufficient amount of testosterone, I'd just go out and hit another male, but I wasn't, so I'll sulk like a wee boy.

Fuck.