You Know What I'd Do?

It's raining right now. Usually, I like the rain. But now, right now, I'm kind of just not that into it. See, it's dark out, and part of the joy of the rain for me is watching it come down, diagonally, searing through the sky, pummeling trees and cars and squirrels and shit as it comes down with a vengeance.

Usually, I like the rain. But, tonight... tonight? Not feelin' it.

I'm kind of feeling like... I don't know. Aggressive. I am having aggression towards the rain. Maybe I'd even go so far as to call it homicidal ideation towards the rain. Simply put:

Rain, I want to kill you.

You know what I'd do? You wanna know? You wanna know what I'd do if, if, if the rain had... if it had, like, a face? I'd fucking punch the rain-- RIGHT IN ITS FACE!

YEAH!

No, not YEAH!

FUCK! YEAH!

Fuck yeah, rain, I'd fuckin' punch you right in your goddamned mouth-- your wet, rainy little mouth, and I'd break all your rainy miserable fucking teeth-- all wet with droplets of rain because you're raining inside your own mouth because you're rain.

YEAH. RAIN. FUCK.

FUCK FUCK RAIN!!!!

Can you just picture me, in, like, the middle of a street, like, with a headband around my forehead-- not a headband like girls wear, not with, like, a flower on it or "Hello Kitty" but like Rambo wore-- or like that guy in Street Fighter wore. Not the chick who was dressed like an elevator operator-- what the fuck was her name? Ping? Anyway, I'd be all there in the middle of the street, and Rain would be standing across from me, and we'd be adopting the fighter's stance, and then I'D KICK RAIN RIGHT IN THE MOTHERFUCKING JEWELBOX!

TOASTED OATSIES! I'D RAM MY FOOT RIGHT INTO YOUR GODDAMNED NUTS, FAIRYFART!

Because you're rain, and you ain't got shit on my shoes, you little moist pissant.

The rain would go down, and I'm talkin' DOWN! This ain't just shit-talkin Apron here-- this is real deal city. I'd go ape on the rain. I'd go yeti on the rain. I'd go Throatwobbler Mangrove on the rain.

I'd curb the rain.

Remember that shit, from "American History X", when he fucking curbed that guy and then the cops pulled up and he just put his hands up? That shit was fucking crazy. Do you think if you ever saw some motherfucker curb some other motherfucker that you'd throw up all over the guy who just got his shit curbed? Like, you'd puke all over his fucking busticated jaw and his tongue all hanging out or whatever?

Yeah?

WELL, FUCK YOU, RAIN! Because it's dark and I can't see you do your pretty diagonal thing and you know what I'd do about that?

I'd punch.

Punch punch punch.

The rain would be assaulted by my fingers whilst they would be engaged in a closed position enabling my hand to form the shape commonly known as a fist which I have seen in certain pornographic motion pictures performing unfortunate tasks and I would then connect my said shaped digits

TO

THE

RAIN!

I'd hit it!

Me! Little old me. Would fuck the rain's shit up.

You think you're so wet? Is that what it is, rain? You think you can out-wet me?

Well, let me tell you: No. Yeah! That's right! I said, "no". There's more to life than being... wet! Just ask Robert McNamara. I mean, fine, he's dead, but, if you'd asked him while he was alive, he'd tell you.

Ask Bernadette Peters. Yeah! Ask HER about the rain. And she'll give you a what for.

Bernadette Peters wouldn't take that shit from the rain. So why should I?

I'm grown and I pay bills, and if I want to street fight the rain dressed up as some Asian chick from a 1990s-era video game, well, I ain't waitin' for Hallo-fuckin'-ween, bitches.

The beauty of the rain?

I don't think so, Dar fucking Williams.