FORMER MAJOR-LOSERS.COM COLUMNIST
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me”
Thats what I said when Cheryl first said some bullshit about me needing anger counseling.
“Fuck you, bitch” I said, “that fucking pisses me off that you would even say that”.
You see, I dont need no shrink man. Bad enough I got some fucking PO breathin’ down my neck, telling me what to fucking do all the time, in his penny-loafer fucking shoes, and coats with elbow pads. As I said, you look a teacher, motherfucker. I got your piss-test hanging, bitch. But anyway, I agreed to the shit, shortly after the judge made me go. It was a part of my sentencing over that deal with the fucking punks in the Honda. But where have I been? Well, I haven’t written an article for a while, for Major-losers, because I had shit to do. I was killing fucking hodgees over in Altanastan, or wherever the fuck that was. I helped round up some prisoners.
Really. Jeremy, Jeff, or even Cheryl will probably say some shit, like I been fucking in jail, and before that, I was too fucking drunk to scribble this shit on the yellow pad, and mail it to Jeremy, but that’s bullshit. They don’t know what the fuck they are talking about. So anyway, I go to this anger counseling shit. I go in, sit down, and the guy who teaches the class was like, “could I get your name, sir?” I got your fucking name hanging, turkey. You don’t know, ask somebody. “Is that any of your fucking business, bitch? If I wanted to give you my name, I would have a fucking paper tag on my shirt, faggot” I said. “Well, sir, that is why I need your name, so i can make your tag” fuck, dude. I about beat him down. But after I started going to the classes, I noticed I did calm down a bit.
You know, anger is a secondary emotion and shit, and we can control it, and I am learning. Just the other day, I went into Mc Donalds. I order a number 3 with a dr pepper, and the fat ass monkey-toothed cunt girl behind the counter, gave me diet coke. Now, usually this would piss me off. Here is the good part: I didn’t slap her. I didn’t crawl over the counter, and drop kick her across the room. I didnt tear her fucking face off, and throw her guts in the fry vat. Amazing. I said “Excuse me ma’am, but it appears I have gotten a Diet Coke from you, and not Dr Pepper. Could I please get a replacement beverage?” She did, and pretty fast too. Man, I thought. This shit could work. But shit got all fucked up.
I go back to the class Thursday night. I go in, and am talking to that teacher looking motherfucker. He was like “yeah, Cheryl came in earlier, and talked to me. What a nice girl” he said with a weird smile. “we went out for lunch… time of my life”. Cool, turkey. Glad you are having such nice relations with my bitch. But then… this is the part that just pissed me the fuck off.. he went on, and was like, “yeah, we went back to your place for a little bit.. hung out.. you know, is that your Camaro in the yard?” he asked. “yeah, its mine”, I said. “what a hunk of shit… I couldn’t believe it didn’t even have doors on it… is it a yard ornament?” he said chuckling. I didn’t even say shit. I just shoved him back, and kicked him in the fucking chest, hard. The fucking doors are on backorder, bitch. You don’t talk shit on my fucking hot rod, man. I fucking started butterfly kicking his face, spraying blood everywhere. I took his ass, and fucking suplexed him onto the desks. Then I pulled him up, all bloody and fucked up, and fucking gut-punched him, and then gave him a nice fucking haymaker, drilled him right in the nose. I took a fucking chair, and started stabbing him in the face with one of the legs. He was fucked. He was whining, and saying “I cant breathe” and shit. I fucking stomped on his throat. If you cant breathe, you cant talk, motherfucker. I fucking took his ruler and started smacking his ford-loving ass in the face with it. I picked him back up again, and gave him one last shove through the window, and he fell 2 stories, and hit the ground.
The double M don’t fuck around. So, needless to say, I don’t fucking believe in that anger control shit. Peer Mediation? That’s for pussies. Had I let this go, everyone in that class would have thought my camaro was a piece of shit. Fuck that. They’ll see, when my shit is running in the spring, and painted bright fucking red, and I got chromies, and fat tires, and everything. When I fucking do a burnout across the damn parking lot, they’ll fucking know what’s up. And they wont say shit. But I gotta be careful, cause the cops might fuck with me.
They always do. -Mike 
Mike Mulletino is a former Columnist for Major-losers.com. He now lives in Forest Grove, Oregon, in the Rose Grove Trailer Park.. He can be reached by e-mail. He cannot be reached by phone, that shit’s been disconnected.