The 5 Levels of Being Pissed

First of all:

Amen, kid.

 Everyone gets pissed right? Right.

I sure do. Matter of fact, I'm pissed right now (at level 3). Why? Because none of your business. >:O

I've found through my experiences with episodes of fomenting rage that there are 5 levels of being pissed. I present them to you now. Bear in mind, I've never reached level 5, but I know it exists. And I never hope to reach it, either.

Let us begin.

LEVEL 1

Level 1 of being pissed is the initial anger. You're pretty mad, but it's controllable. You don't have the unrelenting urge to strangle babies and punt small animals, but you do have a slight eye twitch and you really just want to complain. However, things are under control as you're not lashing out and you're not visibly mad.

Relativity:
Level 1 is akin to how a wild bear feels all the time.

Ease of dealing with it:
It's easy to deal with level 1. A few drinks and good compnay and you'll go back to feeling normal and rainbow-shittingly jolly in no time. No big.

The good news:
It'll all be over soon. 

But-

LEVEL 2

Level 2 is almost the point of no return. It's much harder for you to calm down and pretty much anything anyone says about your predicament when you vent to them makes you more angry, even if what they're saying holds merit. If someone doesn't agree with you, you get pissed at them too. And you're looking a bit mad on the outside. If you're not talking about what is making you so mad, you're not really talking. If you are, it's one word sentences or grunts.

Relativity:
Level 2 is like this girl:

You tell 'em, gurl.

Ease of dealing with it:
Not so easy to deal with level 2. It's not completely debilitating, but it definitely occupies your thoughts. I recommend a bottle of wine.

The good news:
You can still calm down, if you try.


However-

LEVEL 3

Level 3 is the point of no return. From here on out, you're pissed as fuck. Nothing helps but time, and a lot of it at that. No amount of venting will calm you down and your face is flushing with rage, the kind that you can feel building up as it's working it's way from your spine to your cheeks. You know what I'm talking about. You're liable to burst out with incredibly obscene remarks to anyone. "Fuck", "shit", "balls", "bitch", and other shades of colorful language are 85% of the sounds coming out of your mouth. And whoever it was that pissed you off is probably no longer in your phone contacts or Facebook friends or what have you.

Relativity:
I'd place Lewis Black at a solid level 3.

Ease of dealing with it:
Terribly hard to deal with level 3. If left unchecked, level 3 rage will keep boiling and building up, leading you to the disastrous next levels. All you think about is whatever the fuck made you mad in the first place, if you can even remember anymore. Really, now you're just so mad at everything that any memory of the first spark is fading. You probably should avoid public places. Don't drink. It'll only be bad.


The good news:
In these times of extreme anger, you get creative. Now's the time to play an instrument or write or sing or do something to distract yourself. This is how most metal music was born[citation needed].

Then-

LEVEL 4 

Oh boy... level 4. Shiiiiiiiit. Level 4 no es bueno, amigo. If you had to avoid public in level 3, you have to avoid public and yourself in level 4. Your voice has tripled in volume. At this point, as you can see in the picture, you do indeed want to strangle babies and punt small animals. Cute things just piss you off. People piss you off. Electronics piss you off. Get it? EVERYTHING pisses you off more and more and more and more and more until you blow up on the first person you see. You're like:

I wish.

 You don't wanna be talked to, you don't wanna be touched, and you certainly don't wanna see anyone who looks happy with their life. "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU JUST BREATHE NEAR ME", "FUCKING ASS PEOPLE", and "WHAT THE SHIT BALLS ARE YOU DOING SMILING AT ME?! AIN'T NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT, BITCH" are things that will probably come out of your mouth.

Relativity:
Quitting smoking is an automatic level 4. If you don't know what that's like, imagine how mad you'd be if someone randomly slapped you across the face and multiply that by 1,000,000. Then, take that number to the 5th power. After that add 1. Stir and enjoy piping hot.

Ease of dealing with it:
Not easy. At all. I recommend you break glass or ceramic objects in a controlled environment. And definitely don't interact with anything that has a pulse or consume any drugs.

The good news:
Umm... you're not at level 5?


Uh-oh...

LEVEL 5

Fuck. You're at level 5? Sorry about that. If you're at level 5, you're chances of being incarcerated septuple*[citation needed]. Also, now you are capable of breathing fire and leaving a smoldering trail of devastation that is devoid of all joy and creation in your wake. If it's really bad, you also have laser vision. While these superpowers sound fantastic in theory, you must remember that you, too, are vulnerable to them, and that your control over them, like your emotions, is non-existent. Unlike the previous levels, where there was some semblance of hope to return to normal, at level 5, you're fucked. If breaking shit helped calm you down at level 4, it only serves to fan the flames of your insanity at level 5. This is your best chance ever of being on the news, but probably not the way you wanted to be.

Relativity:
Most mass murderers are at a constant level 5 (except Dexter), as well as crack-addicted hobos. 


Ease of dealing with it:
Can't you guess? You don't deal with level 5. Level 5 deals with you, Sovyet Rashah style. Just let it wane naturally. Lock yourself away somewhere. Go out into the desert or forest or something and don't come back for days. That's all the advice I can give you.

The good news:
There is no good news.

Hopefully you all know what I'm talking about when I say that being pissed is an all-consuming fire that instantly incinerates anything you touch. Do feel free to share what level you think you've reached before, and any strategies you have for calming down.

Adios.

--- --- ---
*Spellcheck, dammit, today's NOT the day to cross me. Septuple IS a word. Look it up. Motherfuck. 
Also, thanks to this link (http://mensconfidence.com/2012/03/17/saturday-funnies32-pics/) for the lulsy pics used in this post. 

The Thing I Said That Got Me Fired That One Time (the Second Time)

I've worked many jobs in my time. Dominant among them was serving. And I didn't serve at just one place, no. I served at like five different restaurants, working at each for no more than 5-6 months. Why? Because serving fucking sucks and no matter how many times you think "Oh this place will be better" it never is. I attribute my (initial) hatred of (most) people to my time(s) as a server. Teaching didn't help that. But I digress.

My first such abomination of a job was at a bakery/cafe/restaurant (a bacarestaurant?). The owner only had one or two of us serving at a time. The thing about this place was that not only were there tables to seat, take orders at, bus, and bring orders to, but also people in and out constantly getting coffee and delicious pastries. And the place was slammed all day because it was in the busiest part of Yuppiesville and also had a live pianist (he was such a cool dude). If you couldn't guess, it was FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE FOR ONE PERSON TO DO ALL THAT SHIT. MAN.

And the manager would just sit there and critique you with his small beady little eyes, arms crossed. His name was Mr. Boss Man *****. Everything had to be done exactly to his stupid beady little expectations. Wait... can expectations be beady? Whatever.

Anyway, my biggest problems there were a) I was late, like, everyday, which is sad because I lived across the street (see "The Checklist of Time Wasting"), and b) I could not stop eating those stupid fucking delicious pastries for the life of me. Shit like eclairs, cookies, macaroons, croissants, you name it, it was there. How could one resist? So my cheeks were always puffed out chipmunk style, crumbs all over, and my boss did not like that.

They were too delicious.

After about three weeks I got fired. The first time. Yup, that's right. I got fired twice at that job. But, the day after Mr. Boss Man ***** fired me, he called me back and was like "You need to come back to work" for whatever reason. And I was like, "OKAY! :D" for whatever other reason. Mistake.

Sooo there I was back at work, being generally awful at serving and getting a healthy mix of complaints and horrible tips left and right. I dropped so many trays and plates (in my defense, it was my first time serving) that Mr. Boss Man ***** had to have a talk with me. He called me down to his basement office, which was creepy (duh), and told me that if I dropped another anything, I'd be fired again. So most of the time, my days went by with me struggling to keep shit off the floor and out of my mouth. Which was really really really hard.

Pictured: Trying to give a shit, but failing.

But one can only eat so many delicious pastries and get so many bad tips before one decides that enough is enough. Eventually, I stopped giving a shit, thinking to myself, "He wouldn't fire me again. He hired me back!" Ha. Mistake.

I started getting quite the 'tude. I talked shit about Mr. Boss Man ***** all the time and was super lazy about waiting my tables and was an all around bad employee. But what do you expect from a 19 year old college student who had way better things to do with his time and hated his job, delicious pastries or no?

Then... Then one day I was very late. An hour and thirty-seven minutes very late. On purpose. That was how little of a shit I gave.

Of course, Mr. Boss Man ***** was livid. Because, duh, I was the only one scheduled that day. Mistake (on his part).

He confronted me and was all like "NOOR Y U NO BE ON TIME". I stared at him straight in the face, and with all seriousness said "Well Mr. Boss Man *****, as much as I would like to turn back time and not be late, I can't because my time machine is broken. Deal with it." Mis. Take.

"I think it's the flux capacitor."

Mr. Boss Man ***** was not pleased, nor did he find my joke funny. I certainly did, and was lolling to myself, doing my worst to hide it. And then I got fired. Again. I walked out of that place, kicked my heels together, and never looked back.

But goddamn do I miss those delicious pastries.