Thanks to everyfuckingbody who raised hell about my last blog. Here's the email Glenn got, in its almost entirety (censored to save my ass, if needed).

Glenn, I have just received a copy of the letter you sent to "Allan". I had thought the problem had been resolved through your participation with P & H.
I have spoken to several members of our Membership Assistance Committee and they have asked me to get a price on the wheelchair you need for the area in which you live. If you could get that to me as soon as possible, I will make arrangements for you to get your chair.
Should P & H determine that you are eligible thru the plan, they can reimburse the Foundation. If not, we will assume the cost of the chair.
I am sorry that you are in so much pain and have had so many problems. I will be in touch with your caseworker at the Plan to see how we can help resolve the rest of the situation for you. If there is paperwork to be done, you will have to "bite the bullet" and get it done. They work under strict federal regulations and need to document everything.
For now, consider the wheelchair problem solved.
Best wishes,
M***** S*****
SAG Foundation

Glenn: 1 Assholes: 0

Now I'm really fucking pissed off. Everyone knows you don't fuck with me, or mine. So heres the twisted, pathetic story.

In the year 2000, during the Commerical Strike involving the Screen Actors Guild,my friend Glenn Malmskog drove 1500 miles a month for six months after the amputation of his leg. For six months this man walked the picket line while able bodied members of the Screen Actors Guild sat on their fat asses at home. Six months he spent away from his family in Texas, while most of the local SAG members sat infront of the tube chewing on saturated fat. Now, I know your probably wondering where I'm going with this. In November, a Dr. Jobe (the team doctor for the Dodgers and Lakers), ripped a vein while dealing with a matter of the fibula growing through the end of Glenn's stump. That is a medical problem, and has nothing to do with the amputation of his leg in 2000. His crutches have been broken, and his wheelchair that was loaned was returned. Basically, the poor guy doesn't have a leg to stand on. So, he was told to write a letter to Bruce Dow, the President of the SAG Pension and Health. Mind you, these are the people who are paid to protect members of the SAG, which would include my good buddy. So what do the jackasses do? They assign a new case manager who praises the last one, and demands the medical records from his last surgery (done by the Dipshit) and from his amputation. And while doing this, the Case Manager From Hell has also frozen all payments related to his case. Not only is he not getting surgery to fix what Dr. Jobe did (screwed the pooch), he is also not getting a wheelchair or any pain or blood pressure medicines. (The blood pressure meds are important, seeing as the pain from Dr Dipshit is driving Glenn's blood pressure sky high). His state disability is running out in a month, and in return for everything he has done for SAG, all they can do is let him crawl or hop in great pain. Its fucking bullshit. The man has spent FIVE MONTHS living in a painful hell that most people can't even dream of. I know first hand that he only sleeps about every third day, and when he does wake up, he does so screaming in agony. He's lost FIVE MONTHS of film opportunities and job offers, and worse, FIVE MONTHS of not being able to even take his daughter for a walk. I'm sorry. That is bullshit. This is how people repay a person who has served this country, his community and protected the lives of people he doesn't know since the age of seventeen? It's crap. After loosing his leg, the man got a job as a firefighter, basically risking his life for a bunch of ungrateful assholes.
Unfortunately, the best I can do is list some numbers, and bitch in a blog. But the more people who know, the better.
Bruce Dow can be contacted at 818-954-9400
Melissa Gilbert, the President of SAG can be contacted at 323-954-1600

I'm not asking for alot. I'm not going to put every bleeding heart sob story on my blog, but damnit I'm mad. But hes a good friend, and a wonderful person, and where I come from, this is what we call bullshit.

AND it gets better folks. If this doens't happen in a month, the first amputee firefighter in California's history is going to become homeless. God Bless America. Every FUCKING one of us.

So, it's been awhile since I updated my blog. Hopefully this goes over ok, I'm at school right now and I figure its just a matter of time before the idiots block my blog for it's inappropriate content. So much has happened lately that I don't even know where to begin. I hate my job, but this is not news. I got to take it right up the ass from loss prevention without even a reach around, but this isn't suprising either. The fact that I may be the first intellegent person to get bad grades in a community college is somewhat suprising, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. If you don't challenge me, I do obnoxious things, like sleeping through class, sleeping in class, sleeping with people in class, whatever. The most suprising of my recent news, however, is the fact that I got an apartment. For all you Augustanaians, I'm about a block away from Westerlin. Giving certain people no excuse not to come visit (COUGH JoshSarahGraigKim COUGH). I think I deserve some sort of award as it is. Not only did I bitch and moan enough to knock $50 off of my rent, I even talked him into letting me paint the place. I later found out that he lives across the harbor from my best friend, who has a little bit of an impulse control problem. Explains alot, yes? It's not the nicest place, my sister actually has referred to it as a shit hole. I don't think it's that bad. It could be a box under the bridge, but atleast it's mine. Maybe I should get a box under the bridge, with all the construction atleast I'd have some company. Anyway, it's an attic apartment (Perfect for short people like me!) And its mine, all mine. And I'm not sharing. Execpt with my heterolifemate, but someones got to give the woman 24/7 chilling out rights before her head explodes all over the wall. This whole aparment thing has definately helped me remove my head from my ass and start chilling a little bit. No point in being sad anymore. Can't afford to do it, it's not good for me. So I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm not going to be sad. I'm going to be horribly negative and bitter instead. Why cry, when you can slowly and systematically destroy someones pathetic life? Thats what I thought too. It seems like a fair tradeoff. Anyway, broken hearts are for assholes. Boing.

(By the way, I didn't say fuck once in this entire blog entry!)
(Fuck. I just ruined it, didn't I?)
(Damnit!)
(One day, ONE DAY, I'll have a blog without swearing.)
(When pigs fucking fly.)

So, it's been awhile since I updated my blog. Hopefully this goes over ok, I'm at school right now and I figure its just a matter of time before the idiots block my blog for it's inappropriate content. So much has happened lately that I don't even know where to begin. I hate my job, but this is not news. I got to take it right up the ass from loss prevention without even a reach around, but this isn't suprising either. The fact that I may be the first intellegent person to get bad grades in a community college is somewhat suprising, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. If you don't challenge me, I do obnoxious things, like sleeping through class, sleeping in class, sleeping with people in class, whatever. The most suprising of my recent news, however, is the fact that I got an apartment. For all you Augustanaians, I'm about a block away from Westerlin. Giving certain people no excuse not to come visit (COUGH JoshSarahGraigKim COUGH). I think I deserve some sort of award as it is. Not only did I bitch and moan enough to knock $50 off of my rent, I even talked him into letting me paint the place. I later found out that he lives across the harbor from my best friend, who has a little bit of an impulse control problem. Explains alot, yes? It's not the nicest place, my sister actually has referred to it as a shit hole. I don't think it's that bad. It could be a box under the bridge, but atleast it's mine. Maybe I should get a box under the bridge, with all the construction atleast I'd have some company. Anyway, it's an attic apartment (Perfect for short people like me!) And its mine, all mine. And I'm not sharing. Execpt with my heterolifemate, but someones got to give the woman 24/7 chilling out rights before her head explodes all over the wall. This whole aparment thing has definately helped me remove my head from my ass and start chilling a little bit. No point in being sad anymore. Can't afford to do it, it's not good for me. So I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm not going to be sad. I'm going to be horribly negative and bitter instead. Why cry, when you can slowly and systematically destroy someones pathetic life? Thats what I thought too. It seems like a fair tradeoff. Anyway, broken hearts are for assholes. Boing.

(By the way, I didn't say fuck once in this entire blog entry!)
(Fuck. I just ruined it, didn't I?)
(Damnit!)
(One day, ONE DAY, I'll have a blog without swearing.)
(When pigs fucking fly.)

Happy birthday Kim! I know it's late, but better late than never. Cheers to the only person in the world who may be a more dangerous driver than me.

Side note: Craig, babydoll, I miss you. If you need anything you know where to find me, and just remember that I'm thinkin about you. Ok. Enough of this before it turns into some fucked up Hallmark card.

This entire blog is dedicated to the asswad that decided to IM me and threaten me today. After calling me arrogant and saying that all I did was want attention, he tells me that all I care about is what people think of me. I was really touched that I could be a part of his pathetic little fucked up world, and while I was pondering what the hell his problem was (Maybe someone I dumped? Ran over? I don't know...) it gets good, folks. He threatened me. Told me I needed a good slapping. He proceeded to accuse me of thinking that life is a big joke (And it is. Its funnier than hell. And we all die anyway, might as well try to enjoy it), and that reality was going to bite me in the ass hard someday. And of course, this is all good and special, but I had places to be. He then decided to tell me (this is where he really screwed the pooch), that he should break my jaw. He called me little girl, and then refused to tell me who he was and why he was pissed at me. So, to this I say, Bring it fucking on. Hit me. Hit me twice. I dare you mother fucker. But for Christssakes, stop being a pussy. If you cant tell me who you are and why you're throwing a shit fit while your online, what the hell are you gonna do to me on the street? You DO know its almost impossible to break someone's jaw when you're too much of a sniveling pantywaste to even get near them. So, step the fuck up, and tell me who you are and what the fuck your problem is, or shut the fuck up cause your giving me a goddamn headache.

I found myself staring today. Seriously. There was this girl, and she was standing there, and she just looked so...finished, I guess. The same look that people who hate their jobs get when they are there, standing behind the counter, taking your order for the millionth time, but still wishing you a nice day when what they really want to say is "Fuck you, die". It was that look, but worse. It was the look of someone who once felt like she had it all, the entire world, and then nothing. Like the girl in highschool who wasnt ugly, but wasn't pretty either, the look of the girl who would do anything for anyone, anyone being people who wouldn't notice if she turned up missing. I was still staring, looking at this girl who had no idea what it was like to ever be missed, or thought about, and then, finally, I walked away from the mirror.