I'm The D.O.M. God Damn It!

Why am I playing a game of Kerplunk with two imaginary people, trying to entertain two surly 6 1/2 year old girls(who refuse to play with me). I should be out there, on the perimeter, stoned immaculate, trying to pull my fist out of somebodies chest. I'm stuck here in this useless existence, all my talents wasted. I use to belly flop off of tall buildings onto the homeless. Now look at me, a balding, bifocaled, scatterbrained freak. Maybe building this ballista is just what I need to get out of this rut. It has to be big enough to destroy my barn, or my workshop. Some senseless act of destrucive foolishness is what I need to get myself grounded back in the now. Its been a long winter, my stupid riding lawnmower has come into view, peaking its naughty little head out of the snowbank its been hibernating in. Maybe I can shoot some kind of explosive, excrement filled projectile at it when all the snow melts. As a kind of celebration of spring, and the arrival of all my bird friends.