Well my middle-aged Taurus, Spring is officially here, even if the sweet air has yet to only shower you with ill-feelings and that cool rain that just won’t leave. I can offer little guidance for the annoying rain, other than the purchase of a new umbrella and to keep that winter coat out of storage. Your ill-feelings, though, I may be able to help shed a little warmth on, or at least a little direction to keep the rain from being your only misery.

Where did it all go wrong, so, so wrong? I know that’s what you ask yourself late at night when the companionship ads flood the idiot box, your boob-tube. You think about your childhood, how a somewhat typical middle-class kid, raised by a middle-class family could feel so disturbed. You remember no abuse, physically, nor sexually. Not even your family’s membership to a Seventh Day Adventist church explains the issues you harbor so close to heart.

So family and friends question whether it was the nineteen years you spent in the military, flying helicopters in such disastrous missions as Somalia, that fucked you up. You saw some strange stuff, did some strange things, but that’s not what haunts your soul late at night. That reasoning just allows them to sleep better at night while you’re up pacing the floor, longing for a mission. Not a military mission, a personal one. I know it doesn’t help when your family spins tales of how better off you would have been if you had only kept your prison guard job at the Washington State Department of Corrections. There might be less nightmares today if you had, but those horrors are only the redness of this pimple. It’s the whitehead that’s about to burst that keeps you up and pacing.

So you’re not married, have no prospects, haven’t had in a long time. Come to think about it, have you ever? I think not. Nothing weird about that, nothing to label you crazy over. Lots of people drift through society alone, never taking another’s hand in marriage. BUT this does bother you, as do the ads that run late at night asking for you to call, only to take hard-earned dollars from your pocket. It’s not the money that hurts though, it’s those damned giggles that hiss through the receiver every time you become comfortable with the girls. That’s what’s driving you crazy.

Let me help you out, my desperate Taurus. Throw that television in the dumpster, to hell with recycling. Blow off some steam. Then yank that phone out of the wall, and then flush your cell phone down the toilet. If you need to call 911, scream or crawl to a neighbors door and ask for help, the old fashioned way. Then start asking a girl out once a week. Now, not gals you work with, because they already think your a bit nuts. Find a stranger, in a coffee shop or the library, and just be yourself.

Whatever you decide, be sure not to follow your cock to the red-light district of Spokane. NO. Don’t go there. You’ll hear the giggles, the laughter. The hatred will rise and you’ll find yourself pulling that .25 calibre Raven out of your glove box and shooting some poor crack-head prostitute in the head. Maybe more than once, maybe thirteen times. That’s what happened to another local Taurus, Robert Lee Yates, The Spokane Serial Killer. So, if you think you feel ill when the rain lands on your balding head this month, imagine how ill you’ll feel sitting on death row... I promise that’s no place for a bull like you.