The Death Beast Helmet Crab Rouge Pays A Visit!

Last night the curtains in the kitchen fell down. Someone (a yummy biker, bold and true) was kind enough to gather them aside in a neat bunch and place them out of the way so that the expert(read: the only person who cares about how things look past simply being clean and presentable) could re-hang them. So, after drinking a couple of cups of coffee I got up on a chair with a hammer and pliers and proceeded to discover that the curtains had been replaced on the rod backwards and cattywompus. Of course I made this discovery once the bracket had been nailed in place. Of course.
And standing up there juggling with the sections of expandable rod and the curtain rings and the curtain itself and random bug carcasses and oh look, there's a big skanky cobweb up here behind the freezer, I had a sudden, sweeping seizure of red RAGE.
Oh goody! I'm premenstrual. I'm standing on a chair, I'm using hand tools and I'm premenstrual.
DEEEEEEEP breath.
When I was younger and my pineal was in charge, this wasn't such a big gory deal. Yeah, sometimes I got moodier than usual (and to be honest, 'usual' was pretty fucking moody) but sometimes I didn't. Total crapshoot. I never got greasy or zitty and I never blobbed out full of water like SpongeBob. Now, thanks to the miracle of HRT, I experience all three, plus the requisite five days of, um, yeah. Like clockwork.
A Clockwork Orange, to be precise.
What the fuck is the point of menopause? Speaking in terms of evolution, that is.
I am a 46 year old woman. Childbearing time is over. (yay!) so fine. The faucet turns off and I get grey hair. So why should that take going on five fricken years? Puberty only took one. Tops. Boobs (woomp! poomp!) then the rest of it. (ewwwww.)
You have to realize here that without HRT I would be 3/4 bald by now and probably dead, because everyone in town would have come up to the house some years back carrying torches and pulled me screaming from the bosom of my family, tied me to the flagpole in front of city hall and set me on FIRE. I am a very very unpleasant woman INDEED, running under my own steam, left to the whims of natural physical processes.
Now, I am not altogether joking when I say this: could this have been what sparked the witch hunts? Really. Say there was a few good harvests in there...Moderate weather, not too many wars, no real pestilence to speak of...And you get all these spare older women living somewhat past the usual span of years, making everyone's' life a living hell, running around, setting shit on fire, digging holes, knitting, screaming at passers by from their porches, throwing bottles full of pee at the horses and smacking people? Because quite honestly that's what I'd be doing.
Can you imagine the kind of killing machine an army of healthy, buff menopausal women would be?
Damn.
Hundreds upon hundreds of women lining the hilltops.
Gunning the engines of their sedans, astride their Harleys, armed with Molotov cocktails, good insurance, German potato salad, napalm, and HK mp5's?
Imagine them hovering overhead in helicopters, arguing at the top of their lungs about who gets to drive, weeping, screaming, dropping pro-life republicans and plastic milkjugs full of botulism on the enemy?
Imagine the charge of the vanguard, several thousand naked crying women painted blue, tits a' flappin, hurtling down the hillside firing UN Barrett Light 50's fitted with supercooled sustained-repeating systems? (the antimateriel armament of the discriminating middle aged woman)
Imagine the rearguard action, women with their false teeth buried in the throats of the fallen, taking scalps, bashing the dying repeatedly with baseball bats, Maltese and chihuahuas and shih tzus all tearing at the dead and yapping in unspeakable cacophony?
Imagine them dragging the officers back to camp for interrogation...The greasy polaroids...The family dog nobody can remember the name of...The red eyes... The recounting of obscure relationships between people you never heard of and don't care about over and over and over again until the blood runs from their eyes and ears and they writhe on the ground and spill their guts no no no please I can't hear about how Carmel and Nadine fouled up Maria's wedding dress again just please MAKE IT STOP! GODPLEASEMAKEITSTOOOOOOOOP!
Deep breath.
This, my friends, is why god created tequila. Lets all go have some RIGHT NOW.