I read the Orange Putin Puppet has been yelling at the TV. If that’s the standard for crazy, then my whole fucking family has been nuts since 1968.

Usually the rhetorical screaming at the TV is during a game or watching the news.

That’s how I learned that Nixon was a crook, Ford was stupid, Carter was a hick, and Reagan was an asshole. That’s not what the TV said, that’s mom and dad yelled back.

It’s a fine tradition. Even the Savages do it.

The Bear and I can’t watch Fox news for more than a minute before one of us calls “Bullshit” with a quick rant — like the half-naked blonde spouting her bullshit ‘splaining of Trump’s latest shitty statement can hear us.

Until this week, I thought it was a group activity. I don’t remember seeing anyone just yelling at the TV alone. I certainly only remember screaming with someone else.

But recently I caught myself “mastur-ranting.” Maybe it’s the Catholic upbringing, but it felt just a little dirty.

I was quietly sitting at the condo in Tucson with CNN on in the background getting ready to go to work. The windows and doors were open to let in the cool morning air. The birds were chattering. I can hear the neighbors TV, so I’m sure they can hear me. I usually try to keep the noise down.

A story comes on about how other investigators met with Trump and were told they needed to stop the Russia probe.

Some bald-headed, shit-head named Coats is talking. I’m not sure who he is or what he does, but he says he can’t discuss what “the president said “because it’s confidential”.

“Fuck you. You piece of shit. You work for us. Tell us what that goddamn mother fucker told you. That’s not a fucking state secret. That’s fucking public information, you piece of shit…” Apparently I was screaming loud. I was out of breath and my throat hurt just a little bit

I turn off the TV, and open the door. The next door neighbor’s screen door is open, and I can see his shadow lurking — like he is afraid to be seen. The door upstairs opens. Two people start down the stairs just outside my door. They are really nice people and take care of small children all day. I can hear the little feet following behind them.

That’s right. I’ve been caught “screaming with myself” — in front of God and little kids. I feel a flush of shame start filling my face with blood.

“Good bye honey,” I call back into the empty condo. “I’ll see you tonight.”

That will throw them off the mastur-ranter trail. I can only hope this mastur-ration doesn’t become the new item on my list of sinful personal habits.

Then I went to work and tweeted about it like a normal human being.