posted on December 07, 2012 08:00
For those of you who’ve been on board with my writing since the onset, or even those who may be new to my arguably disturbed drivel, you’ve undoubtedly, and correctly, deduced that the smallest of things in life seem to piss me off like no other.
I’m cynical, irritable and angry on a daily basis. This is not affected writing in the hopes of gaining a rise out of you. I sometimes wish it was, as my blood pressure would certainly benefit, but also sinisterly enjoy the rise it gives me.
I’ve even been accused a few times by a local radio producer of stealing his opinions from some short-lived piece he apparently used to write on here. I can assure you that unless his name is “Master Splinter” on the message board or he’s actually the true identity behind the deliciously addicting tales of “Maggie On Top” in her run on these pages (she was “50 Shades” before there was a “50 Shades”), I’ve never read a sentence he’s constructed, but I digress…I love digressing.
After fielding emails and response to yesterday’s column, I got to thinking about more mundane things in everyday life that go by seemingly unnoticed to the rest of you, but spark my intense ire. I now bring these to you.
In addition to my already expressed disdain for Cracker Barrel, I absolutely loathe any restaurant that defines great atmosphere as throwing my food at me, popcorn and peanut shells caked on my shoes or not being able to go 7-minutes without breaking into song and/or line dancing.
Along these same lines, unless you are eight or fucking-80, there is ZERO reason to have “Happy Birthday” sung to you by a restaurant staff in some quirky, loud rendition. “Hey everybody, can I have your attention? It’s this douche bag’s who you don’t know or could give 2-shits about birthday and we all want you to join along in song and applause”! Yeah, fuck you.
Moving on to other staples that seem to be enjoyed by the rest of the word, I despise Quik Trip because it is ANYTHING BUT that and I am not a giant fan of Walmart. That said, my disgust for Walmart has no self-righteous, political, union or even child goddamned labor reasoning behind it, but rather because I now cannot go there without watching perfectly capable people clogging up handicapped spaces or fighting with lard-asses (the “new handicap”) in motorized shopping carts for aisle space while they gab incessantly on their cell phone with some mindless idiot about the latest episode of Honey fucking Boo-Boo.
Automobiles bring another storm path of anger my way and they’re what you see the most of once you’ve left the insulated comforts of your home. We’ll start with personalized license plates. Aside from the obvious narcissistic motives behind them, and I know ALL about narcissism, I love these “clever” shits who are going to get one over on us all by putting something on there that “only they” know what means.
That’s fucking brilliant, asshole. That’s just like the person who wants the tattoo, but “somewhere where nobody can see it”. I’ve got an idea for you, idiot. Why don’t you just lie and TELL everybody you have a tattoo? Save the money, some pain and the likelihood that it will be some awful piece of inked shit you choose in the first place, given the incredibly intelligent reasoning you’ve walked in with.
Staying on the bumper, it’s the dreaded bumper sticker. Work your ass off, establish some great credit, sign up for 5-7 years of payments on a $30K-automobile…and then spend $1.99 to stick a 12” x 4” banner across the back of it proclaiming how much better you feel your child is than mine or such deep wisdom as that Mr. T-awful “COEXIST” sticker. You now deserve to “coexist” with that telephone pole up the road, of course walking away unscathed (disclaimer).
Similar to, but far worse than, the “my child did this” sticker is these goddamned stick people, pets and proper names you feel the need to plaster across the back window. My hypocrisy comes into play here, as I’ve been guilty of the kid’s team decal with # attached, but decal representation of my entire family, dogs and fucking fish included, will NEVER grace my vehicle.
We exhaust ourselves protecting our online information and certainly the safety of our children. Yet, we somehow find no problem in letting any recently-released pedophile who happens to drive by us know that we have 2-daughters named “Suzie” and “Lisa”, who own a dog and have hobbies including soccer and dance…and here’s our last name across the top for good measure!
This is molestation CliffsNotes, people, don’t you see this? I may sound extreme but that’s how shit happens. It’s sure easier to lure in your child when they know his/her name, possibly the name of their pet or can entice them with an errant soccer ball or claim to have seen them at “their daughter’s dance class”. I’d tell you to be is diligent in this area as you are with their internet usage but, then again, there are 13-year olds everywhere posting “booty” pics and that wretched “duck face” photos all over the place, so that’d probably fall on deaf ears.
I’ll end with language. Usage of the following words and phrases make me want to rabbit punch the elderly and practice field goals with stray kittens:
Misuse of “like”, hater(s), fake and real (when used describing oneself), LOL, OMG, LMFAO, WTF or any other acronym for some overused cliché in the first place, are inexcusable. “Agree to disagree” and “no offense” piss me off, “get ‘er done” makes me want to anally violate your grandmother and “it is what it is” may be the stupidest, most inane 5-words ever put together and immediately drops other’s perception of you without you even realizing it.
Finally, anybody starting a sentence with “actually” or “this from the guy who…” is clearly an asshole of ginormous proportions and whatever else comes out of their dick-holster next is simply heard as “I am SO much smarter than you, you are COMPLETELY off base in your comments, and here is why”. You have the legal right to cripple this man.
Nothing deep to this column, but you know, “it is what it is”…KMFP-out!
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