It’s been awhile since I’ve written a post. I’m tired. I’m cranky. Then I saw a Kohl’s bra ad and, well…a cranky of a different variety makes me tired, too. Anywho…I’m yelling at some types of people I don’t like! You’re getting run over by the Frak-Train!!! WOO WOO!!!!!…hmm…that’s quite lamer in print than drunkenly slurred at a piece of shrubbery….oh, well.
Under 18 Know-It-Alls. Now I hate know-it-alls in general. I don’t know everything. I don’t know half-of-a-quarter of things. Hell, I don’t even know what’s in a hot dog (don’t tell me, don’t tell me…pigs feet, cow hearts and recycled jock straps? That’s why they’re high in sodium…all the nut sweat.) I have no problem admitting I’m out of my element in an argument or knowing who I’m arguing against and just switching the subject instead of talking out of my ass until my mouth physically comes through my butt still talking about why Budapest should still be an autocratic bicameral parliament instead of a bureaucratic unicameral fascist state…right? No I have a special ring of hell for a certain kind of know-it-all…under 18 year olds.
Here’s a real-life example to help illustrate my level of loathing: I was at my mother’s house over the summer a few years ago after eight hours of working in the sun digging holes, watching my beloved Cincinnati Reds and relaxing along with my mother. Around the second inning came my sister’s boyfriend who was 16 at the time. He started making small talk (that’s fine), somehow it ended up on politics (not cool during baseball unless it involves a “Free Boobies Campaign”)…and he starts arguing politics with Mama Fraker!
“Listen you arrogant, smug prick. My mother is the smartest person I know and wasn’t born yesterday. She knows what the hell she’s talking about. You’re not even old enough to get drafted into war. Sure, you can drive around a car by yourself at 16…yipee! Having access to your parent’s Dodge Caravan doesn’t mean you have a say. You can’t vote in government. You legally have no say in anything that happens in your country, state, city, county, municipality, community, neighborhood, house or even in your bed because your nocturnal emission sheets show your hormones really run the show, right pizza face? Yes, you may be on your debate team in high school arguing against someone else who is in the eyes of the law moot with both of you reciting “facts” you got on Wikipedia and a quick Google search, but that doesn’t mean you have the experience or intelligence to argue politics with your girlfriend’s mother who graduated college before you were even in existence. Sit down, shut the hell up and let us watch the Reds in peace you jackass!!!!!”…is what I wanted to say…I texted my sister instead to remove him from the room.
People With Birthdays Near Holidays. It’s not that I hate the people themselves (I include myself in this group. There’s Christmas then my birthday on January 11), but just the pain in the ass it is to shop for these people sucks. They give you a list for the first holiday, but when the second even comes up…you’re clueless about what to get them. Usually I just You would think my parents would think about these things when they conceived me…and now I have to double my therapy to get that image out of my head. Apparently it’s genetic though because my dad has a June 4 birthday…right near Father’s Day. It was like my grandpa was planning on screwing me over while he was scre…oh Lord…I just threw up in my mouth 54 times. I have to move on before I imagine other family members fornica…BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Party Judgers. These people are easy to spot. They are at any party of any age group over 13 years old. They are really close friends who don’t expand their horizons at all, sit in the corner of the party and look at everyone else at the party having a good time and judging them on everything from the way they look, talk, act or breathe. God forbid I like to mingle around parties, chat with people all over the party, meet friends of friends and try to get to know them, dance near the music like a spastic idiot and truly enjoy myself instead of being social outcasts who are allergic to fun. Get over yourself, have a few more cups of liquid courage and become part of the party, not Apart from the party. See what I did there? I are English…do…good…?
Joke Ruiners. There are multiple varieties of this ass**** out there.
- Punchline Sayer: The guy who already knows the joke and will blurt the punchline out 10 seconds away from the finish of the joke and start laughing hysterically until I punch him in the dick.
- The Wet Blanket: Just as everyone is done laughing from the joke this guy has to explain what made it so funny. Joker: Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side! Crowd: (Laughter) WB: Haha it’s funny because that’s what things do…they cross roads! Crowd: (Awed hush mixed with anger.)
- Overlaugher. Self-explanatory…and I hope you choke on your uvula.
- No-Laugher. Mix this in with the stoic “Why did you make a joke there, jerk?” look…and I hope you choke on the Overlaugher’s uvula.
Story Stealer. One of my biggest pet peeves in the world. This person will steal the story you are telling the group because he thinks he can tell it better or you’re going too slow for his tastes or he’s just a dick and he doesn’t know you shouldn’t steal another man’s story. I was the one telling the story, I started it and I’m going to finish it. You can help with details if I forget them or if I need help I will ask for it, but don’t usurp my story. I want to make it legal that whenever someone attempts to steal your story…you can legally ask them politely “Oh…you must know it better…please regal us with your tale of amazement!” And when they first open their mouth to talk…you squirt some liquid soap down their throat. Nothing says don’t take my sh*t quite like some Dial down the gullet…you dick.
Sports Haters. This is more personal than of society in general, but anyone who says they hate sports, but more specifically “doesn’t see the point in it”…shut up. A guy at my work said he didn’t see the point in sports, but plays online role-playing games instead. Hmmm…let’s compare the two events. Sports deal with real-life people playing real-life events with other real-life people at real-life stadiums where you meet other real-life people face-to-face as you share an experience in the same real-life place with something you can follow and be passionate about from the time you’re born to the time you die. Online role-playing games…you know what? Too easy. Just don’t hate on sports and we can coexist peacefully…you with your pasty white face in your parent’s basement all alone while I go to tailgates, eat food, drink beer and have fun with other people outdoors. Enjoy.
Way Too Into Softball Guy. Piggy-backing off sports talk in general…can Mr. Intense please turn it down one or 82 notches, please? Who talks trash in beer league softball? Sure I love sliding headfirst and diving for baseballs…but that’s fun to me. Winning in beer league softball doesn’t make a lick of difference for me. If you and your hiked up baseball pants, backwards baseball hat, seven wristbands, $500 bat, scouting report toting, get angry at someone for not taking the extra base when you’re up 13 runs, never crack a smile because smiling is for losers self needs to win this game to validate their existence before they pick up the kids from his fourth ex-wife…go for it. I’ll just keep enjoying myself, laughing at myself and teammates and overall just love to be out there running around for an hour.
“Cavs For Mavs”. It’s one thing to root for the Dallas Mavericks for them to beat the Miami Heat and LeBron James in this year’s NBA Finals. That’s fine. It’s a totally different thing when you buy shirts or memorabilia with the “Cavs For Mavs” or “Go Mavaliers!” logos on it. That’s just dumb and pathetic. If anything you can buy Maverick championship gear because that signifies someone winning something. Those “Cavs For Mavs” shirts are just admitting to everyone in America that Cleveland’s only hope for being associated with any sort of winning is to attach their name to another franchise. Just save your money for a Cleveland championship…if that ever happens.
Hangover Judgers. STOP STARING AT ME! I KNOW IT’S A TUESDAY MORNING AT WORK AND I’M HUNGOVER! DEAL WITH IT! LIKE YOU’VE NEVER PLAYED 15 GAMES OF BEER PONG STARTING AT 10 PM AND DIDN’T GO TO SLEEP FOR YOUR 8 AM SHIFT UNTIL 5 AM AFTER YOU WATCHED SOME SKINEMAX WHILE STUFFING 5 FORMS OF DEEP-FRIED GOODNESS IN YOUR MOUTH! DON’T JUDGE ME! I’M AWES…ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
(Point of this category…we’ve all been there. Just laugh at the man and move on…please, people I know at work?)
Too Loud Self-Talkers. I talk to myself all the time. It helps me remember things and gather my thoughts about what I need to get done…but I keep it at a whispered pitch. I don’t like to use my outside voice to myself when I’m trying to remember if my hemorrhoids will ever get better or that my balls are really sweaty right now or if I took my birth control yet…as a man. Most of the time it’s just gross and I would instantly kick you in your sweaty balls if I wasn’t dry heaving so much.
Well that’s my list…so far. I’m sure more things make me angry, but I’ll save those for another day. Hmmm…my birthday is in less than six months. That means around April my parents got together in a bouncy castle at Chuck E. Cheese after hours and…
BLAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
