If You Would Just Die, That Would be GreatSubmitted by youarsoghey at 2005-01-05 13:17:19 EST
Rating: 1.91 on 120 ratings (120 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Incoherence is the cornerstone of insanity.
- Jan Hartigan
I believe I speak plainly for every individual, as I often like to do, when I say that I am the only sane person left on the face of the Earth and everyone else is crazy. Everyone, but me, is insane.
I was at a corner grocery store recently with a friend of mine and in walked this woman wearing one of the sluttiest outfits I had ever seen. Her tits were pouring out of her shirt and her skirt could not have been longer than four inches. My friend was ogling her like a horny 13 year-old boy. She walked down the aisle we were in and right past us.
She stopped about ten feet down to look at some products and “accidentally” dropped a can of God-knows-what. She bent over...slowly...and upon full lean, we both couldn’t help noticing, whether we wanted to or not, that she was not wearing underpants. She caught my friend looking down her way in a state of subdued shock. She immediately straightened up and walked toward us, with steam shooting from her ears.
“How DARE you look at me like that!” she screamed. I shit you much less than a full-grown elephant that she then said, “This UNBELIEVABLE behavior is exactly why women everywhere can’t get ahead...” and proceeded to slap my friend right in the mouth. Please, let me reiterate:
She dressed like a slut and smelled like one too.
My friend can’t help it if he’s attracted to a slut’s vagina, and I can’t help it if I’m shocked by the echoes reverberating from that cavernous hole. All the same, my friend stood there with his lips hanging down like JJ on Good Times, rubbing his chin, and apologizing profusely, while Slutty McLegSpreader stood there contemplating whether she was going to forgive him or not.
My friend’s an idiot for apologizing. She’s just an idiot.
I was driving on I-287 one day on the way up to Maine when I saw a dirty Subaru station wagon speed by me. On the back of the car, there were no less than five bumper stickers, each one dumber than the next:
- “Baby on Board” – A friend of mine put it best when he said: “Baby on Board? Does that sign help us choose with which car not to have an accident?”
- “Clinton-Gore ‘92” – I’m glad to see you’re still fighting the relevant fight. I wonder who won...
- “Save the Whales” – I’m happy that you feel strongly about something, but nobody cares about saving the whales when they’re on a long fucking drive. No. Nobody cares except maybe the whales, and they don’t drive.
- “I Brake for Whales” – And it’s a good thing you do too, because there have been far too many whale road kill incidents recently. Also, see above, dipshit.
- “Don’t Pollute on Your Daily Commute” – Yeh, you’re right. Magic carpets are pretty efficient. Also, I’ve always wondered why we don’t just cross our arms and blink ourselves to wherever the hell we want to go like Jeannie did when running from that Major Nelson rascal.
This also pisses me off:
I know this subject has been done to death, but I was watching Fox 5 New York a few months ago, and I heard this “teaser” for the 11 o’clock news:
“There’s a pack of wild dogs on the loose eating everything in sight. We’ll tell you where at 11.”
It was so bizarre that I had to write it down. Honestly, what the fuck? One of these days they’ll follow that line with:
“So until then...you’re all screwed!”
Blatantly false advertising is one of the most annoying things in the world, not because it’s there, but because you know your idiot friends are going to buy the shit and then complain about it later.
I was in a men’s clothing store looking for some shirts and ties one day when I came across a rack full of “Wrinkle-Free Shirts.” There was a salesman standing next to it and he immediately went into his speech about how amazing these shirts were.
“...and they are made from the best material and you will never have to iron them because they cannot wrinkle!”
“Oh, well I don’t want to ruin your speech,” I said. “But the shirt that is on display for the Wrinkle-Free Shirts is...wrinkled.” He gave me some bullshit answer that I didn’t listen to.
How could you be that stupid? You could ask a four year-old what not to do if you have a rack of supposedly wrinkle-free shirts and he would say, “MAKE SURE THE FUCKING SHIRTS AREN’T WRINKLED YOU STUPID FUCK.” What an awesome four year-old.
I got a ticket the other day from a Boston cop (if you can call a meter-maid a cop) for parking my car in front of my apartment for ten minutes with the flashers on while I grabbed some things from inside. No, you stupid, waste of a life, I don’t have a hideously overpriced parking permit, but give me a fucking break. It was two days before Christmas in a college town; nobody was losing a precious space in the ten minutes I was there.
Whenever I get a ticket from a Boston meter-maid, it’s always horrible handwriting which means that they are not only uneducated, but they’re also most likely wearing three inch-long fake fingernails. Guys must be knocking down your doors when they see you wearing those sexy things.
You’re driving a bus from New York to New Jersey. You’re not doing something amazing like saving a bunch of kids from alligators that shoot flames from their mouths. You will never be Keanu Reeves in Speed.
You’re riding in a bus from New York to New Jersey. Nobody cares how important you think you are. Yelling at the bus driver will not make the traffic disappear. Hurtling yourself from a bridge will make everyone else’s headaches disappear, though.
I can’t stand people who drink so much that they say:
“Dude! I can’t wait to not remember anything tonight!”
Then the next day they say:
“Dude! Did you remember last night??”
“Me neither!! It was awesome...probably!”
Idiots on the internet tend to only follow two extremes: Complete acceptance or absolute paranoia.
It used to be that they clicked on any link they saw as long as it said, “CLICK THIS FOR SOMETHING KEWL!” Idiot’s thought process:
“Well, OK! Nobody could possibly be malicious on the internet! Wait, what does ‘Your computer has 35,000 new viruses’ mean?”
Then they’ll come to people who don’t have virus problems and ask them to fix it.
“What did you click on?” I ask.
“Nothing at all,” they answer. “I have never clicked on anything.”
“No really, what did you click on?” I pursue.
“Well I did click on a few thousand ‘Click Here’ links,” they answer thoughtfully. “But I didn’t think that was relevant to what you were asking.”
These days, the same exact people, who have been burned one time too many, are way too fucking paranoid. I’ll send my friend, Bob, a message that says:
“Hey, Bob. Did you play hockey this weekend? Check out the front page of CNN.com here: www.cnn.com. It’s really interesting.”
“FUCK YOU VIRUS! I KNOW IT’S A FUCKING VIRUS, YOU VIRUS BITCH. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, VIRUS WHORE!”
So the virus knows your name, that you play hockey on weekends, and links to cnn.com? I see...
I recently made up a quote that I thought was mildly clever: “People don’t reward me for my outstanding modesty nearly enough.” I put it in my AIM profile just for kicks, and in the next week, about fifteen dumbass girls message me to tell me how saying something like that doesn’t impress girls that much.
Oh, shit. I’m offending girls who I am not even remotely interested in and can’t understand sarcasm. There is another thing on this planet that shares the same qualities: a heaping pile of horseshit.
I can’t stand marketing professors who couldn’t sell the cure for cancer to William Rehnquist.
The funniest reply I’ve ever heard to someone being called a “dork” was when I was down near Boston University. My friend was doing something stupid while being drunk and some guy saw him:
“You’re such a dork,” said Mr. Some Guy.
“Hey! Stop using insults to define your place in society! I mean, when people call you a dork you’re really just the biggest thing out there, because dork literally means “whale penis” – ain’t nothing bigger than that!”
What kind of crazy asshole thinks of something like that?
I hate those guys who blast their shitty rap music so loud that their shitty car rattles and then they purposefully try to stay next to your car so you have to listen to their shitty music that has an added shaking noise due to their stupid, shitty rattling car. When I’m on the highway, I try to outrun them, but it’s like a Halloween movie with Michael Myers. The faster I go and the slower he moves, the shorter the gap between us seems to get. It’s a fucking miracle of modern science, it is.
Why do people blame me when the cell phone service drops out? The call will cut out unexplainably and the person calls me right back.
“Why did you hang up on me?”
“I...uh...what?” I would stammer. “I didn’t hang up, the service got cut off.”
“Don’t let it happen again.”
So for the rest of the conversation, I wet my finger and hold the antenna against a metal object that stands nearest to a south-facing window. I’m not in cahoots with the phone company. I hate the phone company. We all hate the phone company. Can’t we all just hate together?
What asshole decided to fill almost every website with as much useless shit, flash animations, java applets, and advertisements as possible?
Why does everybody in Hollywood insist on calling Julia Roberts “beautiful” every chance they get? They say it so often that I’m beginning to construct conspiracy theories in my head. Here’s one of those conspiracy theories:
Julia Roberts is an ugly whore.
Why do people come to Boston for school and after their freshman year think they are natives of the city when they go home to Connecticut?
“Robert, dear, can you please pass the caviar?”
“Sahhhree mah, no can do. And da name’s Bawwwbby, not Robaht. Let’s go Red Sawx.”
Your name is Robert P. Earl the Fourth, not Bawbby from Southie. Get a grip, you Connecticut shitbucket.
I wonder what the suicide rate is amongst local weathermen. What a God-awful job that must be. They always try to be chipper, but you can see right through them.
“Alright, now let’s go down to Jim for today’s weather!”
“Thanks, Joooooe. Hahaha, you’re a classy guy. Anyway, the metro area seems to be baaaaaarely missing a large grouping of clouds that, if it passed over us, could cause a lot of cloudiness! Goodbye, Mr. Sun, right Joe?”
“That’s right, Jim. So did you get down to the country club last weekend? It was grrrrrreat weather!”
“That it was, Joe. But no, I make a shiiiiiiitty weatherman’s salary! Now let’s go to Tonya, the depressed traffic reporter!”
There was this Honda or Toyota commercial on television a while back about a “German car company” (which implies ALL or ANY of the German car companies) testing a Honda or Toyota for competition purposes. They ran through all the features with fun German accents:
“Rear automatic seats?”
“Headlights zat turn as zee car does?”
“TIRES MADE OUT OF....RUBBER??”
“My God, what will we ever do!”
I don’t know that much about cars, but I do know that nobody at Mercedes is trying to reverse engineer a Toyota. In fact, I’m pretty sure Mercedes pioneered the use of much of those features in their cars. And if it wasn’t Mercedes, then it was BMW or some Italian or British automaker. But it’s the implication that German companies are envious of Japanese companies that really irks me. I also really doubt any engineer at Porsche salivates at the thought of the mighty power of a Honda Civic.
Who watches MTV and doesn’t laugh hysterically? I mean, I know everyone knows MTV sucks, but seriously....SERIOUSLY...who watches this tripe and follows the shit they’re talking about?
“Hey yo, dog, wazza wazza wazzup, my homies. Dis he’ah be da Real World, dog. We a bunch o’ regulah dogs wif lots o’ money and a awesum house, dog, just like everyone in da real world, dog. We’s also got a dog, dog. We’s callin’ hims Bow Wow Da Dog, yo. It hot, know what I’m sayin’?”
What? Who? Huh? “Know what I’m saying?” The only thing I can understand about what these people are saying is “know what I’m saying,” and even that is sometimes difficult to pick up. And let’s just be clear on one thing: THE REAL WORLD IS NOT REAL! It’s a soap opera, and it’s not even an interesting one. I’ll watch real soap operas during the day time and hear some fucked up shit you wouldn’t even dream of:
“Wendy, I’m going to have a baby.”
“But, Jon, you’re...”
“...A man, yes I know. I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t have to worry, you’re not going to have to pay the child support. It’s not your baby. You’re not the mother.”
“I was impregnated by aliens from the planet Ishtar in the Curry Galaxy. Wendy, I’m going to give birth to a sacred cow named Shri Mani Shankar.”
That’s some fucked up shit, and it’s damn good watching too, unlike this MTV crap.