I don't know if I've already gone off about this before or not, but I'm going to go off on it again!
They say you can't judge a book by its cover, and with this I mostly agree. More accurately, this phrase should be "you can't judge a book by it's cover material." Because let's face it, if you picked up a black leather-bound book that read "Titwick and the Garden of Feelinghood" you would be more than inclined to have a peek and almost guaranteed not to buy that book. Just the same, if there was a nice hardcover titled "Your Inner Tiger" you would ignore the book altogether for being lame. And we all know some of the cheap old paperbacks are where the good shit is at (and yes, a substantial amount of garbage). This is the metaphor for opposing racism and sexism and other visual-isms. They say not to be discriminatory.
But discrimination is key to our very survival. We discriminate against panthers for being ferocious, but we like kitties. We discriminate against rapists, but love lovers. Yes, there is a big fucking difference, thanks for pointing that out. There is also a difference between cool people and douchewads. So, while you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover [material] (but, hey, you can do whatever the fuck you want), you can judge a book by it's preface. If you hate a book by the preface, you are entitled to put that book down and say "that was dumb". If a jerk is a jerk, you call them a jerk. I don't care if they're black or a girl or handicapped or poor or what. Jerks are jerks. If they're going to be jerks then don't tell people they're okay. They don't to be given your chance. They've been given chances not to be jerks to thousands of people. They need to just stop being jerks.
Showing posts with label asshole. Show all posts
Showing posts with label asshole. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
People I Hate Part 9
Askholes.
People who ask questions over and over. Why do they always come into my store?
"This bottle? Is it sweet?"
"Yes, it will be a bit sweeter?"
"It's sweet?"
"Yes."
"Sveit!?"
Yes, it's fucking sweet! Jesus H. On a related note, at what point do Eastern Europeans go from being a rather attractive people to people you can't fucking stand? Is there any transitional period, or do they just all of a sudden go from good-looking party-goers to arrogant old people? Maybe cool Eastern Europeans are a new breed and we just have to wait for all the jerks to die off before we get cool old Eastern Europeans.
In fact, I think old people in general are just irritating. Most askholes are old people.
"7.99?"
"7.99."
"It's 7.99?"
"7.99."
"Yes."
"How about this one?" picking up the the same label.
"It's also 7.99." pointing at the sign.
"They're both 7.99."
"Which one is better?"
"Well, it depends what kind you like."
"Okay."
Pause.
"7.99."
"Which one you drink?"
"The shiraz."
"Iz bettir?"
"Yes! Fuck!"
I don't actually say this, and in no way endorse shiraz over any other variety of wine, but that's pretty much how these conversations go. Also, yes, as my anger increases, this couple becomes more and more Eastern European.
People who ask questions over and over. Why do they always come into my store?
"This bottle? Is it sweet?"
"Yes, it will be a bit sweeter?"
"It's sweet?"
"Yes."
"Sveit!?"
Yes, it's fucking sweet! Jesus H. On a related note, at what point do Eastern Europeans go from being a rather attractive people to people you can't fucking stand? Is there any transitional period, or do they just all of a sudden go from good-looking party-goers to arrogant old people? Maybe cool Eastern Europeans are a new breed and we just have to wait for all the jerks to die off before we get cool old Eastern Europeans.
In fact, I think old people in general are just irritating. Most askholes are old people.
"7.99?"
"7.99."
"It's 7.99?"
"7.99."
"Yes."
"How about this one?" picking up the the same label.
"It's also 7.99." pointing at the sign.
"They're both 7.99."
"Which one is better?"
"Well, it depends what kind you like."
"Okay."
Pause.
"7.99."
"Which one you drink?"
"The shiraz."
"Iz bettir?"
"Yes! Fuck!"
I don't actually say this, and in no way endorse shiraz over any other variety of wine, but that's pretty much how these conversations go. Also, yes, as my anger increases, this couple becomes more and more Eastern European.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
People I Hate Part 8
Motherfuckers.
Sorry, I just needed to get that out there. The motherfuckers I'm talking about specifically today are petty thieves.
It's one thing when the natives come in and try to swipe a bottle of rye because they can't afford to pay for it because- nevermind. I'm not trying to pick on the natives here. Maybe it's racist, but when a trashy native comes in to steal from me, I expect it. It's a game. Hell, even when white bums come in to steal from me, I get it; they're homeless. When you don't have much in this world and you drift from fix to fix, I understand that it's hard to get out of that cycle. It's hard to clean up, sober up, and become a functioning member of society (again).
What really pisses me off is when motherfuckers come in to steal when they already have shit. When black kids come in with their hundred dollar jeans, designer oversized t-shirts, likely uncomfortable unbroken but most certainly overpriced hats tilted to a superfluous angle... when they come in and feel like they are entitled to take a bottle of raspberry Smirnoff (grow at least one testicle) it sends me into a self righteous rage. I used the black kids as an example that has happened to me in the past. But, again, I'm not trying to pick on the black kids. Half of them are on the level. A more recent account is when a disgusting middle aged white trash motherfucker came in yesterday and tried to steal a bottle of Captain Morgan's... that was on sale.
This motherfucker not only put the bottle down his pants (inside his underwear, no less.... what a fucking asshole) while on a camera that displayed on the sales floor, but also didn't do a very good job because I could see the fucking bottle through his shirt. The cherry on top? Motherfucker was talking on his cell phone.
Just who the fuck does he think he is?! You can afford that shit and it's on sale. What a motherfucker....
Sorry, I just needed to get that out there. The motherfuckers I'm talking about specifically today are petty thieves.
It's one thing when the natives come in and try to swipe a bottle of rye because they can't afford to pay for it because- nevermind. I'm not trying to pick on the natives here. Maybe it's racist, but when a trashy native comes in to steal from me, I expect it. It's a game. Hell, even when white bums come in to steal from me, I get it; they're homeless. When you don't have much in this world and you drift from fix to fix, I understand that it's hard to get out of that cycle. It's hard to clean up, sober up, and become a functioning member of society (again).
What really pisses me off is when motherfuckers come in to steal when they already have shit. When black kids come in with their hundred dollar jeans, designer oversized t-shirts, likely uncomfortable unbroken but most certainly overpriced hats tilted to a superfluous angle... when they come in and feel like they are entitled to take a bottle of raspberry Smirnoff (grow at least one testicle) it sends me into a self righteous rage. I used the black kids as an example that has happened to me in the past. But, again, I'm not trying to pick on the black kids. Half of them are on the level. A more recent account is when a disgusting middle aged white trash motherfucker came in yesterday and tried to steal a bottle of Captain Morgan's... that was on sale.
This motherfucker not only put the bottle down his pants (inside his underwear, no less.... what a fucking asshole) while on a camera that displayed on the sales floor, but also didn't do a very good job because I could see the fucking bottle through his shirt. The cherry on top? Motherfucker was talking on his cell phone.
Just who the fuck does he think he is?! You can afford that shit and it's on sale. What a motherfucker....
Friday, January 15, 2010
What an asshole.
It's hard to see, but the grey strip on the left is the gutter and the grey strip on the right is the sidewalk.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Right of Way
I don't mind the guy who didn't slow down for my while I was crossing the street. I don't mind the guy who zips just past me as I'm stepping up on the curb. I don't mind the guy who pulls into the intersection while I'm crossing to save his spot. What I do mind is the guy who stopped at the stop sign for me, waited until I was almost across the street, then decided to drive directly towards me anyway. Let me draw you a very shitty diagram.
Seriously. He waited until I was almost finished and then accelerated directly toward me. A half a stride behind and he would have hit me. Some people are just plain motherfuckers.
Seriously. He waited until I was almost finished and then accelerated directly toward me. A half a stride behind and he would have hit me. Some people are just plain motherfuckers.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Asshole
It's been a long time since I've felt like beating the shit out of someone. So long, in fact, that I can't- oh, James. Okay, other than- oh, what, Peter. Right, so I tend to want to beat the shit out of guys who try to (and sometimes successfully) steal my girlfriend.
But last night was different. Last night there was just a guy who needed to be put down. So we're at the bar playing a round of pool and there was this cocky, loud, obnoxious, drunk-off-his-ass dickfaucet (sub-note, when in doubt, dick-noun is a safe and often hilarious insult). Now, I suppose everything does swing around and be about women because he would be a harmless asshole if it wasn't for the girl he was hitting on that was painfully pretty and half his age.
Now, I wish I could say that I did something. In a perfect world, I would fight fire with fire and step in to counter-flirt to which she would instantly recognise my desire to help and divert her attention to me, thus thwarting the advances of creepy old drunk guy and then she would volunteer her number and we could live happily ever after. Plus, I'd be something impractically cool like a jet-fighter pilot as well as a selfless vetrenarian saving kittens in Third World countries. I would obviously be a smart investor and, thus, loaded.
None of that is going to happen. I'm not keen enough for investments, caring enough to care about kittens in Third World countries, well-sighted enough to be a fighter pilot, or suave enough to counter-flirt. I do not have fire to fight fire with. I have water that sticks to familiar rivers.
Anyway, it's not a huge deal. I spent half the night trying to determine if it whether or not she was his unfortunate girlfriend or not (he didn't look twice her age. I only found that out later). Besides, who is actually going to trust that I'd step in to get rid of the asshole. In her mind, it would be, "Great, now there's two assholes." So, what can you do? The only two solutions are 1)beat the living shit out of him, or 2)do nothing. All I needed was a good external excuse...
Oh, I forgot to mention the racism! We were also out with a guy whom I think was Middle Eastern and he and the asshole were playing pool. The guy heads to the bathroom while the asshole - who thought he was the absolute shit at pool - butchered another shot with that terrible bounce-on-one-foot-while-looking-down-your-nose followthrough. Then he asks, "Where is that African?"
Had that not been only halfway through the night, and had I not been the painfully white guy that I am, that would have been my external excuse to take that mother-fucker outside. I don't even care if the guy we were with was African. You've got to know someone pretty fucking well before "that African" becomes an acceptable description.
But last night was different. Last night there was just a guy who needed to be put down. So we're at the bar playing a round of pool and there was this cocky, loud, obnoxious, drunk-off-his-ass dickfaucet (sub-note, when in doubt, dick-noun is a safe and often hilarious insult). Now, I suppose everything does swing around and be about women because he would be a harmless asshole if it wasn't for the girl he was hitting on that was painfully pretty and half his age.
Now, I wish I could say that I did something. In a perfect world, I would fight fire with fire and step in to counter-flirt to which she would instantly recognise my desire to help and divert her attention to me, thus thwarting the advances of creepy old drunk guy and then she would volunteer her number and we could live happily ever after. Plus, I'd be something impractically cool like a jet-fighter pilot as well as a selfless vetrenarian saving kittens in Third World countries. I would obviously be a smart investor and, thus, loaded.
None of that is going to happen. I'm not keen enough for investments, caring enough to care about kittens in Third World countries, well-sighted enough to be a fighter pilot, or suave enough to counter-flirt. I do not have fire to fight fire with. I have water that sticks to familiar rivers.
Anyway, it's not a huge deal. I spent half the night trying to determine if it whether or not she was his unfortunate girlfriend or not (he didn't look twice her age. I only found that out later). Besides, who is actually going to trust that I'd step in to get rid of the asshole. In her mind, it would be, "Great, now there's two assholes." So, what can you do? The only two solutions are 1)beat the living shit out of him, or 2)do nothing. All I needed was a good external excuse...
Oh, I forgot to mention the racism! We were also out with a guy whom I think was Middle Eastern and he and the asshole were playing pool. The guy heads to the bathroom while the asshole - who thought he was the absolute shit at pool - butchered another shot with that terrible bounce-on-one-foot-while-looking-down-your-nose followthrough. Then he asks, "Where is that African?"
Had that not been only halfway through the night, and had I not been the painfully white guy that I am, that would have been my external excuse to take that mother-fucker outside. I don't even care if the guy we were with was African. You've got to know someone pretty fucking well before "that African" becomes an acceptable description.
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