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Monday, September 27, 2010

It's Asshole Monday!

I wasn’t in a ranty mood when I woke up this morning but I quickly got there on the way to work when the black Chevy Malibu in front of me pelted my car with the garbage from their morning fast food breakfast.

I, personally, think there are fewer people that are scummier than litterers. Sure, you have child molesters and wife beaters and murderers and rapists, but of the every day asshole that doesn’t get jail time and may not actually deserve a life sentence, it doesn’t get much worse than litterers (except for maybe people that park in handicap spots that aren’t handicapped).

The world is not your garbage can and neither is your local area interstate. If you ate one of everything on the McDonald’s breakfast menu (and judging by your high speed garbage flinging this morning on 385, I’d say you did) and you don’t want anyone you work with to know, save that garbage for when you get your fat, lazy, fast food breakfast guzzling ass home. Fear that your precious Chevy Malibu will smell of rotting pig flesh like, no doubt, your breath does? DON’T EAT IN YOUR FUCKING CAR!

It’s really not that hard to refrain from littering. You just don’t do it. It’s as simple as that. It really is.

I ousted this asshole on facebook and I was given this link in response: http://www.tdot.state.tn.us/environment/beautification/litter.asp

You can tell on people for littering. Awesome. I am going to abuse the shit out of this. It might have made my day…until this…

People around here talk about football, which I am sure most people do at work on Mondays, I don’t listen because: A. Football is stupid and boring. 2. I usually have no clue of who/ what they are talking about. III. I have too much to read on Google Reader to be bothered with such nonsense.  But I did pick up on something today that made me go, “Hmmmm…that asshole can die now.”

I heard the name Michael Vick. The only reason I know who he is, is because of the dog fighting which no one should ever, ever forgive him for. Ever. I can’t tell you exactly what they were saying about him or even the team he plays for, but I could tell that he is the starting something or other for some football team. Maybe it was starting quarterback, maybe it was starting waterboy, maybe it was starting third baseman. I don’t know. The point is, really? Michael Vick?

Dog fighting. Anyone? Anyone? The only thing this asshole should be starting is starting to heal from the numerous ass rapes in prison and just when he thinks his glory hole has healed, someone else comes along and rips it to shreds, vein by vein. Yes, I went there because that is exactly what this piece of shit deserves. Why are people discussing him and saying good things about him when he deserves to never be thought of in a nice manner ever again. He deserves nothing good in life ever. Not until a retaliatory pit bull is unleashed on him and rips his balls off. Maybe when that happens, he can be redeemed but until this fuck that guy.

And since we are on the subject of people that should be in jail and/or murdered by a vigilante, fuck Chris Brown. Why is this asshole still putting out music and why are people listening to it? He beats women. He has beaten a lot of women. And then he goes on Twitter and says that things are finally starting to look up for him. What? Are we supposed to give you a pat on the back and a “Hang in there, champ!” since your life is finally looking up since you, you know, haven’t beaten a woman in a while? Do you want your fucking cookie now? How about a phallic one, because you can eat all sorts of dicks.

Why is it that people forgive famous people for atrocities that they commit? Roman Polanski sexually abused a 13 year old, yet he’s considered a genius for the movies he makes. Really? He’s, like, a pedophile. So is R Kelly and he pees on people, yet he is still making music and he still has fans.

It. Boggles. The. Mind. And infuriates the shit out of me.

This now concludes my Monday Rant. Maybe every Monday I will rant about something. Although I find myself with few things to be ranty about these days. Things are going well-ish and I find myself not being able to complain about much. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find something.

3 comments:

Sherrie Bee Bop said...

Next Monday, I would like you to rant about stupid grocery store patrons. Ya know, the ones that talk to themselves, or park their "buggy" in the middle of the aisle so no one can get by, but don't bother moving it no matter how many times you say "excuse me" nicely or "move the fuck out of my way" not-so-nicely...

There's also the stupid baggers who think to themselves "Hey, there's a toothbrush and a can of frozen margarita mix. I should bag those together because I am willing to bet they will both be stored in the same place, and it makes sense to bag like-items together, right?"

But wait, there's more.

What about the people who run into each other at the store and then it goes a little something like this:
Susie! Susie! What are you doing here? Ohmygosh I can't believe it, it's been so long!
I know, how are you and Bill and the kids?
*Excuse me, you're blocking the aisle*
Oh the kids are great, ya know, Tommy is the STAR of the football team! And Katie... well she went through a rough patch, but she seems to be doing better now. How's your mother? Didn't she have that triple bypass last year?
*AHEM EXCUSE ME*
Mom's doing well, I put her in a home because I'm a sorry bitch who won't stop talking long enough to let this nice lady through to the cereal aisle. And it's too bad, because Cinnamon Toast Crunch is on sale.

And if you ever notice, they're almost always wearing work out clothes. Yeah. WTF is that about? Is it like Soccer Mom's Witching Hour at Kroger every time I'm there??

Stacey Garrett said...

Already covered that, there Sherrie.

http://thingstodowhileunemployed.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-hear-7th-circle-of-hell-is-grocery.html

The Mean Beene said...

Michael Vick is a fag. And should die a slow, extremely painful death. And on top of that be striken with cancer, Parkinson's and AIDS.

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