Do you believe you can’t be exposed to an infectious disease outbreak? All you have to do is spend a day at a grocery store to change your view on this subject and learn what the word “contagious” really means.
I hate to say it, but the behaviour of the human race is revolting. Villiage idiots grossly pick through the food at the salad bar with their fingers. Virus infused shit-heads sneeze on the grapes and into the meat bunkers. The bacterial infested grunters even spit into their hand to open a bag.
They’re like junior high school nerds with a buck-toothed overbite, splattering the customer service counter with their regurgitated spew. I know there are a lot of anti-vaxxers out there in the world, and honestly if you want to die in a pandemic, God speed. Hand me a hazmat. We’ll fire up the furnaces!
~You can’t get autism if you die from the plague.~
What about the small doses of mercury to prevent the contamination from microbes? What about the formaldehyde that inactivates the virus?
Folks, In this case I’d be willing to drink it in a cocktail glass, shaken…not stirred.
Let me make one thing very clear about myself. If I see even one diseased person screaming in pain from a noxious pathogen and blisters exploding from their skin like a Hiroshima rhino ejaculation, I’ll be brutally stabbing myself with a vaccination needle as fast as Freddy Krueger goes after a sleep deprived virgin.
Ego is the only requirement to destroy any relationship so leave the “e” at the door and let it go. Ego kills your talent, be humble.
Years ago, I used to run a writer’s site online. Trust me when I tell you that residing in the depths of self-absorption lays in wait a whole slew of literary snobs just eager for somebody to make a spelling error, put a comma in the wrong place, or perhaps even break from active voice.
They strike with precise brutality, reducing the person they decided not worthy to be a writer to a pile of scratched off eczema dust, weeping on the floor. They not only destroy the person’s creative process, but many new writers never write another word again.
They approach an unsuspecting victim with gorilla-like thumping to the chest, while making cough-grunting noises which sounds like they’re saying, “hack, hack…..I’m better than you.” Either that, or they really need a big gulp of oregano oil and a good suck on a Fisherman’s Friend. (That’s a cough candy, for all you foreigners). Chuckle!
It’s actually a sign that this person is insecure and in reality craves affirmation and attention. You can always tell when they are obsessed with themselves.
For the life of me, I cannot understand what joy there is in being an academic wanker by crushing somebody else’s creative muse. Let’s face it, it’s just downright mean. This type of dip wad probably hacks up puppies in their spare time.
The big kicker is that most of these folks aren’t even mainstream published. That’s the real laugh. They are usually self-published ego-maniacs who are so cold that butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth. They are critical, quick to anger, and try and hog the spotlight.
If you are the type of person who likes to throw toasters into pools of creative talent to watch them fry, then you’re a negative piece of crusty knicker sweat, and that’s me being nice about it.
~Don’t be a negative piece of crusty knicker sweat!~
Blogging is a mysterious thing. I mean, you don’t really know who anyone is. Hell, you don’t even know who I am. If you go around insulting people, they could be a publisher or an agent. If you are looking to get a book published or you’re wanting to be a real author, you might be wiping out all hopes of anyone even glancing at your unpublished piece of dribble. If you think publishers don’t talk amongst themselves, you’re dead wrong.
To be honest, I’ve always wished I could take a Nerf bat and whack the shit-stirrers up-side the head like a whack-a-mole.
Seriously though, if you have your own site you want other people to visit, don’t be a dick to other writers, nobody will want to be around you. That’s the best advice you’ll ever hear from me.
You will be ever so joyous to know that I am always open to discover what makes other writers tick. (Passes around popcorn and small, fluffy cakes)… I’d be interested to hear if you’ve had any run-ins with egotists lately? Tell me about it.
Yeah, I have some pet peeves. I like to consider myself a tolerant person, but I’m sorry to say some things just irk the hell out of me.
The rudest lunkheads on the planet are people who can’t seem to get off their friggin’ cell phone when they are in the grocery check out line. I mean, come on! What is so damn important that you can’t say…”Hey girl, I’ll call you right back.” Don’t get me wrong folks, I’m not a violent person. However, when customers pull that ill-mannered shit and ignore me when I’m trying to ask them how they want to pay for their carcinogenic, processed, artery clogging slop, I just want to snatch the phone out of their hand and throw it forcefully against the wall, smashing it into oblivion. It amazes me how many people do this and they are completely unaware of how obnoxious they are.
Another thing that really exasperates me is when stupid dipshits are driving and don’t signal when they are going to turn. Seriously, it’s not rocket science. Show me which way you’re going so that I don’t accidentally ram my giant boat of a vehicle into the side of your little eco-car, killing you and your seven children. These are the same dolts that drive slower than a pack of snails going through peanut butter in the left passing lane as well. That’s why speed limits are set. I have to get to work, I actually have a job I have to get to. I don’t have all day. Step on it grandpa, or get in the right hand lane with the rest of your prehistoric, geriatric herd.
The worst peeve for me personally, is when inconsiderate folks bathe in perfume and I’m forced to breathe it in because they come to my till. Seriously, why does one have to wear so much? Have they never heard of the expression, less is more? I have severe allergies to that chemical torment. Whenever they come around me my throat closes up and I sneeze like a combusting, epileptic snuffleupagus. It’s not pretty.
Life is punny, especially when that pun is risqué. Folks at work are funnier than they realize.
There’s a lady I work with at the supermarket. She hates it when the younger co-workers talk about boys and sex. She’s a bit of a prude. One day she held up a gift card and kept mentioning out loud that she had 69 cents left on it. I raised my eyebrows. “Really, 69? Really?” I teased, and then cracked up laughing. She turned beet red. Folks get embarrassed so easily and I find that hilarious.
Today, one of my co-workers told me that she needed to get her eggs. She held her tummy because of an unrelated stomach issue, totally oblivious of how funny that looked. I snickered at that as well.
Well…later in the afternoon, I sold a customer a shit-load of scratch tickets. He spent over one hundred dollars! Some people seem to have money to burn, but hey, I don’t ask questions. I put the first card under the scanner, and it didn’t win anything. I turned to him, shook my head and said, “not a bloody sausage!” He smiled and asked me where I got that expression from. I told him that it’s a British expression which means he didn’t get anything. “I like that expression,” he said happily. “I’m going to start using it.” I began scanning his other scratch tickets looking for a win. He clenched his fist, raised his arm above his head and thunderously yelled, “Come on, give me a big sausage! I want a big sausage!” I stopped what I was doing. I could not contain myself and roared with laughter. When he realized what he innocently said so loudly, he busted up laughing too.
The one thing that annoys me the most about diets, is that there are too many of them. Of course, every know-it-all on the planet feels they have the answer. What I have noticed through the years though, is that very few people actually keep the weight off. The problem is that as a society we are creatures of habit, and that creature happens to be a glutonous sow. Habits are hard to break. Let’s face it, nobody wants to grow as big as a double decker bus. One must be somewhat dilligent, however, the road to healthy eating is about as smooth as eating a bowl of gravel.
I start off doing really well. I eat healthy oatmeal with fruit for breakfast, a nice salad for lunch, but by the time the evening rolls around, I stand at the fridge like Jason in a horror flick looking at the cheese like I’m about to mass murder. The hardest part is eating the right foods so that you aren’t depriving your body and end up looking as old as a wrinkled knee cap. Everyone seems to have a different idea about what is healthy and what isn’t.
I wouldn’t say I have no will power. I can go for a decent length of time denying myself of what I really want to eat. But folks, when I start craving something it speaks to me like I’ve summoned a hellhound on my shoulder, and I become as weak as a one hundred year old arm wrestling grandmother. It also doesnt help that I work in a supermarket, ringing in a million different delicous, death trap morsels every day.
A few days ago this fellow walked into my place of employment with his girlfriend yammering about how they are both on a high fat diet and they both lost seventy pounds. I scrunched my eyebrows and inspected both of them for a moment in disbelief. I eyeballed them up and down. They both looked like runway models. “You can still eat chicken wings and cheese,” he continued. “Don’t screw with me, man,” is all I could think of to say. I honestly thought he’d lost his marbles. Either that, or he was running in a pagent as a world class douche in denial. I pondered about his diet for a moment. All I could invision in my mind is every artery in my body clogging up with plaque, like a street vegabond with a gob of crusty teeth, and then exploding into a massive heart attack.
Yes, I know that if you can’t pick it, pluck it or shoot it, it’s not real food. However this journey is about as easy as fitting a wort hog through the eye of a needle. I know you are probably thinking this is a lifestyle change and not a diet, but don’t kid yourself. It’s still a diet. Or perhaps torture. You may as well just pull out my fingernails with rusty pliers, one by one.
Ah…gratitude. Lots of folks have been discussing gratitude the past couple of weeks. I would really like to explore and discuss with you, my fellow third-eye spiritual pals and heathenistic aquaintances how I incorperate this thankfulness into my every day life.
On Thursdays, I’m forever gazing at my drenched newspaper. Soaked like a sewer sponge, it sits at the bottom of my driveway, haphazardly been thrown out of a car window by a minimum wage lard-ass vigilante who can’t even take the time to place it in my mailbox or on the front porch. Folks, all the rice in China won’t get that piece of literary driftwood dry. I am so grateful that this dick-wagon has taught me to treat my own employment with the upmost respect and to do a job right.
Then, my friends, there is my next door neighbour. He owns a dog that looks like it’s a cross between a German Shephard and a Husky. It’s a shitting Nazi. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful dog, but the owner just lets it defecate all over the backyard. Of course not on their own precious lawn. Nay, they let it come on to my garden and let the shitsicles pile so high I’m starting to wonder if they are trying to do a re-creation of Easter Island in front of my living room window. So what great life lesson have I learned from this, you ponder? I am grateful that I have learned how to treat other people’s property with respect, unlike this bubonic shit-kitten of a man.
And lastly – although it seems I could go on for an eternity – I pay homage to the customer who walks in to buy groceries two minutes before the store closes. Folks, never, ever be that person. If you do this you will certainly win the golden trophy for being the biggest weapons-grade douchebag on the planet. I am grateful that I respect other people’s lives and do my shopping at a respectful time.
I’m not complaining. I’m just expressing how grateful I am. 😀