Friday, December 30, 2011
CROSSING MAIN STREET
I recently read a letter on facebook addressing the terribly dangerous traffic on Main Street in my little town in New Jersey. The mom who wrote this open letter has almost been run over crossing Main Street twice. To hear it told, it is a miracle that she and her children are alive today. Her letter was addressed to the town PD urging enforcement of traffic laws to make Main Street a safe street to cross.
I lived one block from Main Street in this little town for 12 years. It is a reasonably busy street, but with two traffic lights in the three block center of town, it is pretty difficult for cars to go very fast. I used to see police give out tickets on Main Street three or four times per day. Yes there are some inattentive drivers as there are on any street in the USA, but I never witnessed or heard of an accident with a pedestrian. I almost responded on Facebook, but I have gone that road before. It is never productive. But I have a blog. What fun.
My first hint that this mother was a bit over-reactive, over-protective and perhaps a bit whacky came when I saw a picture of her son. He is dressed in a yellow traffic control jacket and a traffic-cone orange ski hat, an outfit that he apparently always wears when venturing a walk into town. The mom was saying she may never attempt to cross Main Street again.
At the risk of pissing off many a mom, I submit that if you hold your child’s hand and look both ways, crossing Main Street in any little town is safer than taking a shower. Dressing your child in a yellow safety vest and orange cone hat is a recipe for raising a paranoid child who may well have psychological issues when he grows up. If you send him to school like that you might as well put a “kick me” sign on his back and then complain about bullies.
When I was a child there was always one wimpy kid who every day would run to mommy, “Billy pushed me on my bike, he TRIED TO KILL ME!!” This is what this woman sounds like to me. She is being overly melodramatic looking for sympathy and attention.
Her near catastrophe? While crossing the street a car to her right backed up without looking, in order to move to the left turn lane. “If I wasn’t paying attention she would have hit and killed me and my sons!” If you weren’t paying attention you would have been as guilty of the consequences as the negligent driver. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO PAY ATTENTION CROSSING THE STREET!! How fast was this car traveling in reverse to change lanes? Probably less than one mile an hour.
I was once almost hit crossing Main Street by a moron on a cell phone. I avoided death by about ten yards by stopping, yelling and giving the idiot the finger. Yes there are bad drivers out there, and they regularly get tickets. I would like them all to drive slower and watch where they go as much as anyone, but there have been stupid drivers for as long as there have been wheels.
Go ahead if it makes you feel better, write your letters. Threaten to boycott downtown (as if driving to the Mall is any safer) maybe you will change the world. In the mean time watch where you are going, walk defensively, teach your children to do the same and stop looking for the entire town to feel sorry for your “near demise” at the hands of two reckless drivers.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
WHEN I BECOME FAMOUS
OLD SPICEY DUDE – A cologne for cranky old men - A musty, dusty, smell with a hint of grandma’s parlor, old cigars and a touch of gas.
CRANKY TEE SHIRTS – A collection of loosely fitted sleeveless white tee shirts with cranky old man sayings in blurry print:
“Help, I’ve fallen and I forget which way is up!”
“I coulda kicked your ass 20 years ago!”
“If found, please return to a young rich lady with big hooters”
CRANKY BIG FOAM FINGER – Never mind the “we’re #1”; this large foam middle digit lets you flip the bird even with arthritic hands.
A COMB-OVER TOUPEE – For old geezers that want to look younger, but still fit in with their crowd.
CRANKY CRANKY OLD DUDE BOARD GAME - Choose your token piece; a walker, a pair of shoes with the laces tied together, or a Li’l Rascal scooter. Roll the die to see who can advance 20 squares and go from your bed to the TV in the den. Watch out for road blocks! “You hit a shag carpet, lose a turn” or “You crapped your drawers, go to the John. Do not pass the handicapped ramp; do not collect your SS check.
These are just a few of my ideas to strike it rich. All I need is fame and an agent!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
HEAVEN or HELL
The problem is I don’t really know what the rules are. Sure the major religions all claim they know the rules, but do they? And, does God take sides? Surely if I lead a good life I won’t be sent to Hell just because I did not face Mecca and say “Ooga booga” six times a day, or just because I ate pork.
As I get older and I realize my time above ground is limited, I reflect on my life and wonder….am I going to Heaven or Hell?
Who goes to Hell? I gotta think Hitler went to Hell. Who goes to Heaven? Surely Mother Theresa is in Heaven. What about those in between? What are the rules?
I guess if the rules were hard and fast, those who go over the line would know there was no turning back and just keep on sinning.
I think God wants us to have the chance for a do-over. Catholics believe in the do-over in the form of “confession.” Is that really fair? Could Hitler have merely gone to confession and got a pass?
“Bless me Father for I have sinned.”
“What are your sins my son?”
“I killed nine million people Father.”
“Oh my, that is bad. Were they Jews?”
“Well then, say 150,000 Hail Mary’s and stop killing Jews.”
“Yes Father and thank you.”
I know I have not led a perfect life, but I am no Hitler, I think I should not go to Hell. Then again I am no Mother Theresa, should I go to Heaven? There must be some compromise. The gap is too large, the consequences too dire for this to be a pass/fail system.
“What is it Saint Pete, up or down?”
“Hmmm Joe you look pretty good…wait….I see you egg bombed Mrs. Krances House when you were ten….I’m sorry, you are going down.”
“Yes, sorry, it was a close call. Say hello to Saddam and George Carlin.”
“George Carlin? He was so funny.”
“Yes, but that seven words thing. It was another close call.”
There must be an in-between. Mother Theresa deserves steak and lobster, Hitler deserves dog shit. I think I should at least get “The Olive Garden” and pasta with Asiago cheese.
I think maybe the in-betweeners have to do some time in Hell and then go to Heaven, but not first class Heaven. Maybe I could do two weeks in “Toys are Us” on Christmas Eve and then make tourist class Heaven.
Whatever the requirements, a “C” average or above, pass/fail, or a quota system, it is probably too late for me to make any major changes. I plan to try not to be mean, not kill anyone and hope I can plead a case with the life I’ve led so far.
And I thought final exams in college were important.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
GET A LIFE!
(OR SHUT THE F*CK UP)
Several things happened this last week that make me want to just scream, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Some people just look for shit to happen so they can wave a flag and say “Look at me, I’ve got an agenda and I’m not afraid to raise a stink about something to push it.”
POR EXEMPLUM: (What you never took Latin?)
A lady in my town posted on Facebook an open letter to the police about the horrible traffic problem in town and how she is afraid to cross Main Street with her children (future blog on this is in the hopper.) She asserts she has almost been KILLED twice by careless drivers.
Why do I suspect she has an agenda and is looking for attention? She posted a picture of her son crossing the street. Her son was wearing a yellow traffic vest and an orange traffic cone hat. Apparently this is how he is always dressed when going downtown to cross Main Street!
Main Street in Metuchen, NJ is perfectly safe to cross if you just watch where you are going. Cars cannot travel any faster than 10 MPH down Main Street.
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!
The news recently reported that a Woman traveling from Las Vegas to Boston had a TSA agent take away a cupcake as the frosting was a potential explosive (future blog in this subject is in the hopper.) How did the news hear about this “major” incident? Did the TSA overreact? Probably. Is this lady making a big deal about a lousy cupcake? I would have just laughed it off; she goes to the press, who loves to pick on airport security, and she acts like she was horribly victimized. This is not Iran. They did not strip search and beat you. They took away a cupcake.
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!
Today I read an article about a woman being told to not breast feed at a Washington DC Motor Vehicle station. Personally I don’t care if someone breast feeds in front of me, I seldom give more than a passing two or three minute glance. However, some women are just asking for a scene. They could go to a corner of the room, turn their back and discreetly feed their baby (sometimes a three year old toddler). Instead in the name of “What is the big deal it is perfectly natural”, they open up without warning in the middle of a crowd just asking for someone to say something.
You know what? Peeing is perfectly natural, but if I’m in a car and I have to go, if there is no rest stop available, I pull over and hide behind a tree. I don’t stand in the middle of the road, pee, and yell at passerbies, “What you never saw someone pee before? It’s natural you know!”
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!
Finally what is with those clowns wearing shirts that say stuff like “This is my drinking shirt”? When you take the time to read what the shirt says, these morons give you shit, “Yo what the fuck you staring at?”
Listen jerkweed, if you don’t want people staring at your shirt, don’t wear a shirt that says stuff!
“Here, look at my shirt, it says:
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”
Monday, December 26, 2011
YOU MAY BE GUILTY IF….
It seems to me that juries today are not very good at recognizing when someone is guilty of a crime. Juries use a standard of “must be guilty beyond any shadow of a doubt.” The standard is “guilty beyond a REASONABLE doubt.” In order to help future juries reach correct conclusions I am offering CRANKY’S CRITERIA FOR A GUILTY VERDICT, or you may be guilty if:
YOU MAY BE GUILTY IF:
You wear baggy pants and your underwear are showing.
You wear a hat with the peek turned over to your ear.
You pronounce “police” as Po’leese. If you pronounce the plural of police is Po’leeses you are definitely guilty.
Your eyes are constantly at half mast.
You have “crazy” bug eyes.
You wait one month before reporting your three-year-old daughter missing.
You plead “I ain’t do nothin” instead of “Not guilty.”
Your alibi is you were too drunk to remember.
You “Was at my mom house at the time.”
You decided to leave the country at the spur of the moment in a white bronco; you left buckets of the victim’s blood all over your house, driveway, and gloves, or you wear Bruno Magli shoes and a hoodie.
I believe if judges would read these criteria of guilt to all juries our justice system would be vastly improved.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
For anyone who missed last week’s Headlines post, there was none, I was instead swimming in Barbados. The winner of the previous week’s guest comment contest to the headline Muslim Cleric's Warning: Cucumbers Too Sexy for Women was:
"Muslim women find themselves in a pickle and relish the long lost days when a woman could veg in peace."
My comment would be “Muslim men warned to stay away from steamed clams, but El’s is much more original.
Here it is EL – WHOOP-TEE-DOO! (You are encouraged to post the WHOOP-TEE-DOO on your blog page!)
Here are this week’s headlines and my stupid sophomoric comments:
Bon Jovi: 'Heaven looks a lot like New Jersey' – What exit?
Canadian man drives with dead wife in car – Some people will do anything to use the HOV lane!
Frankincense, Staple of Christmas, Doomed - Can Myrrh be far behind?
‘You Know Something? You’re a F–king A–hole’: Iowa Man Confronts Gingrich – Just what these primary debates need, some intelligent discourse. Gingrich completely disarmed the man with his pithy comeback, “Oh yeah, so is your momma!”
Jules Manson Calls for Assassination of Obama and His 'Monkey Children' – Speaking of intelligent discourse, this dude just might be perceived as a tad racist. Could we maybe keep an eye on this guy?
Romney says he would deport Obama's uncle - Because that’s what is wrong with the economy, and the President has nothing else to do. He also advocates deporting Ramon Rodriguez currently in Tampa Florida.
Holder Cites Race in Explaining Scrutiny of Justice Department Actions – Apparently some people have no tolerance for African Americans who distribute assault weapons to drug cartels.
Former NFL Players Blame League for Brain Injuries in Federal Lawsuit – Players claim the NFL hid the fact that 250 pound men running full speed and making helmet to helmet contact could be dangerous.
Former NFL Players Blame League for Brain Injuries in Federal Lawsuit – Players claim the NFL hid the fact that 250 pound men running full speed and making helmet to helmet contact could be dangerous.
Hubble Telescope Spots Complex Organic Molecules on Surface of Pluto – Telescope also determines that Pluto in not a planet, but is in fact a giant ball made out of LEGOS!
This Christmas, Parents Rent Out Kids to be Beggars – No silly comment here! This is taking place in Honduras. It is just sad and despicable.
This week’s guest comment contest because I can’t think if anything funny is:
U.K. Lawmaker Investigated by French Police Over Nazi Bachelor Party –
The best comment submitted will be awarded the prestigious WHOOP-TEE-DOO!Good luck and Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 23, 2011
CRANKY’s POEM OF CHRISTMAS EVES PAST
'Twas the night before ChristmasIn my little house
I tried to play Santa
Though I was half soused
The children were sleeping
Content they’d not sinned
They had not a clue
Dad was three sheets to the wind
Trying to construct
A bike or a plane
While being half toasted
Was just plain insane
There was no excuse
For my sorry condition
But getting bombed on this night
Was my Christmas tradition
On Lancer’s on Gray Goose
On Dewars I’m sippin
Screw Rudolph and Donnar
I’m getting Blitzen
The presents were laid out
The stockings filled in a hurry
I staggered upstairs
With sight that was blurry
The children awoke
And jumped on the bed
In their excitement
They didn’t care of my head
Down the stairs
To the tree they did run
The presents; the stockings
Were nothing but fun
The children were happy
They were all in high clover
Merry Christmas to all
And to Dad a hangover
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Is there a list of official “dishwasher rules?” I think every woman has their own set of rules. I am on my third marriage. I have had to learn a new set of conflicting rules with every wife. As soon as I learn the rules, I change wives and have to relearn a new set of rules. It is hard enough for a man to learn how to perform a task, it is impossible to have to relearn new rules.
PLEASE!! Women, please get together and agree on dishwasher protocol.
Here are the rules I have to adjust to after every new marriage.
1. Knives go in pointy side down or pointy side up? Make up your minds, one way or the other, I really don’t care!
2. All plates and flatware must be scrapped clean before loading. Some say yes some say no. It seems to me the dishwasher should be doing this work, but many women say the washer only sanitizes the load. I don’t really care; just decide one or the other!
3. Tupperware? Yes or no? Come on women, either you can put it in the washer or you can’t. Please, one rule!
4. Silverware? See #3.
5. Fine china? See #3. Keep in mind most men cannot discern fine china from corningware.
6. When can I turn the washer on? Does every nook and cranny need to be bursting with dishes or can I do a load every day?
7. If #6 requires the washer to be bursting with dishes before starting, is there a time limit to overrule that requirement. Two days? One week? Make up your mind and tell me!
8. Can I wash stainless steel? I’m told it might rust. Really, rust but not stain? Really?
9. No plastic, plastic will chip or might melt, or plastic is no problem; come on, what is it?
Currently these are the rules I have been forced to follow:
Knives go pointy side down so you do not stab yourself as opposed to pointy side up so the business end gets cleaned. Everything needs to be scrubbed clean before loading; the washer only sanitizes the dishes. Tupperware…..NEVER, it will lose its whoosh when burped. Silverware…no, I have no explanation. Fine china…no, it will chip. Why won’t crappy china chip? The machine must be filled to the brim and then not turned on until the wife has a chance to inspect and redistribute the dishes to optimize capacity. Dirty dishes must be washed within two days if washer is not filled to capacity. No stainless steel, it might rust if the drying process is not complete (I don’t make the rules, I just follow.) No plastic, it might melt (I know, dishes have to be scrubbed clean before loading into a machine that could melt plastic. WTF?)
These are the rules I currently follow. Please ladies, get together and make one set of rules, I refuse to have to relearn dishwasher protocol again.
Or, I guess I will just have to stick with Mrs. Cranky and her rules.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
MORE ORIGINS OF SAYINGS
Do you ever wonder where the many common sayings we use everyday come from? What are the origins of expressions we hear all the time? You may be surprised. Here are more of Cranky’s “ORIGINS OF SAYINGS.”
Meaning – Go to bed
“Hit the sack”
“Hit the sack”
Origin – Old beds were basically just large sacks filled with anything soft, hence going to bed was referred to as hitting the sack.
“Don’t yank my crank”Meaning – Don’t try and fool me.
Origin – Fisherman knew they had a fish on when their crank moved. As a goof it was common for another fisherman to pull on the line which moved the crank and made the fisherman think he had a fish. Fisherman used the expression anytime someone tried to fool them, “Hey, Don’t yank my crank.”
“Buy the farm”Meaning – Die
Origin – Farmers were notorious for having a large mortgage on their property. When a farmer died and he had life insurance the neighbors would remark, “At least the insurance will pay off the mortgage. Hence – He bought the farm!
“Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face”
Meaning – don’t cause needless self-destructive in an over-reaction to a problem.
Origin – DUH! Cutting off your nose? This is a really a bad idea, kinda like a ballplayer getting angry at striking out and breaking his foot kicking a water-cooler.
“There is more than one way to skin a cat”Meaning – There is more than one way to get a job done.
Origin – This was obviously first said by someone who was not a cat skinner as it turns out there is actually only one way to skin a cat.
“Put up your dukes”Meaning – Prepare to fight
Origin- In mid-evil times, when two countries were going to fight, rather than risk entire armies, the Kings would often pick their best Dukes to engage in a sword fight to determine the triumphant country. Thus the term: PUT UP YOUR DUKES (also sometimes DUKE IT OUT).
“The bee’s knees”Meaning – The best part
Origin – Hundreds of years ago, people were so poor that sometimes the only food they had was insects. The tastiest insects were BEES. The best part of the bees was the knees. Hence the best of anything became called THE BEES KNEES.
“Use your noodle”
Meaning – Think, be smart; use your head.
Origin – In some cultures, pasta is the main course and served from the head of the table. Pasta or the noodle became synonymous with the head. Thus to be smart you use your head, or use your noodle. (Also see “She gives really good noodle!)
“The cat’s pajamas”Meaning – Someone that is really special
Origin – In the twenties, pajamas were only for the wealthy or special people. For a cat to have pajamas was really special. Thus a really special person was called the cat’s pajamas. (The dog’s dungarees never caught on.)
“I’m going to cut off your head and shit down your neck”Meaning – A really bad person intends to cut off your head and shit own your neck.
Origin – In some parts of the country if you don’t pay off your gambling debts the bookie will cut off your head and shit down your neck.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
JOINING THE MILE HIGH CLUB
On the flight home from our recent vacation in Barbados, I joined a club I never thought I would have the nerve to join. A mile above the ocean, I decided to go for it. Mrs. Cranky gave me a knowing coquettish glance and I returned the look.
I bent down, undid my zipper and pulled out my tool. It need turning on, but after just a short while I was all warmed up. The passengers on the plane seemed to not notice or care as my fingers began to move sensuously. Slowly at first, but soon I was pounding away, without a care about what the other passengers thought.
As I got into it, the fact that I was on an airplane with 150 strangers did not bother me at all. I kept at it with increased fervor until finally I was finished. Mrs. Cranky looked at me when I was done and asked, “Was it good?” “Not bad for the first time” I replied.
The task completed, I closed up my laptop, replaced it in its case and zipped it back up again. One mile above the ocean, traveling more than four hundred miles an hour I had completed my first in air blog.
At last, I am a member of the blogging mile high club.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
BARBADOS Versus NEW JERSEY
After four days in Barbados celebrating my first wedding anniversary with Mrs. C, I have noticed some definite differences between Barbados and New Jersey.
In Barbados it is warm. New Jersey is cold. Even the rain in Barbados is warm. The ocean is warm, the pool is warm. The ocean is also crystal clear and calm. In New Jersey the ocean is cold, cloudy and rough.
I prefer the ocean in Barbados.
In the Barbados hotel there is a one to one ratio of staff to guests. In New Jersey one waitress covers ten tables. In Barbados the service is slow. In New Jersey service is very fast. In New Jersey it is important for the service to be fast.
In Barbados I don’t give a crap about fast service.
In Barbados the people speak with an unusual accent. In New Jersey…OK, that one is a wash.
In Barbados the food is OK. Italian food is meatballs and spaghetti; Chef Boyardee’s is better. In New Jersey (50 minutes from NYC) food is very good, but it is cold outside.
I like the food in Barbados.
In Barbados no one is in a hurry. The sun and ocean are warm today, they will be warm tomorrow. In New Jersey everyone is in a hurry. Get there quick before it snows, get there quick before it gets dark, go go go before the lines get long. Quick go go hurry come-on!
I like not being in a hurry.
Crossing a busy highway in New Jersey is dangerous. You have to wait for any opening and then run like hell across the street. When cars see you do this they speed up, slam on the brakes, lean on the horn, roll down the window and call you an asshole. In Barbados cars see you are trying to cross, they blink their lights and stop until you cross, then they wave and move on.
I prefer crossing the streets in Barbados.
We leave this beautiful island paradise on Monday. After seven days of warm sun and water, after seven days of relaxing slow but friendly smiling service, after seven days of safe street crossing, I look forward to going home to New Jersey!
Hey, the food is really good in New Jersey!
Friday, December 16, 2011
THE COVER YOUR ASS INDEX
What part of inflation is the result of “professionals” making decisions specifically designed to “Cover Their Ass?” Professionals: doctors, lawyers, engineers, and even exterminators make decisions that they know are not needed except to cover their ass in the case of a bullshit lawsuit!
Years ago professionals acted….well….professionally. If you did not need an x-ray, they would not order an x-ray. If you did not need windows that could withstand winds in excess of 150 mph, they would not order them. If you did not need insurance against a falling meteor your agent would not recommend it. If there was no insect infestation in your house, the exterminator would give you a thumbs up. If your car’s brakes were fine, your mechanic would not change them. Today the professional’s first concern is “What could possibly go wrong and get my butt sued?” They make decisions to “just be 100% sure” even though their expertise tells them additional tests, new brakes, or other such precautions are a 100% waste of money.
When economists measure the rate of inflation they should adjust the rate based on the “Cover Your Ass Index.” How much have prices risen based strictly on stuff that we actually need and not additional costs added by experts to COVER THEIR ASS.
What got this bug up my butt? I recently sold my house as part of a divorce settlement. The buyer’s lawyer wanted an adjustment of $800 to cover the cost of exterminating the carpenter ants on the property. THERE ARE NO CARPENTER ANTS IN THAT HOUSE! I DID NOT SEE ONE FREAKING CARPENTER ANT IN THAT HOUSE IN FIFTEEN YEARS!!
Are there carpenter ants on the property? Yes. There is not one tenth of an acre of unpaved property from Maine to Florida that does not have a carpenter ant. If you drive a wooden stake in the ground in New Jersey and come back in a year, you will have termites or carpenter ants in that stake. The exterminator for the buyer (inspection required by state law) saw a carpenter ant. If he does not include that observation in his report and there is infestation in the house five years later he could be sued. What was his professional opinion on infestation IN the house? Not relevant. What is relevant is what a dumb-as-a-stump jury might believe five years from now.
What will the exterminator do for the $800 of law suit insurance? He will spray some shit around the house. Woo-Tee-FN-Doo! The effect of this spray on ants that do not exist is like a fart in a hurricane. Zippity do dah nothing!
The “Cover Your Ass” index is rising. It gets more expensive every year. The day may come when your dentist just yanks a tooth with a cavity. No chance of infection that way. Visit a doctor because you bruised your arm; we may just have to remove that limb, can’t take any chances can we?
What do you hear at the end of every drug advertisement on TV?
Try Celebrant for people who just need a good night sleep! “Celebrant may cause diziness, don’t take Celebrant if you plan to walk. In a small percentage of Celebrant users loss of hair and or ears have been reported. If you take Celebrant and feel the need to kill yourself, stop taking Celebrant and call 911. Heart stoppage has been reported in some trials but it only lasted for 2-3 minutes. If you experience heart stoppage of over 3 minutes….we are very sorry, but we warned you. So ask your doctor about Celebrant (it’s his ass too) and enjoy a good night sleep for the first time in years! (Some small percentage of Celebrant users never wake up.)
It is not important what is in your best interest, what is important is that experts COVER THEIR ASS!
Thursday, December 15, 2011
YELLING AT THE TV
Am I the only one that yells at the TV? Mrs. Cranky thinks that I am. I only recently started yelling at the TV. I think yelling is a product of age.
I watch a quiz show and I have to yell.
“What bird can swim, but not fly?”
“Gee Regis let me think. An eagle can fly, and some dive to catch fish, but I don’t think they can swim. Hmmm a seagull is around water; I don’t think a seal is even a bird. Er ah…”
“PENGUIN YOU FUCKING IDIOT IT’S A FUCKING PENGUIN!! THESE ARE THE EASY ONES YOU DIPSHIT!!”
Mrs. Cranky downstairs washing dishes gets panicky, “WHAT? WHY ARE YOU YELLING?”
“THIS NUMBNUTS IS TAKING FOREVER TO ANSWER AN EASY QUESTION.”
Mrs. Cranky, out of breath from running up the stairs counters, “Its TV! I T I S A T V S H O W. Why are you yelling?”
I don’t know why I yell, I never used to yell. When you get older you have no patience. I feel like I am losing two and a half minutes of my life that I will never get back waiting for some freaking idiot to say “penguin.” So I yell.
I yell at movies, “DON’T GO IN THE BASEMENT YOU IDIOT. WHEN YOU HEAR HEAVY BREATING, GO THE OTHER WAY!!
I especially yell at commercials, “FUCK YOU BITCH; HE PAID FOR THE YOGURT LET HIM EAT IT!!”
I don’t yell at home. I don’t yell in stores. I don’t yell in the car (maybe a little), I don’t yell at the radio, and I don’t yell at what I read.
What is it about getting older that makes me yell at the TV?