Wednesday, December 8, 2010

People Irritate the Shit Out Of Me

Number one: people in matching warm up suits, running.  This should be reserved for kids from Southie running numbers and Sopranos extras in New Jersey.  Not runners.  You’re an asshole.  Just put on sweats and go; nobody cares what you look like when you're NOT running.   You go to Macy’s and get jogging attire to be fashionable.  Get over yourself.  Adidas does not make you athletic.  Nobody cares that you’re trying to get in shape either - it’s only you, you narcissistic nine-to-fiver-lunch-expensing-trust-fund-wanna-be-Gap-dwelling-stock-broking-asswipe that votes Republican.  You clog up the consciousness of the planet.  Who thinks you’re more important than you ? You probably puke up your food to try and get even closer to perfection.  Driving an SUV, getting your mani + pedi and chattering about your fabulous summers down the Cape do not substantiate your existence. Or you could be righteous white-trash-Marlboro-smoking-coke-snorting-lower-back-tattoo-laden-project rat on a quest to land a guy and up your status to the haves.  Both groups go to upscale bars with olive oil and have drinks and obsess about why the guy won’t call… he won’t call you because you’re an asshole, which leads to my next one…

Chics who are ugly and think they’re hot.  You bother me.  You do get guys though, which is impressive and flabbergasting ….how ?  Your face looks like there’s a giant cork stuck in your asshole.  You get numerous beauty treatments and creams but you still look like a Boston Terrier.  You’re skinny because you pay a personal trainer, but he can’t do anything to fix the permanent facial expression of smelling shit.  Maybe you got this look by being given everything and still not being satisfied.  Or maybe your Daddy didn’t really love you.  Whatever it is, you wreak of insecurity the way you look at other chics and obsess over men.  You have all your ducks in a row; your condo in the city, your hair foiled, your ugg boots.. AND you have to match when you run.  All this plus martinis on Fridays after work and the mall on Saturday are not going to fill the void of emptiness you feel deep down at the atrocity that is your meaningless life.  A false sense of confidence ?  Is that how they have men in their life ?  I’ve heard guys say they like confidence, I guess because they think humility is weakness.  It isn’t.  These broads could use some.  It’s the alcohol.  And the fact that they will sleep with dudes easily.  I’m just pissed because I have ripped sweatpants and no boyfriend.  Even my Irish immigrant roommate gets play.  Well, now she doesn’t - she’s pregnant.  It’s not her fault, though, it is written in the Akashic records that Irish Catholics breed, but that’s another story. 

Here’s another group of brainless people that need to spontaneously combust.  (This is nothing new, but I live in Dorchester so it’s a phenomenon I have to bitch about):  If you have a ghetto blaster that is worth more than your car, you may need to familiarize yourself with Mirriam Webster and look up irony.  Yeah we get it, you like rap.  You have huge woofers in the back of your 1983 Subaru that is so low to the ground you’d mess up your struts rolling over a q-tip.  You sit out front waiting for your lady friend/hooker (I’m not being mean - there are hookers on my street) and just to you draw more attention to your ridiculousness, you turn it up.  Well you don’t have to worry, we understand your thugdom - it’s amazing.   PS:  Don’t bother with the car alarm, no one wants it.  These same people have epic arguments at 4AM out in front of their house - in my neighborhood - after going to the “club” to prove how gansta they are.  Who gives a shit.  Dummies.  I don’t want to hear your stupid drama while I’m trying to sleep.  Get a grip.  You’re a fool for spending $200 for table service and intoxicating yourself so that you wake up the entire neighborhood when you get home.  You should go on Maury Povich to get out your exhibitionist urges and then be thrown into a well. 

And, lastly, although there probably will be another list in a separate blog: Chics who don’t fuck their husbands.  What happened ?  You got the house, the cars, the wardrobe, the vacations and the 2.2 kids.  Now you don’t need him any more, you selfish twats ?  You’re too fat to fit into all those beautiful clothes he bought you so you reward him by withholding sex ?  You deluded yourself into thinking you would be fulfilled by getting a man to buy you a diamond.  You engage in a game to try and rope him in so that your feelings of inadequacy are squelched by closing the deal.  The delusion doesn’t surface until way after the honeymoon.  The game changes when he’s your husband so you emasculate him by putting on a power trip with your intimacy.  So now, you mess up the perception of the whole institution of marriage and deepen the grooves of fear of commitment for the single guys that the rest of us could have had a shot with.  Awesome.  You deserve to be shot out of a cannon towards Cuba… in your matching running suit.