Happy Festivus
It's Festivus. Time to air some grievances.
Hey jerks in movie theaters, no one cares that you're jizzing your pants over X-Men 3. Shut your pieholes so the rest of us can try to enjoy Patrick Stewart's bald, commanding ass.
To the guy who stands outside the library in the do rag cranking Kanye West on his ghetto blaster - you're not a black teenager. You're a fifty year old white guy. You've picked the wrong spot to try and impress your grandkids. Take that sickening display somewhere else.
Jesse Schwindler, you're too loud. Turn your bass down. Also, try whispering. I bet a whisper to you is like normal speaking to the rest of us. And never question my driving abilities again at three in the morning when you're tanked. I was doing you a favor, string bean.
Richard Corliss, it's rude not to respond to a fellow writer's e-mail. Excuse me if you're too busy stroking the unkempt beard I know you have.
High school students, I don't care what the fuck your regular teacher lets you do. When I'm all up in your Kool-Aid, put the goddamn iPod/cell phone/laptop away. You're killing me with that shit.
Jim Raymond, stop acting like you don't remember Orla Collery's essay about her father's spotted dickie bow. You remember everything, and you're just trying to make me feel old and crazy. I don't appreciate that.
Everybody, shut the hell up about the whole Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays thing. There's a war going on. Say whatever you want to people, and don't get uptight if you hear something that you don't wanna hear. America, bitches. Free speech for ALL.
I'll stop there, before I get myself into trouble.
By the way, I'm feeling really weird this week. I either have a cold or I'm depressed. That leads me into today's Christmas memory.
We had a nine foot fake Christmas tree when I was a kid, and for about five consecutive years, I became deathly ill the week after we put that bastard up. Obvioulsy there were some serious germs all over that plastic evergreen, and my young immune system wasn't resillient enough to fight them off.
The last Christmas tree illness was diagnosed as Beijing Flu in the seventh grade. As long as I live, I hope I never encounter that virus again. Time literally stood still. My vomit was plaid. Worst sick ever. Oh wait, that's not how it goes.
Worst. Sick. Ever.
There we go.
Hey jerks in movie theaters, no one cares that you're jizzing your pants over X-Men 3. Shut your pieholes so the rest of us can try to enjoy Patrick Stewart's bald, commanding ass.
To the guy who stands outside the library in the do rag cranking Kanye West on his ghetto blaster - you're not a black teenager. You're a fifty year old white guy. You've picked the wrong spot to try and impress your grandkids. Take that sickening display somewhere else.
Jesse Schwindler, you're too loud. Turn your bass down. Also, try whispering. I bet a whisper to you is like normal speaking to the rest of us. And never question my driving abilities again at three in the morning when you're tanked. I was doing you a favor, string bean.
Richard Corliss, it's rude not to respond to a fellow writer's e-mail. Excuse me if you're too busy stroking the unkempt beard I know you have.
High school students, I don't care what the fuck your regular teacher lets you do. When I'm all up in your Kool-Aid, put the goddamn iPod/cell phone/laptop away. You're killing me with that shit.
Jim Raymond, stop acting like you don't remember Orla Collery's essay about her father's spotted dickie bow. You remember everything, and you're just trying to make me feel old and crazy. I don't appreciate that.
Everybody, shut the hell up about the whole Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays thing. There's a war going on. Say whatever you want to people, and don't get uptight if you hear something that you don't wanna hear. America, bitches. Free speech for ALL.
I'll stop there, before I get myself into trouble.
By the way, I'm feeling really weird this week. I either have a cold or I'm depressed. That leads me into today's Christmas memory.
We had a nine foot fake Christmas tree when I was a kid, and for about five consecutive years, I became deathly ill the week after we put that bastard up. Obvioulsy there were some serious germs all over that plastic evergreen, and my young immune system wasn't resillient enough to fight them off.
The last Christmas tree illness was diagnosed as Beijing Flu in the seventh grade. As long as I live, I hope I never encounter that virus again. Time literally stood still. My vomit was plaid. Worst sick ever. Oh wait, that's not how it goes.
Worst. Sick. Ever.
There we go.
posted by james at 2:11 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home