Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category
Another "Storm of the Century" is upon us and since this is the third one in the last twelve months I guess we should all be hiding in the root cellar (if we had one). Weather forecasters in Maine don’t do much more than repeat whatever is relayed from the National Weather Service and then hope for the best. Maine is so lame at times they look for any excuse to exaggerate the facts and use all the panic inducing buzz words to scare the crap out of the uninformed.
Having lived in Maine for more than ten years I thought there could be no surprises left for me. I’m able to translate their weather speech almost immediately and then go on about my business. Unfortunately I underestimated them again.
My better-half arrived home from work and immediately began explaining to me the grand weather controversy being discussed by the local media. They seemed to be all pissed off that the National Weather Service has begun naming large snow storms as they do for hurricanes. Maine is such an important place in the grand scheme of things (sarcasm) that they feel they should be permitted to name their own storms. I hate to even think what those names might be. Something really sophisticated yet down to earth (more sarcasm) like Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. They may be right in their thinking however because who in their right mind would name a storm Nemo? Only the all seeing, godlike government of the United States could be that lame.
After giving it some thought my better-half and I decided that the so-called Maine weather experts really shouldn’t be permitted to name them either. So effective immediately this “Storm of the Century” will be named by the two of us. Let’s just call him JOHNSON. Read into that what you will you bunch of perverts. We ended this terrible controversy in less than two minutes with no help from either the government or the state of Maine’s weather idiots. Come on JOHNSON.
Now on to something really important. I had to go to the dentist today. A trip to the dentist for me is always an adventure since the age of 13 when playing sand lot football my best friend knocked most of my front teeth out. That required two bridges and a few false teeth which have plagued me ever since. My mouth is similar to having a old car and it requires much more maintenance. I could have bought at least three new cars over the years with what I spent on dental work. My dentist’s office is a family concern with my dentist the father, the hygienist is his ex-wife, and the dental assistant/receptionist is their daughter. Over the years I’ve become good friends with them all and it’s been a real hoot but the bottom line never changes. As nice as they all are I still hate going to the effing dentist.
After injecting me with enough Novocain to keep my face numb for a week he proceeds to do what I hate the most, drilling my teeth. The sound of that high-speed drill makes my skin crawl and if I never heard it again it would be too damn soon. Also if he honestly thinks that shooting cold water down my throat is helping me breathe he’s very much mistaken. Not only is my face numb but I think he’s subconsciously trying to drown me.
After a few kind words and a pat on the head I was escorted to the door, given a new tooth brush, and my next appointment date. Thanks for nothing Doc. I drove straight to the closest Dunkin Donut where I ordered a hot coffee and a sandwich. As I left their parking lot I took a quick bite of the sandwich and that was mistake number one. My mouth was still so numb I almost bit off the end of my tongue. I was forced to pullover to compose myself and check for damage. A few miles and a few dozen curse words later I opened the coffee container, took a giant swig, and burned the shit out of my mouth and tongue. I also scorched my crotch a bit when I spilled the coffee there too. I finally arrived home, sat down in a nice soft chair and refused to eat or drink anything until the feeling returned to my mouth and tongue.
How can people think storm JOHNSON is the big deal. It’s all about me and my trip to the dentist. People are so self-involved at times.
Just sitting around today waiting for the next uppercut from Mother Nature who is sending another huge snow storm our way. I sure hope those alleged weathermen and women are wrong but you know how that goes. When they say it will be sunny and fair they’re almost always wrong. When they say it will sleet or snow, they’re almost always right. If we get the 16-24 inches they’re predicting it will be a long few days of snow blowing, shoveling, and waiting for the roads to be cleared.
Yesterday’s posting seems to have struck a nerve in some quarters. Closest to home my better-half was less than thrilled about being mentioned in what she thought was a somewhat derogatory manner. I kept trying to explain to her that every time I refer to her in a post, it’s complimentary. She just doesn’t realize after all of our time together when I ‘m being serious and when I’m being funny. She’s thinks I should be more careful when discussing our personal life but I just can’t seem to help myself. Our life together is great but at times it’s also hysterically funny. She’s either purposely giving me a bad time or she’s all of a sudden lost her sense of humor. Truthfully I think she’s trying to be sarcastic and hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. She’s a sarcastic work in progress.
I had a great half hour of meditation this afternoon (as described yesterday) which always makes me feel terrific. My cat has picked up the habit of climbing onto the meditation platform (couch) while I’m meditating (napping) and stretching out to his full length and purring like crazy. That tells me he’s found his "happy place" which is probably somewhere near the Portland fish market. He so loves his seafood.
We both then retired to my man-cave for an hour of tax preparation. After a great deal of bitching and profanity the cat left in a huff as I finally e-filed my returns. That damn cat’s getting way too sensitive in his old age and needs to lighten up a little. There was a time when he would only respond to "Hey Dumb Ass", so I just don’t get his recent snotty attitude. I suppose he’s just feeling the "tax time" pressures vicariously through me. Dumb ass cat.
I would also like to send out a quick thank you to a few of my newest followers. Welcome to the blog that’s just “full of it”. I hope you enjoy your visits here and come back as often as possible. Thanks go out to: hayleyhobson, happsters, evanstang, puravidaeh, craftedincarhardtt, russelldeasley, hollisplample, and silkroadcollector. If the rest of you get a chance please give their blogs and profiles a look see. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them as much as I do.
I guess it’s time for me to gas up the snow thrower and begin preparations for the storm that’s scheduled to start sometime early tomorrow. Winter in Maine is a trip but I never said it was always a good trip.
I have a huge and life effecting announcement to make today. My better-half has renewed her gym membership and is again on the road to physical improvement. Poor Planet Fitness may never be the same again. I especially love her analysis of their programs when she returns home after each visit. Her fashion review and critique of all the new outfits being worn by her peers is always soooooo exciting.
I’ve noticed over the years that we humans are a strange and peculiar bunch. Not only do we need to have a modicum of physical exercise to stay healthy but we’ve got to look good doing it. You see it in the groups of early morning mall walkers. Huge numbers of senior, prego’s, and misfits arrive at the mall in their power walking uniforms. They’ve created their own little subculture of weirdly dressed individuals marching in unison around malls all across the country. Most seem more interested in the socializing aspect than the walking.
The same phenomenon is happening in gyms around the country. Cutesy little outfits being worn by what for the most part are folks with issues of weight and bad taste. I decided long ago that to do Pilates properly I’d need to spend a few hundred dollars on wildly colored outfits and OMG, special exercising sneakers, just to fit in. Why is it that we need a uniform for any and all activities we participate in. It’s imperative that we look better than all of the other masochists because weight loss all of a sudden becomes the secondary goal.
Our society has slowly but surely become infatuated with weight loss, exercising, and various forms of meditation techniques. I agree that something is necessary to fight this epidemic of obesity but we’re bombarded with a constant stream of programs like the Biggest Loser along with dozens of early morning hour long commercials for exercise techniques like Zumba and Insanity. It really is insane.
I recently considered giving Yoga a try but after pricing a new outfit, new sneakers, and a rather expensive Yoga mat, I had to let it go. Not only was I expected to deal with pulled muscles and many stiff and sore body parts but I had to invest a substantial sum to do it. I was forced by circumstance to develop my own meditation technique which I’ll explain in detail momentarily.
My technique is simple to do and requires much less actual physical activity. You won’t need any special equipment of any kind and if done properly you’ll have no additional costs. It can be done in any living room or bedroom in less that a half hour and clothing is optional. Let me take you through the process.
Step 1
Remove as much clothing as you’re comfortable with and stand in the middle of the room. Close your eyes and stand erect thinking only of your "happy place". Once you’ve arrived there you can begin to breath deeply and slowly.
Step 2
Take any old blanket or afghan and lay it across the divan, sofa, bed, or floor where you’ll be most comfortable. All the while maintaining your trance-like state in your "happy place".
Step 3
Assume a prone position on that covering with your legs straight out and your arms at your side. Very quietly hum to yourself the song "Desperado".
Step 4
Maintaining your trance-like state is crucial at this point. Slowly take an alarm clock and set the alarm for twenty minutes and set it aside.
Step 5
Very slowly pull a second cover over yourself. Breath deeply and slowly for 1 minute and then TAKE A FREAKING NAP.
Follow the instructions closely and complete them at least four times a week. I guarantee you’ll feel better about yourself and others almost immediately. You can also play background music of your choice but not very loudly.
I explained my meditation system to my better-half but she was no help. She thought it was stupid and ridiculed me a little longer than I thought was necessary. She stated emphatically that having sex until you drop was a much better way to go than my plan.
We agreed to disagree.
Are you ready for the big celebration to begin? It’s Ground Hog Day eve. As I’ve mentioned many times before I was born and raised in western Pennsylvania from good sound German stock on my mother’s side of the family. February 2 was always celebrated and remains a well known and enjoyed holiday for us. I never bothered to search out the origins of the holiday because to me it didn’t really matter. So I found this little tidbit of information which is a little interesting and might tell you something you didn’t already know.
The celebration, which began as a Pennsylvania German custom in southeastern and central Pennsylvania in the 18th and 19th centuries, has its origins in ancient European weather lore, wherein a badger or sacred bear is the prognosticator as opposed to a groundhog. It also bears similarities to the Pagan festival of Imbolc, the seasonal turning point of the Celtic calendar, which is celebrated on February 1 and also involves weather prognostication and to St. Swithun’s Day in July.
I’ve written about my close association with Ground Hog Day a number of times in the past but it’s a fun story and bears repeating (in my humble opinion).
The holiday means only one thing in Pennsylvania and that is the appearance of our old friend ‘Punxatawney Phil’ on Gobbler’s Knob. He’s scheduled to show his furry little face on the second of February every year to let us know whether we’ll have six more weeks of winter.
To reminisce a bit, way too many years ago I was a rookie state police trooper in Pennsylvania. To a newbie that means getting stuck with every crappy police detail they can find for you. One of the crappier of those was being sent to Punxatawney to guard “Phil” and for crowd control in and around Gobbler’s Knob. I thought they were kidding me but they weren’t.
A few of us rookies were ordered to make the trek to Punxatawney, PA along with a veteran sergeant who must have lost the coin toss. We arrived in our cleanest and well pressed uniforms, met with all of the local politicians, and then were introduced to ‘Phil"’. He was cordial enough for a stupid gopher but we were well advised to keep our hands away from him. He was a touch cranky and known to nip off a finger or two if provoked.
Believe it or not the crowds were huge. I’ve never understood why every local politician from miles around flocks to that ceremony. I guess they’re just hoping to get some free TV face-time or maybe even an interview with some of the local media. I met some mayors, some councilmen, and a few political hacks which unfortunately weren’t even as interesting as meeting ‘Phil’.
The only good thing I experienced that day was a rather buxom news reporter from a nearby town who took an immediate liking to my manly stature and my pretty uniform. She was much less furry than ‘Phil’ which was a plus and she also paid for my dinner. She even convinced me that dating her was the right thing to do. So I did.
It’s sad to say but we all know any relationship built upon a Groundhog Day Ceremony was doomed from the start. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t care to drive to Punxatawney (a three hour round trip) every weekend. I finally explained to her that long distance relationships just never work out no matter what. It wasn’t her, it was me. I dragged out all of the old clichés I could remember and disappeared from her life.
They tried to send me on that detail the following year but I had a court appearance and was able to dodge that bullet. I wasn’t too concerned about meeting “Phil” again but that blond had me seriously concerned. Besides, do we really need a gopher to let us know we’re going to have six more weeks of winter. We really are stupid sometimes.
I’m starting this day at a definite disadvantage. My mind is fully occupied with what might have been the weirdest nights sleep I’ve ever had. Do you dream on a regular basis? Do you remember your dreams? I do. I’ve always looked forward to those nights where the dreams never stop coming and one weird thing after another keeps occurring.
I’ve spent a great deal of time over the years attempting to understand my dreams and even have gone so far as waking up in the middle of the night to write down specific things that I wanted to be sure to remember. They seem to fade so quickly once we awaken which always pisses me off a little. It’s amazing to me just how much information must be retained by our subconscious. It’s said we humans only use ten percent of our brains in a normal day but I disagree with that. We may only access ten percent of the brain but I think the remaining ninety percent is just a huge storage area for all of the things we’ve ever seen, heard or thought about. During dreams the subconscious accesses those memories in bizarre and strange ways and we’re allowed to see them as dreams. It’s like our own personal weird and screwy home theatre.
Last night I was in a place where fences were everywhere and access was only permitted by the proper authorities. I was keeping company with a young women who I recognized as Kathy, my very first girlfriend from fifty years ago and also my first memorable wet and sloppy French kiss. I have to say she was looking pretty good with long slinky hair (which she never had), a pair of extremely tight Capri pants (which she never wore), and a real “come and get me attitude” (which she did have). We were trying to get out of this fenced area in which we were imprisoned and we worked hard but made no headway. We wanted very much to make our escape and get to Creighton, PA. That’s a small, dirty and disgusting little town where my father worked for forty years. In real life I wouldn’t even want to drive through the place let alone take a girl there. Oh well, it’s my dream and I’ll figure it out someday, I hope.
This was unfortunately not a sex dream. I could use a few more of those, but I digress. Kathy and I, hand in hand, were climbing fences and running and hiding through most of this dream. At one point we ran into an odd assortment of people who were also looking for a way out. The leader of that group just happened to be my former high school Art teacher who for some reason had a full head of hair. I never knew him with hair but that’s beside the point I guess.
We found our way into an abandoned building located along a stretch of railroad tracks where we stopped to rest. We were milling around so I stepped to a window to look out at the railroad tracks. This is where the dream began to slowly become a nightmare. Just outside the window sitting on a folding chair was my ex-wife, knitting a sweater. Let me try and figure this out; my first girlfriend, my high school Art teacher, and my ex-wife. The dream appeared to be going south in a hurry.
We then arrived together in a large parking lot where dozens of weird little cars were parked in long straight rows. A booth was set up where a person could get a car if they had the proper paperwork and money. Just show the your papers (which I of course couldn’t find) and pay the fee (which I didn’t have). I reached into my pocket and found a small round gold object and handed it to the guy in the booth who just happened to be someone I roomed with in college. I never liked him all that much in real life and he was about to get even. He refused to give me a car.
Kathy stepped up, took the coin, and bribed the moron and was finally given a car. Apparently my gold coin was worth a lot more than I thought because she was given three boxes filled with smaller gold coins as change from the transaction. As we prepared to leave an obvious problem had to be dealt with first. There were at least six of us and three boxes of gold and those stupid little square shaped cars only held two people each. What to do?
It was at this point that I was angrily awakened by my distended bladder who was screaming for me to find a bathroom, not Creighton, PA. So I left Kathy and the others in the parking lot with that weird little car and all that gold and returned to reality.
How can my day not get better than that?
I’ve never been accused of being an overly happy person. I’m pretty sure I know the reasons why as do most of my closest friends and acquaintances. It wasn’t until recently that I was told in no uncertain terms that men should be a lot happier than women. You might think a statement like that was made by a man but it wasn’t.
If you think about it, we men are really simple creatures. Things are cut and dry, black or white, just simple. We apparently have so many reasons to be happy I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner:
We can never get pregnant.
We can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
We can wear NO shirt to a water park.
We can intimidate car mechanics.
We have the world as our urinal.
We never drive to another gas station restroom because this one is too disgusting.
We have wrinkles that just add character.
We never have anyone stare at our chest when talking to us.
We favor 30 second phone conversations.
We know stuff about tanks.
We need one suitcase for a five-day vacation.
We can open all our own jars.
We pay $8.95 for a three-pack of underwear.
We need no more than 3 pairs of shoes.
We are unable to see wrinkles in our clothes.
We have the same hairstyle for years, maybe decades.
We only have to shave our face and neck.
We can wear shorts no matter what our legs look.
We can do our nails with a pocket knife.
We can Christmas shop for 25 relatives in 25 minutes.
Here are a few simple but true comparisons between men and women that are absolutely spot on.
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We will pay $2 for a $1 item we need and a a woman will pay $1 for a $2 item that she doesn’t need but is on sale.
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We have has six items in our bathroom: toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, razor, a bar of soap, and a towel. The average number of items in the typical woman’s bathroom is 337.
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We wake up as good-looking as when we went to bed. Women somehow deteriorate during the night.
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A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband. We never worried about the future until we got a wife.
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A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the trash, answer the phone, read a book, and get the mail. We will dress up for weddings and funerals.
How could we not be happier than women? We’ve had it made for all these years and just didn’t realize it. Thank God I have a good women who could explain it to me along with about a thousand other things that she thinks I don’t understand.
In my opinion all of the above may be true. There’s only one thing I can think of that women have that I’m really jealous of, MULTIPLE ORGASMS! I think that makes us even.
Doing a lot of reading through these freezing cold months is something I look forward to every year. With little or no outside work to do I can read two or three books a week with no trouble. I purposely buy books to be saved for these months and I try to make them as diverse as I can.
That being said, if you’ve read this blog or my previous blog, Anti-Stupidity Central, you know how much I tend to ridicule celebrities and the people who worship them. There is always so much hype and lies about their lives it’s difficult to sort through it all to find the truth. During my weekly reading this week I discovered a source who supplied me with some truth about celebrities that they can’t deny or spin or tell untruths about. The following information concerns those celebrities who have passed on with some interesting facts on how that occurred.
SAMMY DAVIS JR. (1925-1990)
Don’t wives ever listen? Sammy Davis Jr. wanted his coffin closed because he wanted no one to see his cancer-ravaged body. His wife Altovise had an open casket and hired a photographer to snap pictures. Later when she discovered his estate owed millions in back taxes she had him exhumed and removed $70,000.00 of jewelry from his body. She died in 2009 at the same age as Sammy. Ahhhh, ain’t true love wonderful?
MERV GRIFFIN (1925-2007)
His final resting place is Westwood Cemetery, Los Angeles. At the time of his death on August 12, he was a billionaire. He was clever and guarded at evading questions about his sexuality, telling the NY Times, “I tell everyone that I’m a quarter sexual. I will do anything with anyone for a quarter.” His epithet reads ‘I Will Not Be Right Back After This Message’.
JOHN WAYNE (1907-1979)
The Duke died of stomach cancer on June 11 and on his deathbed, he converted to Catholicism, and requested his tombstone to read, ‘Feo, Fuerte, y Normal’, a Spanish phrase meaning “ugly, strong, and dignified.” His grave remained unmarked for more than twenty years.
MEL BLANC (1908-1989)
Mel Blanc was known as the man of a thousand voices for more than fifty-two years, including Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, Wile E. Coyote, and Barney Rubble. He died on July 10 of heart disease and was buried in a grave with the inscription, ‘That’s All Folks’, as stipulated in his will.
JOAN HACKETT (1934-1983)
She was laid to rest in Hollywood Forever Cemetery after losing her battle with ovarian cancer. She checked herself out of the hospital shortly before her death to host a party at her home for Carrie Fisher and Paul Simon. She so loved to get her beauty sleep that she was left resting quietly in Crypt 2314 with the epithet, ‘Go Away – I’m Asleep’.
And last but certainly not least:
RODNEY DANGERFIELD (1921-2004)
His final resting place is Westwood Memorial Park in Los Angeles. You just have to love a guy who at eighty-two was still smoking pot. During the Reagan years he even once got stoned in the White House. He also, in 2002, got stoned in the hospital bathroom after having a heart attack scare. He died on October 5 from complications from heart-valve replacement. His tombstone reads "’There Goes The Neighborhood’. To me he was one of the funniest bastards who ever lived and has definitely earned my respect.
So there you have it. A small dose of graveside humor that can’t be disputed, denied, or spun. If only the ones still living could be as open and forthright.
In the past I’ve complained about certain things in New England that bother me and I’m going to do it all over again today. There are times when I’m just plain embarrassed to be living in Maine. I was born and raised in the mill towns and bars of western Pennsylvania where the people take great pride in themselves in almost everything they do. They love their Steelers, their Pirates, and their down-to-earth common sense approach to all things. I’m most proud of a dying “art form” superbly represented by the people there, world class cussing. It’s learned at an early age but takes many years of practice to really do it justice.
At age three I was sitting on a street corner in Natrona, Pa. with my grandfather and his buddies who paid me nickels and pennies to repeat cuss words. I don’t specifically remember those days but I’ve been told by numerous people over the years who remember them all too well. If by chance I uttered the occasional F-Bomb, I’d get a quarter and possibly an ice cream cone. So you have to admit I come by cussing honestly, it’s a family tradition.
Off course we all were raised as Steelers fans and if you didn’t curse loudly and often enough while watching their games then you were a goddamn traitor. You’d better be ready to voice your support for those Steelers loud and long as they kicked the shit out of those pussies from Cleveland and those cocksuckers from Texas. It takes a special knack to string numerous cuss words together for maximum effect and we have it.
Western Pennsylvania isn’t known for ethnic diversity but it should be. We lived in menagerie of Irish, Polish, Slovaks, Blacks, Italians, Asians, and the occasional Hispanic. To be a professional cusser in our neighborhood you had to learn cuss words from at least six languages just to be properly understood. We were all well on our way to being linguists of a sort in grade-school. We were the fucking UN of goddamn cusswords and proud of it.
I’ve lived in Maine now for more than ten years and I have to say that the cussing here is a little more laid back than I’m used to. A little too polite and prissy for a boy from fucking Pennsylvania. I actually look forward to trips back home where I can walk into a bar after twenty-five years in New England and have someone say, “Hey who let that motherfucker with the weird accent in here and is he buying the next goddamn round?”. It’s just not the same here in Maine. Two F-bombs in one sentence seems to be too much for Maine sensibilities. I think it’s the wrong headed French influences emanating from our neighbor to the north. Well hell, if they don’t fucking like my style of cussing they can kiss my big fucking ass.
Just saying.
I’ve always been highly skeptical about statistics and how the numbers are so easily manipulated to suit whatever parameters the publisher of them desires. So I sit here today in January enjoying a little Sunday quiet time catching up on my reading. I purchased a book recently that uses the term “Number Freaking”. I love the term and as I began to scan through the book I knew almost immediately this book would forever remain in my personal library. It’s funny in part but also not so funny because it verifies most of my fears about statistics. Crunch the numbers until they say what you want them to say. Ask any politician.
I really don’t want to go negative today. I think we all need a good laugh when we can get one and I’ll supply you with one free of charge this morning. The following statistics are humorous and as always here on this blog, gender neutral. I’ve listed one for the ladies and a second one for the men.
In 1988 Paul L. Jamison and Paul H. Gebhard published an analysis in the Journal for Sex Research of the data collected by Kinsey on penis size. Here is some good or bad news depending on who you are. These numbers are averages measured in inches.
Flaccid Length – 3.89
Flaccid circumference – 3.75
Erect Length – 6.21
Erect Circumference – 4.85
Erectile increase in length – 2.30
Erectile increase in circumference (girth) – 1.11Average erectile angle – 15 degrees above the horizon
Average erect diameter – 1.24
Average time to achieve an erection – 3-8 seconds
Women in Kinsey’s studies also stated that on average they took just under four minutes to achieve orgasm while masturbating. With a partner it took them between ten and twenty minutes.
How are you guys measuring up so far? Some good, some bad, and some OMG, “Help me Lord”. Now to the next step. These are stats on length of erection by age and minutes.
16-20 – 12.00
21-25 – 42.88
26-30 – 53.09
31-35 – 47.24
36-40 – 40.62
41-45 – 31.07
46-50 – 29.02
51-55 – 21.62
56-60 – 26.67
61-65 – 19.50
66-70 – 07.00
71-?? – 00.00
While these stats are averages, I might have to take some issue with them but really, what do I know? These are the facts man! Let’s move on to more statistics which may be of interest to the men out there.
The concentration of human sperm has fallen 29% recently, from 87 million in a milliliter to just over 62 million. Twenty million sperm a milliliter is the lower limit of normal. At orgasm a man produces around 250 million sperm.
The Penguin Atlas of Human Sexual Behavior claims intercourse takes place, worldwide, 120 million times per day. Assuming an average of one male per coupling and one orgasm per male, the men are producing 300 million billion or 30 quadrillion sperm a day. That would come to (no pun please, this is serious stuff) 90, 000 sperm per minute, or 130 million sperm a day.
Man, that’s a whole lot of sperm. I’m sure these stats are telling us all a few useless bits of information we didn’t know before but so what. As I said at the start you can make of them what you will. Just another pile of useless information from the blog that’s full of it.
Have a wonderful sperm filled day.
I’m beginning to think I’m becoming less tolerant these days. I’ve always been opinionated but lately it’s taken an ugly turn. Many people have constantly bitched and complained about the younger generations and their misuse of the English language but I think we should all be bitching and complaining about those complainers. I’m more pissed off and annoyed with the young adults and grownups who, trying to be cool, pickup a lot of this annoying slang. Kids will be kids but adults are supposed to set the example for them. Now it’s the kids setting something less than a good example for the adults.
I thought I’d compile a list of the things I hear every day when I’m out and about mixing and mingling with the great unwashed. The more I hear the more annoyed I get. I had to stop listening because my list was getting way too long. This list is definitely not in the order of annoyance.
“You know what I’m say’in?” – I could just scream every time I effing hear this. And you never hear it just once, it’s used over and over again in the same conversation.
“It’s literally a thousand degrees outside.” – This annoying adult slang. People don’t know what’s literal and what’s figurative. College education be damned.
“24/7/365” – I just hate this.
“Whatever” – Just say what your thinking, say F-You!
“Like” – "So I was, like, going to the store and, like, this guy stops me and, like, starts talking to me in, like, french."
“Whassssup?” – Morons, idiots, and Hip Hop
“Dis” – Do you realize how many people in this country have been killed or beaten because of this word?
“No way! WAY!!” – Thanks to the movie Clueless for this nonsense.
“Just Saying” – Just freaking stupid. I actually caught myself starting to use this and I’m so ashamed.
"My Bad!" – Anyone using this needs a foot buried deep in their ass.
”Sick (meaning cool)” – This is just sick, I think.
WORDS THAT ANNOY
"Snap"
"Tool”
"Awesome"
"Totally"
“Dude (when talking to a woman)”
“Trippin”
“OMG & LOL”
My better-half’s like, you know, whatever and I’m like, no way and she’s like, way! This posting is like, you know, OMG. Have a sick and awesome day. Just Saying!
Here’s an up and coming favorite in use by many of our nine to eleven year olds":
CHILLAXIN
You heard it here first.
everyuselessthing.com 