Archive for the ‘Humor’ Tag
As winter continues I always find myself looking forward to summer and spending time at the beach. It’s also impossible for me to accurately guess what kind of beachwear I’ll be seeing this year. More thongs to be sure and bikinis with as much material as a man’s handkerchief (I hope). It seems from my past experiences that the younger the women are the less clothes they are likely to wear. I’m all for showing a reasonable amount of skin but at a certain point it begins to lose it’s allure for me. There’s a fine line between sexy and slutty and for me near naked is much sexier than almost naked.
Coming of age in the sixties and seventies might make you think I’m a child of the free love generation. It’s not true at all. I do still harken back to bare feet, long flowing hair, and a full length light cotton dress (sans panties) but other things work for me as well. I’ve always been a big fan of the woman who can dress herself and be sexy without having all of her more interesting parts hanging out in the wind. I just love to be tantalized as part of the foreplay to really get me interested. An ankle peeking from beneath a long dress can be just as sexy as a low cut top or a super short skirt.
I’ve always been a fan of the Victorian times where people appeared to be a bit stuffy and non-sexual in their dress and comportment but once they entered the bedroom they dropped the goody-goody routine altogether. The women wore their hair long but rolled tightly in a bun and in the bedroom the bun was unrolled, the many articles of clothing were throw about the room, and the real fun could begin. It took more than a few minutes I’m sure to get them out of all the petticoats, slips, corsets, and high button shoes but in the end it was all good.
I was recently reading a few writings by Gwen Raverat (1885-1957), the granddaughter of Charles Darwin, who described sharing a room with a young lady in her younger years who was wearing the following listed undergarments. Just imagine yourself as a Victorian gentleman with sex on his mind trying to work his way through this outfit to get to the Promised Land.
1. Thick, long legged, long sleeved woolen combinations
2. Over them, white cotton combinations (this is a chemise and drawers combined into one garment), with plenty of buttons and frills
3. Very serious, bony gray stays, with suspenders
4. Black woolen stockings
5. White cotton drawers, with buttons and frills
6. White cotton "petticoat-bodice", with embroidery, buttons and frills
7. Rather short, white flannel petticoat
8. Long alpaca petticoat, with a flounce round the bottom
9. Pink flannel blouse
That wardrobe would take me at least an hour to work my way through. Hopefully I’d have enough strength and stamina left to finish the job after all that undressing. Those Victorian guys must have been incredibly persistent with the sex drive of Superman.
It doesn’t change anything for me though, I still find Victorian ladies sexy as hell but I would never discriminate against our modern women. I’ll also make this promise. I solemnly pledge to give the women of our younger generations my full attention and respect this summer as they prance along the beach wearing not much more than an attitude and a smile. It’s the courteous thing to do and I’m nothing if not courteous.
In my travels this year everyone seems to be talking a great deal about the flu, getting flu shots, and health issues in general. They don’t call this time of the year Cold & Flu Season for nothing I suppose.
As a society we’ve been slowly and steadily introduced to a plethora of drugs that will seemingly cure all of our ills (we hope). The costs keep rising and rising for these drugs with no end in sight (if the drug companies having anything to say about it). Prescription drugs have become the new necessities of life and a major addiction for our entire society. It’s all we seem to talk about or think about after decades of thorough and constant advertising propaganda.
My mother introduced me to herb growing many years ago and ever since I’ve had a really nice herb garden wherever I’ve lived. I grow dozens of culinary herbs and I’m already planning additions to my garden for this year. I try to use as many fresh herbs as I can in our food preparations during the summer months and dry and store enough to get us through each winter. It makes the food much more flavorful and is likely a healthy practice (we hope).
Being a huge reader I’ve developed a habit of buying old books at yard sales and discount bookstores concerning herb lore and their varied medicinal uses. About twenty years ago I stumbled on a copy of a very old book, Culpeper’s Complete Herbal – written in 1653, that contains hundreds of plants and their dosages used for medicinal purposes. For centuries that book was probably used for remedies to ease symptoms of many every day minor illnesses.
I decided to do a little more research and thought I might pass along a few of these outdated and quirky remedies that may have been the basis for some of our current day solutions. Here are a few:
After all of these years our current well educated doctors are still no closer to discovering a remedy for the common cold. It’s the same old thing, "drink lots of liquids, bed rest, and take an aspirin every four hours." The ancients believed in the use of medicinal herbs. They actually brewed willow bark to help ease headaches and cold symptoms. It was later synthesized into the modern day aspirin we use today. Maybe they were smarter than we give them credit for, or maybe not. Here’s a sore throat remedy that you will just love:
Take a wool sock, a dirty (stinky and smelly) wool sock worn by someone who is obviously strong and healthy. It must be a sock from a member of the opposite sex and should be turned inside out and tied around the neck. The foot part of the sock should cover the sorest spot of the throat and left there overnight. In the morning remove the sock and wash (please). Your sore throat and fever should be eased somewhat. (Yikes!)
How’s that for a disgusting bit of healthcare. I think I’d prefer the smell of Vicks to a nasty old sock worn by better-half. It might cure my sore throat but my eye’s would water for a week. Now for an interesting tip on dealing with a pesky toothache:
Just split open a nutshell, dig out the meat but be sure to keep the two items intact. Put a dead spider in one half and close up the shell. Hang it around your neck and as long as you’re wearing it, no more toothaches. (This one is not for me). Now for a really ancient hiccup cure:
The ancient Chinese were ahead of their time in dealing with hiccups. They suggested to gulp nine swallows of water without taking a breath. You should at the same time press a spot on the back of your neck where it meets the torso. Modern scientists later determined that was actually the location of the phrenic nerve which when pressed can stop the impulse to hiccup.
Wart remedies are one of my favorites. When I was a kid I had a wart on my index finger that would not go away and it drove me crazy. An elderly Slovak lady who lived in my neighborhood told me to cut a potato in half. Then take a penny and rub both sides of it on the potato halves. Next I was to rub the penny on the wart using both sides of the coin. Finally I was to throw the penny away where it could never be found by anyone. I followed her instructions to the letter and within two week the wart dried up and fell off. I was dumbfounded.
I certainly don’t recommend or endorse any of these ancient remedies, just passing them along as a public service. Some are silly, some don’t work and some do but either way they’re still interesting.
Have a wonderful Cough and Cold season and save all those stinky socks.
Women. As any experienced man will tell you they are impossible. Impossible to understand and impossible to deal with at almost any level. It must be genetic because they develop their skill-set at a very early age and spend years fine tuning them. So as a public service to you younger gentlemen out there who are naively preparing to enter the fray, listen up!
Flirting – Women are forever flirting with almost any man who will pay attention to them. I was in line at a food store recently and a young girl no more than 4 years old was sitting in a cart in front of me. She was smiling, being coy, giggling at me for at least fifteen minutes. She was as cute as a button but God help the boys she meets in another ten or fifteen years. She’s already learning the skills needed to befuddle and manipulate them. And now for the big warning guys, don’t let her catch you flirting or you’re a dead man.
Opinions – Learn when to answer and when to stay quiet. A head nod at the right time can save you a great deal of aggravation. Also be careful when asking for an opinion from them. It can be difficult to get a straight answer because they constantly sidestep the question and throw it back to you for your feelings on the matter. Immediately after you give your opinion they disagree and spend ten minutes explaining to you in great detail how misinformed you are.
Driving – Some women insist on driving all of the time which is a vaguely veiled attempt at control. If you’re dumb enough to let them chauffer you then be prepared for the payback. Intentionally driving ten mph under the speed limit while fixing their hair, putting on makeup, texting, or searching the car for a misplaced item, is truly passive-aggressive. OMFG! You watch as she constantly drives with her left tire directly on the centerline of the road. Say nothing as you watch other drivers swerving out of the way to avoid being side swiped. You should know by now that your wrong no matter what.
Double standards – You’ll find her getting annoyed over some trivial issue that you did just once to her but that she does all the time to you. If you call her on it be prepared for a lecture on why your mistaken and why you shouldn’t be annoyed.
Asking impossible questions – Does this dress make my butt look too big? Do you like my hair this color? Does this big gaudy broach look good with this yellow blouse? Does this bra really make my boobs look perky? What are you thinking? Are you staring at that girl in the thong bathing suit? Do you really love me? Need I say more guys?
The Boss – They all want to be the boss. They claim it’s a need to be independent. They desire independence in all things but expect you do everything for them. They will attempt to lecture you on hundreds of things you’ve already accomplished with no experience of their own to draw from. They’ll spend much of your life explaining to you how things should really be done and how they would do it. It’s just another grab for control.
So, I hope you’ve all learned a few things here that might save you a great deal of grief later. If you’re a true masochist like most men are required to be and can put up with all of their BS and control issues you might just get laid one day.
For your sake I hope the sex is mind blowing. Even if it isn’t tell them it is, just saying.
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.
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.
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 