Monday, January 02, 2006

Welcome to 2006 

First resolution: fuck celebrities. Nothing they do is important. Who cares who's screwing whom, who dropped whom, who had a bad day with the popparazi... whatever. Resolutuion for 2006: celebrties are not people. They do not deserve our attention. Ignore the pan et circences stories the press tries to drop on us. Stop feeding them, and they'll stop feeding on us.

Second resolution: Blow jobs in Washington mean nothing. Law breaking means everything. Check your history books, read about Nixon and his downfall, and ask yourselves whether the current asshats in power were better or worse. Read that history without your eyes crossed, and you'll conclude one thing: 2006 will be 1974 all over again -- except that the criminal in chief just might be tried for his crimes, without being given the escapes that Nixon had -- time and death. Want to make sure it happens? Vote Democrat this year. Local, State, National, whatever. Give the power to the other party, then enjoy W and company twisting in the wind.

Third resolution: Fuck the record labels. Especially when they pull crap like they tried with Sony's alleged DMCA scheme; like they have on the latest Coldplay album. If a record company tries to screw with what you can do with music you've paid (way too much) for, return the disc (after you've copied it) and tell them to shove it. If your record store tries to tell you you can only return the disc because of manufacturing flaws, grab the pencil-neck beind the counter by their collar and tell them this: rules that weren't explained on the outside of the packaging but were only revealed as an insert are a manufacturing flaw, and, anyway, if the RIAA's anti-piracy software is so good, then you weren't able to make a copy of their crap anyway, so take the disc back, or I'll shove it up your ass.

Fourth resolution: buy porn. Why? Because our government, via the attorney general, seems to think that it's a bigger danger to this country than terrorists. Get that. Consenting adults, fucking on video, are more dangerous than those alleged al Quaeda cells, wherever they are. Uh huh. And my grandmother was a big danger to New York because she canned her own vegetables...

Get real, fucktards. And don't act like the same villains (fundie Muslims) that you claim to fight. Porn is of no harm to anyone, given V-Chips and MPAA ratings and everything else. Any parent who claims they couldn't protect their kids from porn is just a negligent asshole. A soccer mom in a big-ass SUV who will bitch to high heaven about high gas prices, but take no responsibility for the world otherwise...

Fifth resolution: read the entire Constitution, so that you know when and why W is lying every time he opens his filthy mouth.

Sixth resolution: take responsibility for your own life and, if you've bred, for the life of your kids. Stop blaming the childless for your failings. Stop inflicting your rugrats on us. I swear, next time I hear a screaming baby in an R-Rated film, I'm going to march up the aisle and bitch-slap the parents into next Wednesday. And if your cell-phone rings during any film, don't be surprised if it winds up shoved up your ass.

Seventh resolution: PAY ATTENTION. Get a grip on what's happening around you. Hint: if you're in line at a store of any kind, HANG UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE. Hell, if you're in a store, shoving your cart around, HANG UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE. 'Cause, know what? If you're yapping away and blocking the aisle, I'm going to ram my cart right up your fat, soccer mom ass, and not apologize. And don't give me that dirty look. You were the one on the phone, paying no attention. Upset that I poked you with my cart? Good. You deserved it. And moreso when you can't hang up long enough to deal with the clerk at the checkstand. I swear -- next time I'm behind some brainless bitch on the phone in the checkout, I'm going to snatch that thing out of her hand, throw it as far as I can, then look her in the eye and say, "Don't be a cunt, okay?"

Not that I'm being sexist. If it's a guy, I'll tell him not to be an asshole... or a prick. Except that, it never is.

Jeebus. Really... find me a woman who can shop without shoving a phone in her ear, and I'll find you...

Uh... let me get back to you on that...

Sounds completely logical to me.

My one personal resolution, and I think you hit on it somewhere in there:

Ignore assholes. Such as tailgaters and dickhead drivers in general. Keep the music cranked, pay attention to my own driving but stop letting those people who can't drive for shit raise my blood pressure so much.
Ah, bad drivers... don't get me started. I made an eight mile jaunt today, and in that time, had no less than four buttfucks decide to make their right turns on red in front of me, then speed off at all of ten miles an hour. And make me wish I had lazer cannons installed in my headlights, in order to blow the tailpipes off these idiots.

Then again, maybe it's just because my brain operates at Amphetimine Plus speed without assistance -- but I'd love nothing more than to bitchslap ths shit out of half the humans I encounter on an average day. Why? Because YOU'RE MOVING TOO GODDAMN SLOW, okay?

Sigh. It's not just a soccer mom phenom, I'm afraid. It's a human thing. The kind of thing that makes me scream, "MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASS!!!" far too much...
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