Sometimes Joe gets angry. Other times he sounds like a whiny old man. Either way, he’s one guy who knows more about Morrissey and Manchester United than you do.
I’ve struggled with a fear of public toilets all of my life. I’ve finally, after thirty years, been able to use public facilities on a regular basis. My general fear of the germs that breed in and around other people’s asses has caused many rushed trips home, but I’ve mostly conquered them. So what could possibly send me spiraling back to my former fears? Those jack asses that can’t seem to flush. Nothing is worse than sprinting down the hall to use the can at work to find some inconsiderate fool has left some big fish heads in the toilet. My stomach turns just thinking about it. If it’s too much to ask for you to turn around and flush, try going out in the woods and use some leaves like the animal you are. And if you are in a crowded restroom, a courtesy flush is always nice to keep the odor at a minimum. The longer it sits in the toilet, the worse it smells, so take care of it immediately. You’re not paying for the water, so use it. Maybe you could benefit from some extra toilet training from your mommies. You people make me sick. As I said in my last installment of Stuff I Hate, we’re living in a society here folks, and that requires that you be somewhat civilized, so figure out how to flush or hold it in until your feces eventually chokes you to death.
I consider myself to be a pretty approachable guy, but I don’t like feeling like I’m being forced to talk to people. And I don’t go out of my way to talk to strangers. Apparently some people don’t agree. These people think they have to talk all the time. Once, while getting a haircut, my barber said “Looks like there’s a high-pressure system moving in.” Huh? Are you so starved for attention that you need to say something like that? Should I have starting talking about cumulus clouds or something? I couldn’t care less about your life, your kid’s lives, and certainly not your weather forecast. I’m paying for the haircut, not your banal, boring conversation. If you have nothing to say, don’t bother. Indeed, silence can be golden.
There once was a time when rock stars were the only ones wearing leather pants. Of course, this was designed to enhance their paltry members and tiny asses. Now I see old women wearing leather pants to the grocery store on Sunday afternoon. I’ve never worn a pair, but they don’t look comfortable, and you look stupid wearing them to buy diapers for your filthy kids. Leather pants were designed to be removed from rock star’s lower torso’s by hot 17 year-old groupies after a third sold out set before being cast to the side of the disgusting bathroom stall. They were not meant to be removed from women in their 40’s by overweight husbands just before their monthly night of passion.
I try to do my part for the environment. I’m not out there protesting or wearing burlap sacks or anything, but I recycle and I don’t litter on purpose. I would even consider buying an electric car since I drive quite a bit and would rather not further pollute our air. There’s only one problem; those cars are among the ugliest ever, right up there with the Subaru Brat and the AMC Pacer. I don’t understand vehicular engineering, but is there a reason they look so awful? Can’t Toyota design one that looks like the Camry or something normal? Just because they are relatively new, it doesn’t mean they have to look like they’re from the not too distant future. Until those idiots figure out how to make a Bullitt edition Mustang I can plug into my outlet, I’ll continue to add to the pollution. I’m not lookin’ like an asshole when I drive to the record store. And what’s with the tiny tires? It looks like I could eat one of them if it was covered in gravy.
Maybe I’m missing the boat on this one, but I don’t remember the Yankees ever wearing red hats. Our beloved hometown nine, the Mariners, have never worn red hats. Who gave the manufacturers the idea that they could change team’s hat colors? And remember when you actually had to like the team to wear it’s merchandise? Now it just has to match the underwear sticking out of your baggy trousers. I hope this stupid trend ends quickly, but as long as Fred Durst and P-Diddy are in charge of what the kids are wearing, it probably won’t.