... I use pay-at-the-pump and the machine tells me "See cashier for receipt."

This is an act of asininity, a crime against the consumer.  We use pay-at-the-pump because we are trying to avoid shoving our way past that smelly, inconsiderate old asshole who has nothing better to do than scratch off his lotto tickets at the counter and flirt with the toothless clerk.  That's the only reason we swipe our cards outside and let you preauthorize our debit cards for $75 then wait three days before returning the excess to our bank accounts.

... a guy ordering his steak says, "I want it still mooing at me."

Okay, Tex, we get it.  You're a hard ass because you like your steak rare.  Health concerns aside, there's really nothing wrong with preferring your steak that way, but must you be such a dingbat about it?

"I want it still mooing at me"?  Seriously?  Who are you, Sam Fucking Elliot?  I'll bet your truck has big tires, too, doesn't it?  But no matter how bloody your steak or how big your tires, your breath still smells like wiener.

‎... I forget to shake the ketchup before squeezing and I soak my plate and/or sandwich in tomato water.

... people make knee-jerk reactions based on headlines but don't bother to read the stories.

Everyone thinks they need an opinion about everything, but few are willing to invest the time to understand anything. Headlines are written to sell copies, generate traffic, etc. Sites like Yahoo! post intentionally misleading headlines that often contradict stories because web clicks=revenue and that's all that matters to them. Sadly, most people read those eight- to ten-word headlines and think they know enough to not only have an opinion, but to express that uneducated opinion to anyone who'll listen.

‎... the mystery flavor is root beer.

‎... a feminine-hygiene commercial airs while I'm eating a tomato-based sauce, soup, or condiment.

… twins on TV speak in unison.

I double-hate it in person.

… ‎people use their special names for relatives when they talk to me.

Calling a grandma "Me-Maw" isn't for me, but I won't judge. But unless you’re less than ten years old, don't tell me you went to your Me-Maw's house for Thanksgiving dinner.

… a synopsis sells me on a movie or documentary, but then I watch it and the people have British accents.

I can’t explain why the British accent bothers me, but it ruins the whole viewing experience. This extends to all forms of entertainment. Even if I’m watching a dirty movie, I’ll stop watching if the woman’s moans sound British.

… the translator for an international evening-news story has a strong accent that’s hard to understand.

Dear Network Goons:
Do you really think we, the viewers, require the English translator of an Iranian’s story to have such a thick accent we can’t understand him?  Do you think it adds authenticity?  You are idiots.  I hate you.

... disabled and diseased people expect the world to stop turning to accommodate their needs.

Chances are I'll probably end up disabled, diabetic, or insane if I live long enough. But I sure as hell won't lash out at everyone I encounter because my life is more difficult.

When I hear a diabetic tell someone he'll go into shock if he doesn't get food in his stomach immediately, it makes me want to learn karate so I can karate-kick him in the chops and ask him why he doesn't carry some sort of emergency food supply. If I had chronic diarrhea, I'd make damn sure I carried extra pooping necessities with me at all times.

… hypochondriacs dream up fake disorders like Multiple Chemical Sensitivity and the world has to change to accommodate them.

Let it be known: if you can dream it, there is a quack doctor who will diagnose it. But keep your little play-sick games to yourself. There's no reason to make an office full of co-workers shop for fragrance-free body lotion because you don't like the way Sweet Pea smells.

… people put those “R.I.P.” and “In Memory of” stickers on their car windows.

Look, I’m not trying to be insensitive, but we’ve all suffered traumatic losses.  It’s a part of life.

What bothers me is when people honor the memory of a lost loved one by parading their grief down the street or highway.  It’s as if their window stickers show that they feel more grief for their losses than those driving behind them.

We all get headaches, but wouldn’t it be ridiculous if I put a sticker in my back window that read MIGRAINES or NUMEROUS CONCUSSIONS?

... friends try to use peer pressure on me.

I'm a 31-year-old man with a family.  Do you really think calling me a pussy will change my mind?  You're right, but not in the way you'd hope.  If you're too stupid to identify my boundaries and respect them then I'll change my mind about knowing you and unfriend your ignorant ass.

... I poop at a relative-in-law's bathroom and overflow the toilet when I flush.

Make no mistake about it, fellas, you need to make sure your in-laws don't loathe you.  When you stand in your wife's grandma's bathroom and watch turd-filled toilet water eclipse the top of the toilet bowl, you know it's gonna be an uphill battle.

... houseguests don't flush all their poop down the toilet.

Don't think you're doing me a favor by flushing just once, Houseguest.  My water bill is manageable; flush as many times as it takes to get your turds into the sewage system.

... a guy shows up to play a sport in short cut-off jeans.

     We're here to play a little slow-pitch, not to fondle children.  Now tuck your balls back under the denim and go put on a pair of knee-length gym shorts.

... business owners use their own ugly kids in their TV commercials.

     Look, we all want our kids to be TV stars.  But hire a child-actor, not your big-eared son, to say the company's slogan in unison with the rest of your family.  Let Junior sit in the director's chair so he feels special.  I know he's your son and you love him, but he's an eyesore.  When I see what a screwball of a son you've raised, it makes me not trust you to sell me discount furniture.

... I tell the funniest joke ever and no one laughs.

Drunk Guy: "Can you call me a cab?"
Me: "Sure.  You're a cab!"
Crowd: Silence.

... Walmart shoppers use self-checkout.

     The guy who invented self-checkout had to be crazy to think consumers would be stupid enough to do the work of a store employee while paying the same price.  Crazy like a fox.

... a guy drools over some chick who's dancing (and sweating) up a storm.

     Go ahead and jump on that, Scooter.  Enjoy the way her basement is gonna smell when that sweat dries.  I'll be over here talking to Little Betty Wallflower, who might look a little rough but won't smell like the bottom of a Long John Silver's trash can at 2 a.m.

... a woman sings every song like a woman.

     You're a woman, I get it. But if you must sing “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”,  then put a little man-ger in your voice, Shania.

... a woman insists on waiting to have sex until marriage.

     1.) I’d be awful pissed if I dated a chick for three years before we got engaged and then she died before the wedding.
     2.) I don't buy a car without test-driving it, and I can trade-in a car when I feel like it.  I'm supposed to commit to one vagina for the rest of my life before I've even had a romp with its owner?  Bollocks!
     3.) What if I waited and waited, only to find out on Wedding Night that she suffers from Fecal Arousal Syndrome, the seldom-discussed but widespread disorder that causes women to shit when they get horny?

... a group does its Adopt-a-Highway cleanup near my house.

     I think there’s nobody within a half-mile of the house.  I watch a dirty movie with the volume up like any decent guy who thinks there's no one around.  I sin alone.  Afterwards, I turn off the porn, hear voices outside, and peek out the window to see a high-school science class de-littering the roadside.
     Makes a guy want to wait a couple hours before leaving the house.

... a company launches a new electronic gadget that serves no real purpose.

     I hate it because I know I won't be able to resist buying it.

... the drive-thru girl doesn't greet me.

     Damn, girl, can I get a little foreplay before we get right down to the nasty?  
     I don’t expect her to ask me if I’ve found true happiness in life or anything, but the standard “Hello” would be a nice offering before asking me what I want.  That's asking too much, is it?

... I have to fill out a CAPTCHA box before submitting an online form.

     Is that an L with a vertical line through it or a squiggly number 4?  Come on, Matt, you've been studying this for five minutes.  Just guess already.
     Okay, it's a 4.

     What the shit?  I was wrong?  And now you've given me a whole new random sequence of letters and numbers to decipher?
     Someone in cyberspace is fucking with us, folks.

... a company markets its hot new item as if their previous item was complete shit.

     Hardees did something like this a few years back when they introduced the Angus burger.
     Hey, folks, remember the 953 trillion hamburgers you bought from us before?  Those were actually made from cat shit and marinated in goat vomit.  But trust us not to serve that to you again when you stop by and try our all-new Angus thickburger!

... I step in dog shit.

     This is the one thing that makes me wish God was real so I could have a sit-down with him and ask why he hates me.

... shrimp isn't de-veined.

     How does a shrimpery justify this madness?  How can it sell dead crustaceans with a sandy, shit-filled tube running down the center of every piece and think it's OK?

... I lick my fingers after eating a Kit Kat and then remember that the last thing I did before unwrapping the candy bar was scratch my nuts.

     What do you want me to say?  It happens.  It sucks.  That is all.

... I fart right after taking a shower.

     This is Mother Nature's little fuck-you to me.  I guess she wants me to make the effort to recycle or something.
     I've scrubbed my dirty ass, turned off the shower, towel-dried my clean ass, and then I rip an egg fart to stink up my ass again.

... a guy blows his nose within earshot of me while I'm eating.

     For fuck's sake, this is atrocious.  I'm fucking eating.  WHAT THE FUCK makes him think I want to hear him blow snot and boogers out of his nose?  Farting in public is rude but blowing your nose is fine?  Where the fuck did this logic train derail?

... I sit down to poop and my wiener touches the inside of the stool.

     Why not make toilet seats with sufficient space allotted for the wang?  This is beyond my comprehension.  The penis head has the same kind of texture as the tongue, and every time my unit touches a toilet it feels like I'm kissing peckers with the thousand other ding-a-lings that were there before mine.

... some asshole on TV says he's making so much money that he'll show all of us how to become rich like him for just $400.

     Listen up, because I'll only say this once: The only way you get rich from a get-rich-quick scheme is to be the salesman the scheme.

... a guy calls me "Chief" or "Dog".

     I’m white-as-can-be and look like neither the head of a tribal form of self-government nor a member of the canine species. Of the two, I especially hate being called Chief, more so when it is by a stranger. At some point in his life, the person made a conscious decision to refer to people in that manner.  There is no douchebaggery so intolerable as voluntary douchebaggery.
     The punishment for voluntary douchebaggery?  We should sneak into these fools' homes tweak their razors with needle-nosed pliers.  That ought to do the trick.

... I'm talking to somebody on the phone and he's talking to someone else in person at the same time.

Me: "So the place where the hidden treasure is buried is -- "
Asshole: "Yeah, I know."
Me: "You do?"
Asshole #1: "Oh, sorry, I was telling Asshole #2 what you just said."
Me: "This isn't a relay call, nut-rash.  Tell Asshole #2 all about it after we wrap up this call."

... somebody says, "I'm tired of arguing about it."

     Where's your stamina, man?  Where's the fighting spirit?  I'd argue until my lungs explode just to avoid surrender.

... a college guy tries to have an intellectual conversation at a 24-hour diner after the bars close.

     This guy's struggling to sound like he knows what he's slurring on about while his friends nod, trying to block him out and come up with a plan to hook up with the slutty chicks in Booth Five without their pseudo-smart douchebag friend cock-blocking them.

... somebody who I know isn't especially tough tells me he's becoming a cage-fighter.

     It's the same awkward feeling I get when an ugly girl tells me she's entering a beauty pageant.

... a guy laughs at a joke and then repeats the punch-line.

     Jokester: “What’s the difference between a faggot and a refrigerator? The refrigerator doesn’t fart when you take your meat out of it.”

     Everybody: “Ha ha ha ha!”

     Annoying guy: “The refrigerator doesn’t fart when you take your meat out of it! Ha!”

(Thanks to Mike Ramsey for telling me that joke in high school.  I still love it!)

... a woman doesn't stop breast-feeding when she should.

     If your child is four years old and he's still drinking tit, it's called child molestation.  You're doing it for you, not the child, you sick pig of a whore.

... somebody asks me if I go to church and then pauses awkwardly when I tell him I don't.

     Listen, Moses, I don't buy into religion. Don't look down on me because I don't believe that an old book of fables written to control the masses should be used as my guide in this, the only existence I will ever know. So there is a loving, just Creator who will cast me into a sea of fire for eternity if I don't believe in something that I cannot see or feel, for which no proof of His existence exists? And I should believe, even if I'm not certain, so I don't get punished? If you hadn't had this sludge beaten into your head since childhood, you'd see how ridiculous the whole thing is.
     How's this?  See this empty water bottle?  It's divine.  If you fill it with a little tap water each day and then drink from it once a week, you'll have everlasting life.  I know, it's great, right?  Now, you won't be able to see, smell, feel, taste, or hear a difference between water from this bottle and any other water container, but I need you to have faith.  Oh, and I'll need you to give me ten percent of your earnings.  It's a small investment.  Consider it insurance for your soul.

... I tell a caller that he's reached the wrong number and he probes for more information.

     “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you. Thanks for your time” will suffice after I have provided the wrong-number information. Nothing more, you disruptive fool.

... cops don't open fire on people who riot and/or loot after a natural disaster or when their hometown team wins/loses the big game.

     Imagine how quickly the crowd would fall in line if the police mowed down a dozen of them with bullets.

... a grown-up says that he's a vampire and he's not joking.

Dear Peckerhead,
     While your whole vampire deal should have been a phase that passed in your earliest teenage years, I'll try not to be judgmental. But if you're going to claim to be a vampire, then, dammit, you'd better conform to their lifestyle habits. No sunlight, no garlic, and I'd better see you transform into a little vampire bat at least once.
     Otherwise, I want you to lock yourself in a coffin for a few days, have a good cry, and grow the fuck up. When you come out, I expect you to have your shit together and I want to hear how you plan to live a productive life from this day forward.

... I see a gothic person in public.

     Not that I like it, but I can stomach seeing a kid who dresses ridiculously in a failed effort to be cool. But to dress like a pissed-off clown to make sure that the world knows that you’re not like the rest of us is desperate, sad.

     People try so hard to be alternative that they forget to alternate from each other. They all end up looking alike, which would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

... people sing in public.

     It doesn’t matter where he is or who's around, the public singer pollutes the air with his gift of song. I don't give a damn if he sounds just like Bing Crosby, if he doesn't have a record deal with a major label then I don't want to hear him sing. I just want the annoying ball of snot to leave me alone with my thoughts and let me finish my grocery shopping in peace.

... a woman smiles and I can see more of her upper gums than her teeth.

     I try not to blame the woman -- I know she didn't get to choose her inner mouth -- but I still find myself liking her less than I would if she didn't have horse-mouth.

... people bare their souls on blogs and social-networking websites.

     There's nothing wrong with letting people know what's on your mind, what's happening in your life at a given moment, etc., most of the time. But problems like past-due bills and rectal bleeding are between you, your utility providers, and your rectum. Let's keep it that way.

... people don't look at both sides of the universal healthcare issue.

     Yes, Canada has it and we don't. But Canadians might suffer without free treatment for months while hypochondriacs clutter the waiting rooms.

     Tell a guy with the clap that he’ll have to wait seven months to receive his free treatment and, until then, to enjoy the fire piss. Then ask him what he thinks of universal healthcare.

... I answer the phone and the caller asks, "Who's this?" before identifying himself.

Me: "Hello?"

Caller: "Who's this?"

Me: "If this is your house, then I'm the guy screwing your soulmate, shit-for-brains."

... an eater bites his fork.

     Few things disrupt my dinner like hearing teeth scrape metal. It sounds like I’m about to see a sword fight, but I don’t get to see a sword fight.

... a caller baby-talks to me when inquiring about my son.

     Yeah, Mom, you may be asking about my three-year-old, but you’re still talking to me, dammit!

... a former fatty walks with his head held high for the first few months after reaching a weight-loss goal.

     I hate it because I feel sorry for him. He's so full of confidence now, but I know he'll be crushed when the compliments subside and he figures out that it wasn’t really his lumpy ass that made him unhappy. And I hate it because I know that without obesity to blame for his low self-esteem, he'll find comfort in Cheetos and soon he'll be fat again.

... I get the hiccups during a wedding or funeral.

     I can see where it could be annoying, but stink-eyeing me like I’m doing it on purpose isn’t going to help matters.

... people use cliche phrases like "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired."

     Take some antibiotics, slam a Red Bull, and quit your bellyaching. Then freewrite for a half-hour and get those creative juices flowing so you can come up with an original way to whine next time.

... I walk in the opposite direction as another person and we dance side-to-side to avoid collision.

     We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t figure out how to avoid awkward public dances like this? Here’s an idea: Keep Right! You do it, tell a friend, and tell that friend to tell a friend and so on. Let’s make this a priority and see if we can put an end to this foolishness before 2011.

... a guy spits on me more than once during a conversation.

     Figure it out, you sloppy shit. If you’re talking to me and I'm constantly wiping your saliva from my face, then you need to swallow before you speak. If you don't, then you'd better not get upset when I spit back in your face.

     Why are you standing so close to me when you talk, anyway?

... people go stupid with misguided patriotism.

     Americans would go nuts if anybody said anything other than “God bless America” after 9/11. Looking back on how stupid people became, I laugh today like I did back then at the anuses who called French fries “freedom fries” because France wasn’t game for our war to find non-existent weapons of mass destruction.

     Many of us Americans were smart enough to see through the red, white, and blue veil covering the bullshit, but we couldn’t say anything in public without some douche calling us Osama.

     It’s sad how most Americans oppose the war today and hate President Bush, yet many still hold grudges against those of us who saw things that way seven years ago.
     Come on, America, let’s swallow some pride and tell the Dixie Chicks we’re sorry and we're ready to make nice.

... people refuse to accept the differences between genders.

     Don't buy in to the liberal douchebaggery: men and women are different as apples and airline terminals.
     Boys have penises, girls have vaginas. I have a penis, so there are things I will experience that a woman will never and vice versa.
     We are wired differently. The wire that travels from a female's sex region to her brain has a connecting flight at the heart. Men have two wires: one wire goes from the genitals to the brain and the other goes from the heart to the brain, and those two wires don't intersect or even know the other exists. Don't blame me for it. If you're a creationist, blame The Creator. If you're an evolutionist, blame science.

... a woman breast-feeds in public and gets mad at me for watching.

     I understand that breast-feeding a newborn or infant child is natural, but so is the scratching of genitals on an as-needed basis. If I should perform the latter privately, so should woman perform the former. Those who do one of the above in public should expect an audience.

... people have poor cell-phone etiquette.

     If you’d rather communicate with somebody other than me, then wrap up the conversation with me first, butthole. Don’t “yeah” and “uh-huh” me when I’ve got the floor while you thumb messages from your cell phone to your ex-cellmate.

     I especially hate it when a friend has poor phone etiquette when he invited me to hang out in the first place. It’s bad enough knowing that a friend would rather be there with somebody else, but it's worse to see it celebrated right under my nose.

UPDATED 12.12.2009

     I Hate it When ... people bitch about cell-phone etiquette.

Me:  Of course I'm listening to what you're, um -- saying ... uh-huh ... no kidding? ... that right? ... 

Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

... people wear corn rows or other hairstyles which forbid hair-bathing.

     No matter the reason, there is no satisfactory excuse for a man to go weeks, months, or years without washing his hair.

     No, His hair breaks easily and he can’t do much with it does not justify it. If all kinds of deodorant made my armpits break out in a rash, it wouldn't give me license to stop deodorizing, would it?

... somebody tells me how much a possession costs without my inquiring first.

     I double-hate it if it’s a stranger.

     Last winter, I was buying rock salt at a home center and the loader--he was a complete stranger--pointed out his new truck, telling me that it cost him $26,000. I resisted the urge to comment on the high payments in contrast to his low-wage job and to lecture him on the perils of a high debt-to-income ratio, but I was too overcome with discomfort from having a stranger share such personal information with me to respond.

... I look into the rearview and side mirrors, but I still have to look over my shoulder before changing lanes.

     It boggles my mind that auto manufacturers aren’t required to put blind spot mirrors on all vehicles sold in the United States. They should be required in order for a vehicle to pass inspection, but instead we get, "If you're gonna make an omelet, you've gotta break a few eggs."

... a host gets upset if I don't try something he's cooked.

     I don’t care if Betty Crocker herself made the potato salad. I know I don’t like it and there's no sense in abusing my taste buds with a courtesy bite.

... boys' school bathrooms don't have stall doors.

     This is the one school-day torment from which I have not yet fully recovered.

     When did this become acceptable, to make boys poop on display? A guy's most vulnerable moment is when he's hunched over, pushing out the waste from a greasy school lunch. This is a tribulation no decent person should endure.

     You want to make schoolboys behave? Put doors on all but one stall, then make the kids who get in trouble use the open stall. Then watch the crime rate drop like Ashley Judd's thong at a Kentucky Wildcats basketball after-party.

... I can't find regular-hold hair gel.

     I have to at least buy the Level-7 Ultra Maximum Hold variety.
     What about those of us that just want our hair “held” by gel? What about us Level-4-types? Why don’t they make a product for us? Why must I choose between Ultra Maximum Hold, Bionic Cement Hold, and Super Ultra Maximum Frozen Bionic Cement Hold?
     Doesn’t a Level-7 require the existence of six inferior levels in order to rank seventh? They don’t manufacture those levels because the think we are a bunch of idiots that look at their Level-8 and say, “Wow! That’s higher than seven other levels of hair holding. I better buy three bottles of it in case it sells out!”

     "Maximum" should be the highest hair-holding level a gel should be able to achieve.

... I hold the door for a guy and he doesn't reach for it.

     I’m not talking about the times when I turn 270 degrees and stand on the opposite side of the door while he walks through -- you know, the Full Door-Hold. I mean those times when I’m just hanging onto the door so the next guy can grab it without it hitting him in the nose, the Casual Door-Hold. It really irks me when the person just walks through the doorway, making me hold the door while he walks through carrying his Asshole of the Day trophy.

... people use double-negatives like "prematurely ejaculate too quickly."

     As opposed to those who prematurely ejaculate at just the right time, right?

... the guy sitting beside me at the bar says, "Quick! Who sings this?"

     Listen, blockhead, I’m trying to enjoy my drink. If I want to play trivia while I’m getting a buzz, then I’ll slide my ass down to the little video game machine and deposit a quarter.

... a girl refers to herself as "a biker" when she doesn't own a bike.

     Riding on the back of a motorcycle makes you a motorcycle-passenging (screw you, Spell Check) enthusiast, not a biker.

... a guy buys a motorcycle and changes his whole damn wardrobe.

     Just once I’d like to see a guy driving a Fat Boy while wearing khaki shorts and an alligator shirt.

... someone calls for my attention and then says, "Never mind."

     Hey, asspipe, you interrupted my train of brilliant thought. Now state your business.

... eating poorly and exercising too little makes people fat.

     I wish karma made people fat. Imagine the harmony we’d have in this world if two pounds of fat went straight to a woman's ass each time she acted like a bitch.

... a guy gives himself a nickname.

     He’s just washing his hair in the shower one day and decides, “I think I’d like to be called ‘Scooter’ from now on.”

     This is only excusable if said person is an entertainer and intends to use the name in his profession.

... people put apostrophes before every "S".

     It’s not just dummies, it’s the majority of the American population.
     I drive by businesses and see thousand-dollar neon signs that read “Burger’s and Steak’s.” Unless the establishment is owned by two varieties of beef or by two people with stupid nicknames, the apostrophes are not appropriate.

Examples

1. Matts = two or more people named Matt, plural.

2. Matt's = something belonging to Matt (Matt's truck) or "Matt is" (Matt's going to hit you with his truck).

3. Its = possessive (A dog eats its own shit).

4. It's = it is (It's tasty).

     Show a little respect for the Queen’s English, people.

... a guy in his forties frosts his hair.

     No love for the guy closer to death than birth who tries to look like a late-'90s frat boy.

... a moron at the bar tells me that he used to be sparring partners with Tommy Morrison.

     If I believed him (I didn’t), I still wouldn't have been impressed or given a shit.

     If you're going to make up a story like that, either use a different semi-celebrity or don't get upset when I ask, “So did he give you HIV?”

... a jokester uses a pre-joke teaser.

     I always say that I’ve heard it, even if I haven’t.

Funny man: “Did you hear the one about the Jolly Green Giant and the nun?”

Me (before walking away): “Yes.”

... I ask a guy how he's doing and he replies, "Not much."

     Listen to the question, dick.

... a guy shows up to a slow-pitch softball tournament dressed like a big-leaguer.

     Everybody else is wearing cutoff T-shirts and gym shorts, but this motherfucker is dressed like Wade Boggs.

... the sales department is American as John Wayne, but the support department is in India.

     If you're going to give me a clear-speaking American when I press "1" for sales, then, dammit, I'd ought to have a clear-speaking American once I've become a customer and I call for technical support.

     It never fails. I sign up, make the commitment, and something goes awry. I call, press "2" for customer service, and I've got some Middle-Easterner who sounds like he's popping corn in his throat while speaking. And this asshole is getting impatient with me because I can't understand him.

     Look, I have a basic understanding of globalization and I know that outsourcing won't go away unless the government creates a global minimum wage for American companies that send badly needed American jobs overseas, but I can't help but wonder what the visionaries who founded these corporations would say if they could see what their customer service has become.

SIDE NOTE: I find it hilarious when a company outsources their collections department. Mother of Gandhi, do I have some fun with that!

... I ruin the last bite of a meal.

     All it takes to screw up a good surf-n-turf dinner is for me to accidentally dip my last bite of steak in cocktail sauce.

... a job-seeker puts Marcus Allen as a reference on his application.

     This actually happened once. If he knew an NFL Hall of Famer—he didn’t, but if he did—he should sure as hell not put him as a reference. What was I going to do, Google Marcus Allen’s home number?

     I didn’t hire him because he was a douche and because I knew it would give other area interviewers a good laugh when he applied.

... I call for customer service and am forced into a conversation with an automated person.

     First, the voices are creepy, especially when they speak a sequence of numbers. Second, it pisses me off to suffer through twenty menu selections before I can actually talk to a live person.

     They should at least train the bot to respond with some wit.

Automated Voice: “I didn’t catch that. Please repeat your response.”

Me: “Fuck you, robot. I hate your voice and I hope you get a yeast infection in your throat.”

Automated Voice: “Likewise, sucka.”

     Now that's something that would soften the blow.


SIDE NOTE: Spouses find it creepy when they catch you talking dirty to phone-bots.

... companies offer 49 varieties of their original product.

     When I put Oreos on the grocery list, I want standard Oreo sandwich cookies. I shouldn’t have to squint to find them among the

Reduced Fat

Double Stuf

Winter With Red Crème

Golden Original

Halloween Orange Crème

Double Stuf Chocolate

Pure Milk Chocolate Covered Mint

Double Stuf Chocolate Crème

Pure White Fudge Covered

Cakesters Chocolate Crème

Spring Purple Crème

Chocolate Sandwich With Organic Flour and Sugar

Duo Vanilla and Chocolate

or any other Oreo variety that J. Walter Oreo can dream up.

     I’m not completely opposed to Oreo variety—I’m not a snack-Nazi or anything—but stockmen could at least pay me the courtesy of putting the original flavor top-left on the Oreo shelves.

... a negative light is shone upon road rage.

     Cars kill more people than guns. It’s in the Bible ... look it up. If somebody were waving a gun in front of you and your family, wouldn’t you feel a bit of rage?

... an adult baby-talks when he's not talking to a baby, especially when he's talking to me.

     Holy shit, I really, really hate this. Worst is that it's something a person does by design, not by accident.

... a guy knocks on the public-restroom door more than one time while I'm dropping a deuce.

     You impatient prick, let me poop!

     If I could wrap it up rapidly, I'd do so. Pounding on the door isn’t going to make me finish up my paperwork any sooner: it is, however, going to make me less likely to flush when I’m done.

... somebody asks me, "Really?"

     I’m not much of a breath-waster, save the occasional habit of repeating myself when I’m drunk, so why question whether I decided to waste the breath that becomes more precious with every menthol cigarette by making up something untrue to say?

     I understand that it’s used more as an expression of surprise than as an inquiry at times, and I have little problem with that. But when I say, “I had pizza for lunch,” that shouldn’t stop the world from turning or even be that hard to believe. Thus, it does not warrant somebody asking me for confirmation like “Really” or “Did you?”

... elderly people make unsolicited comments.

     An elderly woman might tell me I’ve gained weight since the last time she saw me, but then she clams up when I remind her that I’ll still likely outlive her.

... people whisper while they read.

     If I want to read the material you’re reading, then I'll buy it or ask to borrow it when you are finished. Is there something you’re reading that you need to share with me?

     If it’s sound that you need to comprehend the contents of your reading material, then get an audio book or read aloud in private.

... my wife buys pork roast when I put beef roast on the grocery list.

     Hey, Wife, see the sausage links and bacon on either side of the roast? Probably gonna be pig you’re putting in the cart.

... I get solicited to try a dish during a potluck dinner.

     Few things will ruin a carry-in like an idiot who tells everybody to try his special homemade cranberry sauce.

     You won’t see my sorry ass standing behind those in line, saying, “Everybody make sure you get a taste of the hamburger buns I brought. They’re Great Value—you’ll love them.”

... a stripper dresses like a stripper in public.

     Not only is she not ashamed of being a glorified hooker, but she must celebrate it!
     She wants to climb the highest mountain and yell for the whole world to hear, “I’m a whore! Look at me. I’d rent my privates to anybody with the financial wherewithal ... gotta feed my meth/coke/heroin addiction, ya know? I done made it to the big times, Daddy!

Skank: "Hey, little kid standing in this grocery-store line with his mother: this is what worn-out woman parts look like in tight pants. See?”

... a bad case of diarrhea lies dormant until I sneeze.

     Come on, don't act like it's never happened to you.

... people don't speak more clearly after being asked to repeat themselves.

     Speak up, slow down, and enunciate. If people consistently ask you to repeat what you said, it’s not that a deafness epidemic is sweeping the nation, it’s that you talk too quietly or in another manner that makes understanding difficult. Idiot.

... a stranger tells me that I should quit smoking.

     It makes me want to kick out his windshield and tell him, “You should get that fixed.”