the curmudgeon comes out at night
It’s late, I’m tired, I’m stressed, I’m unsatisfied. My angst is burbling up from the angstfactory deep in my gorge and is running, in an unattractive fashion, out of my fingers and all over the keyboard of this goddamn laptop.
Here is but a fraction of my Shit List!
ONE. The phrase “get out of my grill” was so painfully, moronically stupid the very first second it was ever uttered. And it’s only just catching on, so the summer of ’07 is going to be wormy with this phrase. Sigh.
TWO. The gleeful attempt of the media to make Phil Spector’s trial a carnival (of the damned) like they did with that other one — you know which one I’m talking about. The fact that I have to THINK about that other jagov yet again makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. Grrrrrr.
THREE. There are a couple profoundly annoying people in my life right now, but in the interest of preserving my last shread of tact, I will not name their names here. But jesus h. kee-ryst! Stop it! It’s almost like you’re tag-teaming me with your idiotic comments and mean-and-dumb assholery.
FOUR. You over there: make up your mind, already!
FIVE. Hyenas. I cannot take them. Gross on all levels.
SIX. Shortbus. Lord.
SEVEN. Yes, that thing that happened in Virginia was awful, but here we go again our media. Schmaltzy, fawning, lingering, intrusive, prefabbed, ugh. Too bad the tragedy didn’t happen during Sweeps Week! Should have thought it through, deranged gunman.
EIGHT. That spring roll atrocity I ordered a couple months ago at that vegan restaurant. It was like chewing a dog toy. I’m mad at myself for not saying anything at the time. And when I drove by the site today and saw that the restaurant was out of business, I had a moment of smug satisfaction. Then I got mad at myself, again, for having such petty feelings towards vegans. Fuck you, overpriced chewy inedible stupid roll!
NINE. The bogus, bogus water pressure in my apartment. The apartment with the just-raised rent. The apartment with the vertical blinds. Vertical blinds! Lame upon lameness.
TEN. Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you.