Saturday, July 2, 2011
Shit That Makes Me Mad.
Everyone gets mad once in a while. There are certain visual or auditory triggers that seem to increase the flow of adrenaline. Noise ( which is defined as unwanted sound) has been proven to increase blood pressure in some individuals. Everyone has a pet peeve of some sort. Some people get their panties in a knot over politics ( a completely futile exercise ) . Others will punch each other in the face over the outcome of some professional sport. ( See previous blog entry: The Bad Canadian).
Some have accused me of being crotchety, or worse, a curmudgeon. I can most definitely assure you that I have always been this ornery. It's not that I'm mean, it's just that I have always had a low tolerance for stupidity. Some shit makes me mad for no particular reason. It's impossible to explain, but it just does.
Maybe all theses years of observing life through a greasy lens has made many things seem abnormal. Then again, I may be right. You decide, here goes.
My disdain for bongos ( congas, tam-tams etc.) is well known amongst my friends and readers alike. They are the bane of my existence and are usually wielded by yet another bane; the ubiquitous hippie. They are pervasive because any idiot can play them. Stoned idiots seem to derive satisfaction from playing for hours on end. And always in my immediate vicinity. I seem to attract them like a pile of dog shit attracts flies.
Just last night I was subjected to their mysterious apparition. I needed to find a secluded spot as far away from civilization as I could find so I could drink some beers and rehearse some tunes on my guitar. I found a rocky beach and started playing but something seemed wrong with my guitar. I was playing in G but after every chord change my git seemed to produce this "hugga-bugga" sound. I wasn't hammered yet so there was nothing wrong with brain. As I put the guitar down and looked around, I spotted a couple of hippies that crawled out of a bush and were playin' their bongos. They were obviously baked and they were "trippin' man" as their dreadlocks qauvered in the the breeze.
There weren't any cops or witnesses around for miles, so I could have ripped the shit out of the bongo skins and slice off their dreadlocks with no one being the wiser. I just went home instead and played loud country on my headphones to get the bongo-stink out of my brain.
2. Clown Pants.
My disdain of hippies and their ilk is well documented, so I won't go into an in depth rant ( it could take days). However when I see some hippie stink-bot walkin' down the street in those multi colored hippie clown pants, I start twitching. I want to rip the hair-in-a bun off the top of his head and kick him in the bag. Where the fuck do you get pants that stupid? Johnson Tent and Awning maybe. It's infuriates me even more to realize that the pants (and its contents) haven't been washed in quite some time.
3. Begone Foul Tricksters.
Every couple of years Cirque du Soleil sets up their multi colored tent here in town. It's not the colors that make mad, it's the ridiculous antics that go on inside. Effeminate and medieval comes to mind. Clowns aren't supposed to wear tights and dance around like ballet dancers. Clowns drive little tiny cars and wear ridiculously large shoes and they are meant to scare small children.
Those idiots in jester outfits seem to be popular with the masses but whenever I drive by their tent, I automatically shout " Begone foul tricksters!"
4. Wind Chimes.
I think I may covered this a while back, but let me reiterate; wind chimes drive me fucking nusto! I wonder what goes through the half-stoned mind of the delusional idiot who thinks that these instruments of torture would be a great idea. Maybe in the Bronze age where primitive cultures used them to ward off evil spirits they made sense. In today's densely populated urban settings they will succeed in pissing off as many neighbors as possible.
I don't understand how that tinkly sound can be considered soothing. It enrages me as I walk in the alley late at night. It might have more severe repercussions however. You know those guys that snap and end up on a roof tip with a high powered rifle? Always caused by wind chimes.
Yeah, that's what I said; Bananas. I hate bananas and they make me mad. It sounds irrational but seeing them makes me angry. When one is peeled open, the smell makes me grit my teeth. There is always some retard eating a banana next me. Eating on a bus, in an elevator or on the street is bad enough, but when I am subjected to a banana being eaten in close proximity, I am filled with rage. No one ever looks too smart eating a banana either. Their blank features take on a simian aspect and even monkeys are getting angry.
The bananas must have got wind of this and plan to exact revenge however, because something happened to me that I had, as of then, only seen in cartoons; you guessed it, I slipped on a banana peel ( true story) and landed on my my ass. Fuck you, you filthy bananas, I'm gonna get you!
6. Spaghetti Squash.
People are fooling themselves. That don't look like spaghetti; that looks like a big bowl of puke.
7. Shut Up, Birds.
Birds are the retards of the animal world. Like retards, deranged crackheads and drunken hobos, they always have to be vocal. Now take a fish. Fish are quiet and they never bother anybody. Also you can throw a stick of dynamite in a lake and have an instant fish dinner.
Birds on the other hand have the ability to take off if you so much as pretend to throw a rock at them. They will be back soon to mock you however. With their riotous varieties of caw-caws and choip-choips, they will straddle a power line and mock you for hours at maximum decibel levels. Unfortunately you can't hurl sticks of dynamite in the city without having a few negative consequences and I 'm pretty sure the cops would show up.
So I am relegated to tossing rocks at them and cursing, but those fuckers never shut up, they just keep mocking me in their evil bird-language.
8. Man Purses.
Hey fool clutching the man purse, do I really gotta explain this one? It's a purse. Men aren't supposed to have that much shit to carry anyways. It's been simple for time immemorial: Cash on the right, comb back left, big-assed wallet back right, keys on the belt. A simple concept that even the smartest metro-sexual can't seem to comprehend.
While we're on the subject; put some damn shoes on! I've stated this before; no one wants to see man-toes in flip flops. Maybe if you're in the Marines and are having one of those thirty second showers while the drill sergeant is yelling at you, yes, flip flops are appropriate. Otherwise, get shoes !
Also, why are some of these white trash gastropods walking around a crowded street with no shirt on? Maybe they were on their way to a wrestling match or a tractor pull and got lost. Put that Led Zeppelin t-shirt back on, nobody wants to see that.
9. No I Don't Have a Smoke. Quit askin'.
10. Victorian Values.
This one might require an in depth analysis, but I will keep it to a brief synopsis. Squares and the middle class class seem to dogmatically adhere to Victorian values. Hence the antiquated drinking laws here in Canada, this unnatural fascination with christmas and some truly ugly furniture.
I roll by some furniture stores and it makes me mad. I ask myself who would make furniture this ugly and even more perplexing, who would buy it? I have had the misfortune several times over the years to attend theses homes who were seemingly appointed by Queen Victoria herself. It was a terrible and frightening experience, not unlike attending a gothic funeral in an abandoned Scottish church. I got one word for you. IKEA.
11. Shitty Psychobilly Bands.
There are lots of good musicians out there, but there seems to be an over-abundance of bad ones. Many of those bad musicians like Rockabilly, but lacking any sort of musical proficiency, they will indulge themselves by starting a Psychobilly band. The main reason is because they like the name. They can pretend to be all psycho and crank up the volume with complete disregard to chord structure.
I'm more afraid of bands like Phish. A band that indulges in forty five minute solos must be unhinged to begin with and it probably wouldn't take much for them to snap and go all psycho on you for real.
Tribute bands also scare me. It takes a special type of psycho to play some tired old rock cliches day in and day out. Playing nothing but AC/DC every single weekend is bound to break even the hardiest of individuals. Even copious quantities of booze cannot alleviate the water torture-like effect that this may have. I think of people who pay to see these bands and that is even scarier. Maybe it makes their mullets grow faster.
Just a few random rants for you.