Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Things I find Irksome

Children Wearing Bikinis

As much as I enjoy the sexualization of America, I’m still not a huge fan of pedophilic tendencies. And no, it’s never cute when your ten year old does a Madonna pose in her bathing suit. I promise not to change my mind when I have a kid either. What is wrong with you people?

Let’s just make a rule that no one is allowed to wear a bikini until they are at the very least halfway through puberty. I mean seriously, what’s the point otherwise? A bikini is designed to accentuate certain curves, and if you aren’t old enough to develop those curves it’s a waste of time. My time. And if you happen to have any kind of curves at all at 8, they probably aren’t the kind you want to share.

Cyclists

Lance Armstrong is a beacon of hope for people struggling with cancer. His story is a testament to the power of the human spirit. His yellow wristbands have raised money and awareness for the plague of the 21st century. And the French absolutely hate him. My kind of hero, no?

No. Our dear Mr. Armstrong has also encouraged legions of men to wear spandex and hike their rears into the air trying to ride their bicycles. If I had to add all his good works with this crap? Hmm… It’s at best a toss up. I’ll be generous and say .02 percent of the population is meant to wear spandex. And none of them are men.

On top of that these people cram into the streets in packs of neon obesity, convinced that they have more rights on the road then I do. They ride in the middle of the street and whine whenever a car merges to the right to make a right turn. Y’know, the way they are friggin supposed to. I hate to break it to you, but the real rules of the road are the laws of physics. Mass and velocity my friends, mass and velocity.

Militant Recycling

Oh…My…God… I threw a plastic bottle into the garbage can. The garbage can! Because that’s where one would think it should go. I must be going to hell for that, because the little children of the recycling movement want me to horde all the bottles of the world until my apartment looks like a pack rat’s den. Hopefully it will get moldy and develop some new kind of organic disease that can decrease the surplus population.

Look, the trash company sorts through my refuse looking for recyclables for me. They probably get some absurd tax rebate, and it contributes to job growth to boot. That and I don’t have to deal with it. Because I don’t have to go through my garbage, it’s one of the perks of not being homeless. So my trash company gets to add to the stockpiles of recyclable material sitting around in dumps across the country because we don’t have the processing capacity to keep up with supply for me. I swear, this recycling business is really important. It’s just working gangbusters.

So keep shaking your head at me whenever you see me throw my empty bottle of water in the trash. I’m half a step away from going back to straight littering.

Year End Evaluations

If you’ve ever had a year end evaluation, you probably realize how utterly useless they tend to be. You go through a list of questions and try to remember what you may have done in January to help the company. Then you get to rate yourself on a scale of 1 to 5, wondering whether humility or arrogance is more likely to get you a raise.

Your boss gets to review your answers for half a minute or so and approves with just enough remarks to make sure it looks like they were thorough. Since they have a two-week window at best to go through every employee’s eval they can’t really focus too much on you, kinda like the rest of the year.

This is mindless masturbation because if your boss hasn’t been paying attention the whole year round then the five minutes of giving you a 3.15 approval rating is pointless. You know it. They know it. But apparently their boss never got the reality memo. Wetahded.

Unrated Movies

There’s this trend to release movies in an “Unrated” version. That way you can get more of the fun obscene language and hosts of extra nudist exploits, right? Wrong. That would be truth in advertising, and I could obviously get on board the honesty train for that. But these movies aren’t really all that different; they just re-insert some of the crap scenes that weren’t good enough for the theater release. That’s foking brilliant.

All “unrated” really means is that this particular version wasn’t screened by the MPAA, which is a group of corrupt fuddy-duddies controlling the movie rating system. It can be a special no-nudity version of Showgirls, and if it didn’t get through the MPAA it’s still “unrated.” Awesome. We used to call them “Director’s Cut” and pay $10 extra to see the crap that would have made the movie and hour too long. I’m so glad we’ve progressed past that inanity.

So go on buster boy, go get that unrated version of American Pie. It was a crap movie the first time around; I hope your new version of the exact same thing is just as satisfying.

No comments:

Post a Comment