Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Today! I am the etiquette gestapo! That's fucking right, I don't give a shit if you like it or not so sit the fuck down, shut the hell up, and listen like you're about to hear the meaning of your wasted life! First let me just say that I'm not going to stick 100% to the subjects in the title. The subjects in the title are my main concern but we'll get to them in due time.
This morning I had to stop at the store to get milk before work. I ran out of milk last night and I tend to drink a lot of it. If I go after work the place will be packed and I will lose 3 to 4 precious minutes of my very valuable time in line as opposed to 1 or 2 if I go before work and just throw it in the work fridge until I leave. So, I went the the convenience store to get my milk.
I obtained my milk and headed for the cash register, hoping to get there before a line of back-woods, slack-jawed, yokel-ass, hillbillies got in line in front of me like they usually do. There's nothing worse than having to wait in line behind an amish person dressed like a gothic chick if there had been one in the little house on the prairie series. Amish people don't even know it isn't 1812 let alone how to buy shit from a store in a timely fucking manner. Between the half-wit, two and a half tooth having cashier and the inbred relic of ancient history it comes out to a combined IQ of a shit stained pine cone and a checkout time of 5 goddamn minutes.
Next in line is Billy-Bob. I don't know his real name, I don't care. Billy-Bob doesn't even have a job. Not only doesn't he have a job, he doesn't do a goddamn thing, ever, except pollute space with his presence. He's wearing a horribly torn, lined, flannel shirt, with excessive welding related burn marks on it, jeans that are both huge and yet 9 sizes too small, and walmart brand work boots with the steel (or plastic more likely) exposed from the protective toes. He smells a bit musty, a bit more like stale alcohol, a dash of body odor, several day old campfire, and rotten welfare wife vagina all heaped on top of a pile of despair.
Billy-Bob has a supersized can of some energy drink, rockstar, or amp. Not your 16oz. Fuck no, Billy-Bob has a supersized day ahead of him, he needs to power to keep on keepin on! This is the 965 oz. can of energy drink or some shit, it's 4 times the size of his big-ass, hairy, gnarled, gorilla paws he's holding it with. then when Billy-Bob who is also wearing a "Git-R-Done" hat gets to the register he isn't done.
P.S. If you own a "Git-R-Done" anything, you are a fucking retard and I hope you get hit by a bus. Larry the cable guy is about as funny as a tumor on the dick of a 70 year old hermaphrodite hooker with aids shooting heroin into it's eye in front of a liquor store holding an AK-47 and shouting death threats at small children. (ok, admittedly that's funny to me, but to most of humanity not so much)
Anyhow, Billy-Bob would like 636 packs of USA Gold brand cigarettes.
These mi amigos are the cigarettes of champions. These are what Michael Phelps would smoke if he wasn't blazin the chronic instead. These bad boys will straight up give you superpowers! Granted, the superpowers are the kind that you get from radioactive materials in cartoons, but who the fuck cares, they cost like 17 cents a pack and the tumor that they cause will be able to dish out relationship advice and provide satellite tracking information.
Finally Billy-Bob gets his shit done and moves the hell out of the way and it's super-mom's turn. Super-mom is an idiotic small town retard of an aging hipster mother of 2. Christ do I hate this woman. She lives in this crap-hole town and drives a big honkin Chevy Suburban, or as I like to call it the Chevy Deathstar. Who the fuck could possibly need a vehicle this size. This beast takes up two whole parking spaces. Partly because the bitch can't park for shit, and partly because of it's size.
Super mom obviously spends copious amounts of time on her appearance because she's all tricked the fuck out beyond what any of the other skankle-ass-crack-whore's in this town are. She appears to be in her early 40's or so but she dresses like a former American Eagle model (back when it was cool... if it every really was) and she just can't let it go even though she's old. I'm not sure that's a terrible thing, I think it's better than "mom jeans" but still slightly funny. The part that pisses me off is the attitude on this woman.
It's quite obvious that she thinks she's hot shit. The woman struts around like every dude on earth not only wants but would trade a billion dollar lottery ticket for a night with her. She's probably right in this town but a chipped cubic zirconia is still worth fuckall even if compared to a town full of fossilized dog turds. I really just want to tell her "lady, you're married and have two teenage kids, you live in "shit town usa" and you drive a soccer mom vehicle, your shit is middle aged and abused and just because the Billy-Bobs of the world prefer you over their wives who regularly maturbate with a basketball, doesn't mean you're worth anything in the real world so get the fuck over your broke-ass self!"
Now, redneck-town-beauty-queen mom is chillin in line while her two idiotic sons who both look stoned but it's really just the stupidity gleaming through, are getting coffee while she holds a place in line. Let me ask you... what the hell kind of shitty ass mother lets her children drink coffee? The younger of these two little bastards is probably actually 11 or 12 and the older of the two might be 14 or 15. My mom would have slapped the taste out of my mouth for even suggesting that I might want coffee when I was 12. I can hear it now... That crap will stunt your growth!
Yeah yeah I know it's 2009 but the shit is technically a mild fucking narcotic and kids are all A.D.H.Fucking.D'd out any-goddamn-way so all they need is uppers. Give the little bastards some apple juice and tell them to shut the fuck up and drink it before you lock them in the basement for the next week. Kids don't need that shit, kids are fucking retards without stimulants. This is why teachers can't manage to teach anything in schools anymore. No, not because of the coffee, because parents are fucking retards and teach their kids the way of retardation which then carries into schools and creates problematic, lazy, future union employees.
Not only is the bitch a bad mother but she's breaking one of my top 10 rules of public etiquette. Yeah, who are you to set the rules of etiquette you're probably asking. Well to that I say who the fuck are you to question my authority to write the rules of etiquette? I may have a filthy mouth when I choose to (i.e. my blog... aka my form of therapy) but I also have the ability to control it when and where I choose. I can be the most polite and well mannered person you'll ever meet if it suits the situation.
Now is not the time for that shit because right now I'm making a point and harsh and angry usually gets attention! Now, on to my rules, I don't know which number this rule fits under as far as scale of importance but it doesn't matter. I don't even know what the rest of my top 10 rules are off the top of my head but I know this is one of them.
When you walk up to the cash register or when you go through the drive-through, or when you have to deal with somebody who you must interact with to purchase something or for any other purpose in public, GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR GODDAMN CELL PHONE!!!! I don't care who the hell you are on the phone with or how important you might think that you, or your call may be, YOU ARE WRONG! I assure you that neither you, nor your contact will die if you have to call him/her back once you've completed the interaction. First of all you aren't paying attention, and then you end up saying asking the cashier or the person on the phone to repeat themselves, people get confused, people behind you get annoyed, don't fucking do it.
There is not a single subject in the entire world that can be both so important that you cannot hang up the phone and call back when you're finished, and yet so mundane that you can continue it while in the checkout at the fucking convenience/grocery store! If your call is in your mind so important that you simply cannot discontinue it even for this brief period of time, stay the fuck out of the line, do not approach the counter, do not inhabit a crowded area.
I don't care if you stay in the store, I really don't, I don't even really care if I hear you if you aren't overly obnoxious. In fact, your moronic conversation usually gives me something to blog about later. All I ask, and I'm pretty sure most of the rest of the world asks, is that you simply stay out of the way while you chatter away like a demented mental patient about what's for dinner, your kid's soccer game, how hot his ass was, or what the doctor prescribed for your recently contracted genital herpes.
Cell phones are great, I couldn't live without mine. I even talk on my phone in the store on occasion. I keep the volume of my voice low if I do though and try not to talk about personal things, go to an uninhabited corner of the store or go outside instead. I will always hang up and call back if I feel the need to checkout before the conversation is over. Have some fucking manners for christ sake and show some courtesy to the person at the register.
I know that you're so cool and important that you find it very difficult but even somebody with your staggering social godliness can manage it. If you don't, expect that someday you're going to be in front of that one guy who's just a little less patient than I, and he's going to take that cell phone and shove it so far up your ass that the LED lights will make your fucking eyes glow. I just hope I'm there to see it.
Posted by Northman at 14:10