Some Little Things That Bother Me Much More Than They Should

Recumbent bicycles.  Being a cyclist has always come at a price: a malformed back and testicles/labia crushed to the point of complete loss of sensation.  You’re cheating and everyone knows it.  If you can’t hack it, take up power-walking.

-When people pronounce “Italian” with a long “I”.  Yeah, I love Eye-talian food, but only when it’s authentic, the way they make it in Eye-taly.  Fucking idiot.

-Napping.  You’re such a degenerate physical specimen, the mere process of living enervates you to the point where you have to sleep for a short while in the midday just to make it to your bedtime.  The eugenicists might’ve been on to something.

-Sideburns and a shaved head.  Your sideburns aren’t connected to anything and it bugs me to no end.  They look unmoored, like they might fall off or migrate down to your chin.  This seriously bothers me more than hate crimes.

Musicians in anachronistic hats.  Every single indie band nowadays needs some turdknuckle in a trilby mugging the foreground of their press kit photo.  Particularly offensive is when the hat’s wearer pushes their hat way back on their head so that a big dollop of shaggy bangs flops out the front to let you know that they’re quirky and intense but not so much so that their music wouldn’t be appropriate to play in a Hollister.

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-The phrase “how do you do”.  How are you being?

-The Easter story.  So Jesus was dead for three days?  That’s funny, because I’m something of a math whiz, and it turns out that Friday night to Sunday morning only adds up to a day and a half.  That’s like going to the gym at 3:55, staying till 4:05, and telling everyone you worked out for two hours, except you’re the world’s biggest religion and you’ve gotten away with this for two thousand years.

-Autocorrect. I have disabled autocorrect on every phone I’ve ever owned and will continue doing so as long as it remains an option.  I choose my words carefully, and I’m insulted by the implication that a machine might know better than I do what I want to say.

-Seat belt alarms.  It’s bad enough that I can get a ticket if I don’t wear my seat belt, but nowadays, you also have alarms in your cars that nag you until you buckle up.  It’s creeping paternalism.  I am an adult of sound mind who knows the risks of not wearing a seat belt, and if I want to forgo the use of a safety device that affects only me, I should be able to, fascists.

-Inspirational memes about how she was beautifully broken and her scars were where she’d glued herself back together and she danced with her demons and there was a fire in her belly that propelled her to the stars and such and such.  I don’t know who this bitch is but I’m already sick of her.

The word “adulting”. We used to call it “functioning”.

-Lists. Terrible format.  A lazy writer’s best friend.

-Irony.

 

 

 

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