cell phone cry baby

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Musicians who take themselves a little too seriously.  Are the cunt bags waving their cell phone around during an entire show annoying as fuck?  Of course they are.  I wanna shove their iPhone up their respective bung hole too.  It blows my mind that people will pay an exorbitant amount of money to go to a show, only to watch from behind a screen.  It’s really, really stupid.  However, the artist making a big deal about it only ends up sounding like a whiny little bitch.  If you think your songs are changing the world, good for you, but none have yet to end world hunger or anything even remotely that important.  How about instead of chastising the people that are paying your mortgage, you adapt to the times?  At the heart of the overzealous ‘cell phone in your face’ craze is a need to share and connect.  There’s a yearning for inclusion, however pathetic you may find it.  Why not be inclusive?  Instead of throwing a bitch fit, why not get over yourself and do what you’re getting paid to do?  Like I’m so sorry your job is so cool people wanna capture a piece of it for themselves.  If you don’t wanna be filmed, go be a fucking janitor.  Otherwise get the fuck over yourself.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

late mergers

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Late ass mergers.  The people who ignore the three miles of warnings that their lane is going to end, just so they can get in front of three people they’ll end up sitting in front of during stop and go traffic, essentially not getting anywhere any faster than if they hadn’t been a self centered fuck stick.  Like, “Oh!  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t realize that YOU were more SPECIAL than every other fucking person on this road.”  Or how about those dumb shits that will literally almost have a wreck trying to get ahead of two people before their lane ends?  It’s not going to make a flying fuck on your overall arrival time to whatever hell hovel you’re headed toward.  Seriously.  You just look like a total dick.  That’s all you’re accomplishing.  Honestly, you should thank your lucky stars that prayer and voodoo are bullshit because, please believe, whenever you go around a line of twenty people because you’re too important to merge a mile back, every single person is wishing spontaneous leprosy on your sorry ass.  If this was some Harry Potter shit, I’d be bippity boppitying you into some kind of wild boar or poor fucking deer on Ted Nugent’s hunting lease.  You’d be running through the underbrush toward a certain death, because come on, as if you really stand a chance in front of some large caliber AR “hunting rifle.”  You’d be fucked like Chuck and on your way to being mounted on the wall of some fellow asshole’s hunting lodge.  Like for reals.  I know that’s dark and maybe it’s a little much, but isn’t being a self centered jerk off also a little much?  Kindness is simple and opportunities present themselves over and and over again every single day.  I’m not asking for your first born.  All I’m asking is for a little humility.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

forced prescriptions

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Being forced into new prescriptions.  As a relatively intelligent, rational adult, shouldn’t I be able to make the decision of when I need an adjustment to my vision?  Like why do I have to pay some fuck with plaques on the wall two hundred dollars every year to give me basically the same slip of paper I already had?  It’s not even about stupid safety or anything.  I can wear my glasses until they rot off my stupid face, but since the supply of new contacts can be controlled, I have to take a fleecing for the privilege.  It really feels as if this situation is orchestrated solely to pad the pockets of interested parties under the guise of “my best interest.”  Perhaps, it would be in my best interest to offer lube and cab fare next time, you institutionally protected wallet rapist.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

wal-mart wasteland

You know what really burns my biscuits?  Wal-Mart lines.  How are you gonna have twenty lanes with only two open at any given time?  It’s not like they used to have that many people working, but then times got tough so they had to downsize.  I’ve been inside a virgin Wal-Mart and it’s all the same.  All of these unnecessary registers are built to fill space and tease the poor shmucks that have to shop in these oversized concrete turds of a store.  It gives this false hope that, maybe just maybe, while you’re standing in a seven deep line, that you’ll be the lucky lotto winner who gets saved from the cess pool of a check out lane by a freshly opened register with a fresh faced cashier that hasn’t been standing for ten hours straight scanning every other asshole’s shit.  There’s this mirage of hope that you might be the chosen one of the tampon/milk/diaper/whatever run and get in and out quicker than a sixteen candle first timer.  However, this actually happening is like spotting a unicorn or winning that billion dollar Power Ball.  Is it not ridiculous that warehouse liquor stores employ more cashiers at any given time than the Wal-Mart beast?  They’ll have every check out open and hustling people through like they were charging by the head.  It’s easier to buy Schnapps than a Snicker’s bar for fuck’s sake.  I’m not saying they have to operate at full capacity, but would it kill them to operate at half?  Hell, I’d even take forty percent.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.

live idiots

You know what really burns my biscuits?  This erroneous idea that everyone matters.  Or better said, that their life is interesting enough to broadcast.  It’s like everyone wants to be a reality star.  Unfortunately, the reality, is that no one is that into you.  I can think of something far more interesting to do with that brush you’re brushing your stupid hair with.  Wanna generate more views?  Bend over.  If you’re not working with tiny baby goats that fart unicorn rainbows and speak pig latin, I don’t wanna see you at your basic ass boring job.  I have one of those myself, thanks.  Do we need a class in what constitutes interesting content?  Like, embarrassingly drunk friend?  That’s probably a yes.  Going through the Chick Fil A drive thru?  Pass.  Unless, of course, you get attacked by rabid squirrels with laser eyes that steal your number one combo.  That, you can post.  Are you a musician with a gig?  Go ahead.  That’s something I would actually leave my house to watch, so by all means share your talent.  Are you a self involved narcissist getting a pedicure?  No one wants to see that shit.  This isn’t the Real Housewives of Mediocrity.  Maybe before going “live” you should get a life.  Burnt biscuits never killed anyone, but I might.