Over the past week, I’ve felt my temper rising, just hiding under the surface like one of those zits that really hurts and you know it’s there but there’s nothing you can do about it.  I don’t lose my temper or get angry very often, and finding good outlets for my frustration is a reason for that.

There are times, though, when I have to actively resist shaking someone.  Just pick that person up by his or her collar and shake and shake and shake until I’m too tired to shake anymore.

Even people that I care about can drive me absolutely crazy.   I know this isn’t news to anyone who has friends and family, but I have extremely high tolerance levels when it comes to the people I like.  I’ll forgive almost any action and defend everything.

But today?

Today I’m sick of the wishy-washy fencesitters, the flakers, the mid-chat disappearers, the age-regressing drinkers, the hollow promisers, the hacks, the blind glass-is-half-fullers, the fundamentalist disagreers, the revisionist rememberers, the liars, the teasing self-esteem-builders, the unrepentant misspellers, the constant show spoilers, the moron-pandering creators, the haters, the only-when-convenient prayers, the gender-destroying misogynists, the colluders, the vicious schadenfreudophiles, the my-shit-doesn’t-stinkers, the inequality-supporting apologists, the tree-hugging crazies, the system abusers, the never-acting complainers, the emotion avoiders, the sarcastic deflectors, the jealous-but-unwilling-to-providers, the inferiority-complex bullies, the mumblers, the inconsequentially meticulousers, the oblivious inconveniencers, the conscious choice slackers, the hot-tempered projectors, the deriders, the always-promising inactors, the no-moderation never-againers, the vacuous space-starers, the gullible never-researchers, the gender-lumping assumers, the movie-watching chatterers, the uggos, the rabble-rousing hiders, the chest-bumping cavemen, the race-betraying steretoype-perpetuators, the raucous color wearing lazy-boy-athletes, the no-personal-space close standers, the arbitrary rulemakers, the emasculation-fearing controllers, the personal property disrespecters, the cheapskates, the like-and-yanno overusers, the blindly-unquestioning followers, the trying-too-hard pretenders, the unapologetic shit-stirrers, the cowards, and, more than anything else, the fat hairy internet whiners.

I understand.  You’re on Twitter and you have something so important to say, but you can’t get it into 140 characters.  Or you’re texting a friend and don’t have enough time to write full words before you crash into the car ahead of you on the Interstate.  Sometimes you have to abbreviate and use slang, but sometimes I just want to punch you in your face.

Here is my non-inclusive list of the nine worst offenders – the nine abbreviations or slang used today on Twitter, in texting, or on Facebook, that drive me absolutely crazy.  In no particular order, along with examples for those of you who have not yet been subject to this nightmare of laziness, convenience, and blatant stupidity . . .

1. yr/ur.  ”Can I punch you in yr face and murder ur parents?”
2. u – “Why can’t u just add two additional letters?”
3. y – “y r u trying 2 sound like a moron?”
4. enuf – “Haven’t we had enuf bad slang with that Ebonics shit?”
5. inbox – “I could ask you to inbox me on Facebook instead of asking you to email me but instead I’m going to make a voodoo doll out of you and shred its genitals in my garbage disposal.”
6. bcoz/bcuz – “I’m stabbing you bcuz you’re better off that way.  We all are.”
7. sum – “Have you ever had sum person tell you that you should die in a fire?”
8. Imma – “Imma pray for you to commit suicide via auto-erotic asphyxiation.”
9. k/kk/kkk – “The meeting is at ten tonight.  Bring your pointy white hood.”  ”KKK. I’ll be there.”

Okay, granted, this is a bit judgy on my part, especially since I’m a complete hypocrite and have used, on separate and distinct occasions when I was completely sober and in my right mind, both “Imma” and “k/kk”.  I berate myself daily for it, but not as much as the fact that I have finally broken down and started using “lol”.

So, in summation, do as I say, not as I do.

Lol.

The overwhelming waves of ignorant uproar drowned out Twitter and Facebook today at 2:15 EST after the verdict was read for the Casey Anthony trial.

I read posts by people that blamed the jury for being stupid, blamed Florida for screwing everything up and blamed our justice system.  I understand that this is an emotional issue, and that the death of a child makes it so that many people are unable to respond in any way other than irrationally and emotionally, but if you were one of those people, you are wrong.

The only thing that Casey Anthony is guilty of, beyond a reasonable doubt, is falsifying evidence (providing false information to law enforcement officers).  Here are a few of the ignorant responses I saw yesterday (and understand that by ignorant, I’m saying that it’s an uneducated opinion not based in anything but emotions.  It doesn’t mean that you, as a whole, are ignorant.)

1.  At the very least, she’s guilty of child endangerment for telling people that someone kidnapped her daughter for a full month.

Caylee was not alive during that month.  You can’t be found guilty for an impossible crime, eg, you can’t endanger a child who isn’t around to be endangered.  If there was such thing as “attempted child endangerment”, that might have been possible, but that wasn’t a charge.

2.  The jury should have found her guilty of manslaughter or second degree murder if there wasn’t enough evidence for first degree murder.

That’s not the jury’s decision.  The prosecutor arguably made an error by pushing for first-degree murder and the death penalty when the evidence was barely circumstantial.  If they had charged her with manslaughter, this might have been a very different case.

3.  I just know she’s guilty – everybody can tell.

No you can’t, and you’re a fucking idiot.  You don’t know anything.  You know how the media has portrayed it and you know that she’s got poor credibility when it comes to honesty.  That does not make someone a murderer.

4.  Well, I didn’t kill Caylee Anthony, so who did?

Did it ever occur to you that this could have been an accident?  Let me paint a scenario: Caylee sneaks outside and falls in the pool.  Before Casey can get to her, she drowns. Panicking, Casey pulls her out of the pool, wraps her in plastic, and duct tapes it, which causes the tape to get stuck to her head, and puts her in her trunk.  She’s too scared to tell her parents, so she concocts a story about the nanny stealing her.  She continues to pretend like everything is okay to avoid suspicion, but the lies get bigger and bigger until she gets everything twisted around, and has to include her parents in the plan.  In order to help spread the lie, they Google terms like “chloroform” to come up with a plausible story for what happened to Caylee.

Did that happen?  I don’t know. And neither do you.  However, given the circumstantial evidence, including the fact that they can’t even determine a cause of death, it’s a reasonable alternative for this entire situation.  And that is what’s called reasonable doubt. Knowing that this could be a simple case of accidental death that was covered up by an immature, obnoxious woman who lies easily, would you be so quick to send her to her death?

We are innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.  This means that regardless of what occurs in the court of public opinion, the law protects us all.  That reasonable doubt prevents any of us from being found guilty because you made a mistake or he is a bad person or she is unlikable.  It is not a perfect system, of course – there is no such thing.  But it’s an excellent system that worked, in the case of Casey Anthony, the way that it was supposed to.

Stop reacting emotionally.  I don’t care what your gut or your heart tell you.  I don’t care what you “just know”.  The verdict was appropriate given the evidence, the charges that were brought, and the situation, and to say anything otherwise is display your ignorance broadly.

Do you know why so many women prefer the company of assholes over men who are their good friends? Because it’s instinct. It’s nature. A man’s job, as imprinted on his genes, is to fuck. Fuck a woman, spread your seed, move onto the next woman. Impregnate as many women as you can until you die so that the world continues. That’s it. And women know this innately. Forget any of this nonsense about women liking a man that they think they can fix or embracing a challenge. In the end, women have it hardwired in their genes that their genetic job is to get pregnant as many times as humanly possible and pop out baby after baby. It doesn’t matter who the father is and, in fact, the more fathers, the better, because that will help avoid homogenization of our species. So a man who is an asshole is someone who is more likely to fuck and run and the future of our species is safe. (And I guess that the genetic jobs of the gay men and women in our society are to keep us up to date on fashion and softball techniques. And demonstrate what healthy relationships actually look like.)

Men, don’t even bother being friends with a woman that you like. It’s not worth the time and effort. Don’t get to know her, don’t listen to her, don’t actually be there for her when she needs it. Don’t talk to her on the phone, don’t anticipate her needs, and by God, don’t offer any type of support at all. Don’t pursue her or compliment her. Never show interest in her, and certainly don’t notice if she changes her hair or buys new clothes. Don’t bother remembering birthdays or important dates, and don’t be someone on whom she can rely. Don’t allow yourself to pay attention to any type of connection that exists and ignore any signs of compatibility.

Just be an asshole. Ignore her. Call her when you feel like it, but not when you told her you would. Be late for everything. Make her ask for compliments. Belittle her. Hate her friends and avoid remembering their names. Roll your eyes at her interests and concerns, and grumble under your breath at her questions. Answer her with one or two words if at all possible. Fluctuate between begrudging and horny. Shy away from commitment and get angry when it’s questioned. Be useless so that she feels needed but refuse to offer thanks for anything she does. Remain as superficial as humanly possible.

Never tell her how you feel and never wait for her to realize what she already has, because she will never get it. Walk away from her without explanation, and she won’t be able to run after you quickly enough to find out why you think she’s not good enough for you. She won’t be able to throw herself at you fast enough. And anyone who’s so fucking stupid to be her friend will get to hear about all of the things you do to her that makes her feel bad, and they’ll comfort her for you until she’s ready to drop her friendship again and come crawling back to you.

Emotions and communication have no place in a relationship between a man and a woman. All that matters is instinct, genetic survival, and self-esteem. Don’t be the idiot who is the friend. Be the asshole and be a real man.

Everywhere I look I see mediocrity. I see people settling because they think the minimum amount of effort is sufficient.

All day long, as I work, I have clients who are some of the most highly educated people entrusted with the responsibilities of thousands of lives, and yet they have the attention spans of children. I provide them with information that the simplest of minds could read and understand and I receive blank looks and silences pregnant with ignorance in return.

When I go out to restaurants or stores I see people who take absolutely no pride in what they do. I see professional companies with obvious misspellings in their advertising materials. There are customers who take casual to mean “clothes that a homeless person would turn down”. There is error heaped upon error with only the slightest shrug of the shoulders provided as an apology.

At night, I witness comics who are in their early twenties who can’t spell or even seem to understand the most basic levels of grammar, but think that’s going to serve them well in the long run as they attempt to launch a career that has its focus in writing. Left and right, people demonstrate their sheer lack of intelligence and aptitude, or maybe it’s their complete acceptance of mediocrity. In my mind, it’s almost the same thing.

The dating pool and dating websites are full of examples of people who should probably stay single and never procreate. In an environment that is geared towards selling oneself to a potential date, it would seem obvious to use punctuation, capitalization, and spell-check. To use photos that aren’t blurry or dark or pixelated. At least, it seems obvious to me, but apparently not to the legions of desperate single morons out there.

It’s not all pathetic. In every corner of my life I do encounter shining examples of drive and motivation. I see people who strive to be better, who embrace responsibility, who take pride in what they do, no matter how simple the task. Those people are out there, but we are outnumbered by the brain-dead hordes, the drooling masses.

Whatever you do in life, do your best. Not for your boss or spouse or family or anyone else. For you. Take pride in accomplishing something that stretches your ability to the limit. Be the best cog in the gears, the strongest link in the chain. Smile and take comfort in knowing that regardless of anything else, you have made an effort.

May 21st.

That’s when it all ends.  According to Harold Camping:

I’m not going to let a hundred-year old man who looks like a sleazy accountant who rents an office in a strip mall between a Panda Express and a coin-op laundromat tell me a single god-damned thing.

I’m not going to slow down when my geriatric neighbor is out walking his dog with his pants pulled up to his droopy gray mantits and yells at me to drive slower than 60 in a residential neighborhood while feebly thrusting his geriatric claw in my direction.

I’m not going to let an old woman with a beard (because, let’s face it, once you have at least 14 hairs on your chin that are over a half-inch in length, it’s a fucking beard), wearing a muumuu that may have actually been a shower curtain from Big Lots, cut in front of me in line at the store when I have two items and she has fourteen items just because she’s so old that her vagina is lined with asbestos.

If there was an occasion where I happened to be alone with someone so old that they still call African Americans “darkies”, and I needed to know what time it was, I would build a sundial, learn how to read said sundial, and tell the time that way, before I would ask him to pull out his menthol smelling, polished-daily pocket watch that he got at his retirement party from the Packard assembly line factory and tell me some ridiculous story as he bought himself some time and tried to read the numbers that were too tiny for his plaquey cloudy eyes.

So why the holy fuck would I listen to this gizzard-necked, paper-bag faced man who looks like he can kick his testicles around like soccer balls when he tells me that the world is going to end on May 21st?

Maybe I’m being too harsh.

If I really think about it, I know that there is one situation where I might lend credence to the old fuck’s words.  If, on May 20th, Harold Camping cashes out every penny in every account he owns, sells every piece of property and every right to every intellectual property that is even partially associated to his name, and gives it all to me, I’ll support him to the end of the world . . .err, the next day.

First, some background:

1.  Holly uses Jill’s blog to rant in a poorly-written post about fat people in scooters at Disney. It’s not funny, it misses the mark, and the comments go from cruel to butt-hurt to insane.

2.  Jenny takes umbrage with the sentiments.

3.  So does Erin.

Now, my take:

If you’re contemplating going to a theme park for a day of rides and happiness and fun, but every time you stand up you hear a faint sound of your ankles crying in terror, stay the fuck home.

Yes, people of all sizes on scooters can be annoying at Disney, but so are double and triple scooters and kids on leashes who run across the entire walkway and people who don’t know how to walk in a straight line and parents who only have an infant and no other children but drag their crying fucking baby to the park and guests who don’t understand what a shower or deodorant means and people who stop abruptly without consideration of another fucking soul on Earth.

You get over it, because you’re there to have fun, not complain and bitch at every turn.   And I know that whenever I see someone in a scooter, I usually assume that they have a legitimate reason for it.

BUT.  When I see someone topping the scale at 400-600 pounds using the park as their own personal racing arena, ignorant of the fact that other people are trying to walk, clasping their ice cream or turkey leg or kettle corn in one hand, I’m more than annoyed.  I’m disgruntled.

Obesity is an epidemic in our society, and there are different reasons for it.  Some are medical, but most are based on the simple fact that you are eating more calories than you are burning.  I know this, because I was extremely obese, weighing 420 pounds, and now I’m just merely obese, hovering around 290.  And when I ate less than I burned, I lost weight.  It’s like fucking magic.

I still went to theme parks.  And I couldn’t walk through a turnstile or go on most of the rides and I was out of breath and my back hurt and I sweated more than any human being should sweat.  I can’t even imagine reaching a point where I needed a scooter.

Some people might argue that the grossly obese need to use scooters so that they don’t become hermits and so that they can experience the world.  Fuck that.  If you’re so fucking fat that you can’t move on your own, we need to stop helping you feel like that’s okay and that’s normal.  Get to a doctor.  Have surgery.  Waste away in bed.  Anything is better than feeling like it’s okay to weigh 600 pounds and only be able to wash yourself with a rag on a stick.  It’s NOT okay.  Stay the fuck out of theme parks, stay the fuck off of the sidewalk on your little fucking Rascal scooter, and do something about it.

And if you read this post and you want to comment that you’re offended, think about if for a second.  Do you have a weight problem?  That’s okay – I do, too.  Lots of people do.  I’m not talking about you.  Do you use a scooter for medical reasons?  That’s okay – I’m not talking about you.  Do you weigh over 500 pounds and use a scooter because you’re a fat fuck who can’t move on your own?  I am talking about you.  You may be as offended as you want.

After being sick for a week, and then out of town for a party in Lexington, Kentucky, yesterday was the day that I finally caught up on the thousand plus blogs that were mocking me from the depths of my feedreader.  One of the posts I read was Loukia’s post about annoyances, and I thought I’d turn it into a post of my own as well.

What annoys me?

• A couple who sits on the same side of a booth or table at a restaurant.  For fuck’s sake, you can’t have a real conversation sitting like that, and if you really need to make physical contact throughout your entire goddamn meal, just hold hands across the table or put your feet in each other’s respective crotches.
• Speed limits on major highways.  I think if we removed all speed limits on interstates and major roads, you’d see that the speeds would normalize.  I’m going to drive 90-95 miles an hour regardless of a little metal white sign that tells me how fast other people should be driving, so fast drivers aren’t going to drive faster without speed limits.  People will drive at the speeds at which they feel safe driving.
• The lack of attention people pay to their surroundings. For example, waiting in line to go through security at the airport with SIX BAJILLION signs telling you to have your ID and boarding pass out, and announcements being made all around you to the same effect, yet there’s one idiot who has never flown before who has to fumble for his wallet to pull out his ID and then find his boarding pass which he’s managed to misplace in the walk from the airline counter to security.
• Emailing, commenting, or texting like you are a 12-year old who had a stroke and can’t use one hand or see out of either eye.  If I have to sound out the letters you are writing to figure out what the holy fuck you’re saying, I’m not going to read it.  That means you too, Mom.
• This whole “one space after a period” thing.  NO.  I don’t give a flying shit if the two space rule only came about because of monospacing on typewriters.  It looks cleaner, it’s easier to read, and I.  WILL.  PUT.  TWO.  GODDAMN.  SPACES.
• Parents who think that children shouldn’t have fun.  When I read about people like the Tiger Mother and those who support her extreme, draconian way of child-rearing, it just frustrates me.  It is NOT okay to prevent your child from having fun.  It IS bad parenting.  YOU ARE A BAD PARENT.
• Sour grapes.  If you don’t get sponsored to go somewhere, if you can’t afford to take a trip somewhere, if you didn’t get chosen for anything, yes, it sucks.  Bitching about the people who are doing things you wish you could is petty, obnoxious, and probably indicative of why you’re sad and bitter and not being chosen.
• Ryan Gosling.  I’m sorry – I’ve seen “The Notebook” and “Blue Valentine” and he’s just dead fucking weight.  He constantly looks like he just shit his pants, and I think that’s his type of method acting.  Go do something else instead.  Go be a great method construction worker or something.  Please.

I’m interested to hear what your pet peeves are as well, unless one of them is “people who make lists of their pet peeves” because that’s been done before and by someone better than you.  So, what annoys you?

On Friday, a movie called “Gnomeo and Juliet” will be entering theaters.  It is, as the dumbest of you probably figured out, a re-imagining of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, involving garden gnomes that come to life when humans aren’t looking.

I’m begging you, even if your little snot-nosed shit angel begs you to take him or her or it to go see this, please don’t.  I fear that if this movie finds an audience, it may mean the end of our world as we know it.

It’s a slippery slope, you see.  If this shit-fest of a movie (and if you don’t think it’s going to be a shit-fest, watch the preview or just realize that it’s A FUCKING GARDEN GNOME VERSION OF SHAKESPEARE) earns any revenue, in spite of the absolutely dreadful reviews that you know it’s going to receive, it’s all downhill.

Next, we’ll have additional garden gnome versions of classic literature and classic movies.  I can just picture them now – “Sherlock Gnomes”.  ”When Gnomey Met Sally”.  ”Romancing the Gnome”.  ”Indiana Gnomes and the Temple of Gnome.”  ”Forrest Gnome”.  ”Gnoming to America”.

Idiots will flock to these movies by the thousands, and the studios will cackle evilly as they rake in money.  ”What else can we do?  What other anthropomorphism can we use to bastardize movies, appeal to the lowest common denominator, and dumb down the world even further?”

And that’s when the pink flamingo, lawn jockey, and rooster weather vane movies will start to trickle out.  And society will go to those movies, and our collective IQ will continue to diminish.

Then, one day, some movie executive is going to be touting his success with the gnome and flamingo and lawn jockey movies to a TV executive.  And that TV executive is going to mull it over, and he’s going to pitch a TV show idea that revolutionizes the industry.

“It’s a reality show, but here’s the twist.  Instead of humans, we use garden gnomes and lawn jockeys and pink flamingos!  And then we just position them in a house and shoot them at clever angles so they’re looking at each other meaningfully and we play music like Imogen Heap and Death Cab for Cutie for a solid hour.  We sprinkle product placement throughout the shots, and then end with a montage.  It will be like printing money!”

And the executive will be right.  It will be the highest rated television show of all time, will win every possible Emmy, and the world will once again get collectively stupider.

And one day, someone will wake up when their iGnome rings, take a shower and use Head & Gnomeders shampoo, sit down at the breakfast table, read the New York Gnomes about President Barack Gnomebama, eat their Cinnamon Gnome Crunch, and then kiss their Gnome wife and go to work at Goognome.

That’s how the end of the world happens.  Not with a bang. Not with an announcement.  It just creeps up on you, and one day, you’re ruled by the Gnomes.

And if you go to see “Gnomeo and Juliet” this weekend, you will be responsible for the end of society as we know it.  Do you really want that responsibility on your shoulders?

In other Avita-news, what are you doing tonight at 9 PM EST? If you’re smart, you’re listening to the second episode of CYR on Talkshoe!

I suggest creating an account on Talkshoe, and downloading the Talkshoe Pro client – it will let you listen in and join the chatroom even easier. I’ll be talking about life, Valentine’s Day, sex, porn, masturbation, marriage, and probably performing my entire stand-up set that I’ve been practicing.

Join us tonight at 9 PM EST!

Progress Energy is the utilities company for Florida and the Carolinas, and the worst one I’ve ever had the displeasure of relying on to provide my electricity.  Their standards are so poor that even on mild days, transformers blow and entire neighborhoods lose power. Somehow in a state that is hurricane-prone, Progress Energy can’t get their fucking act together enough to make sure that their grid can resist a mild wind.  I hate you, Progress Energy.  I hate you so much that these are a few of the things that I hate less than you:

• Pedobooks
• Glenn Beck
• Speed limits
• Food with bones
• Reality TV
• The Lord of the Rings movies
• Chick fil-A being closed on Sundays
• Watching sports
• Anal prison rape
• Westboro Baptist Church
• People who don’t know the difference between “your” & “you’re”, “their”, “they’re” & “there”, or “its” & “it’s”.
• Tyler Perry movies
• Rush Limbaugh
• Bad breath
• Terrorists

Fuck you, Progress Energy.