A few weeks ago I posted the following status update on Facebook:
There’s nothing I loathe more than a mouthy self-checkout. I will put my onions in the bag when I’m good and fucking ready, asshole.
Subsequent research has proven that’s not true. There are in fact several things I hate more than those infernal machines, including but not limited to…
- People who are taller than me who walk really slow. Come on, Stretch. Move your ass. You got no excuse.
- Shitty bar service. There’s an epidemic of this in Davis Square right now. Stop talking to your fucking friends and pay attention to your customers. If I have to flag you down to order food ten minutes after getting a menu, you’re doing it wrong.
- All the bullshit about how baseball needs more scoring. Remember all those 8-7 Red Sox games from early last season? Those fucking sucked. Meanwhile, the powers-that-be are also rambling on about pace of play. You can have more scoring or you can have a shorter game. These two goals are mutually exclusive. Pick one, ya dinks
- Old farts in big matches at Wrestlemania. I get that the idea is to use stars from the 90s to help get eyes on the new generation, but I still hate it. Goldberg’s going to need oxygen by the time he reaches the end of the ramp. Roman Reigns is only good against dudes he can run at as hard as he can, so yeah, let’s put him in the ring with the ancient fucking Undertaker. And AJ Styles gets the privilege of trying to carry Shane McMahon to something resembling a wrestling match. And they wonder why none of the current wrestlers are household names.
- The idea that we need to protect outdated jobs naturally being fazed out by the market. I’m looking at you, manufacturing and coal mining. The former’s dying due to automation, the latter because natural gas is kicking its ass. It’s like trying to stimulate the ice delivery industry after everybody got a refrigerator. It’s a waste of time, and instead we should be spending that effort on training the people losing these jobs so they can find work in different vocations.
- President Queef Walrus’s stupid face.