Thursday, August 24, 2006
Things Zombie Hates Thursday, With Special Guest El Bastardo, In Absentia
Run, motherfucker, run!
1.) Half-assed compliments.
I have gotten many half-assed compliments in my short yet unbearably cool and sexy life.
Half-assed compliments are those ones where someone, usually unintentionally, says something that is supposed to be nice, but ends up being...well, not.
Examples of half-assed compliments that have been paid to me:
"You don't look that bad, Zombie's Real Name."
"You're not that fat, Zombie's Real Name."
"You look pretty good for having had two kids."
"Are you ever self-conscious about your very large forehead? Not that it bothers me. I like large foreheads. I'm just curious."
Example of a half-assed compliment paid to a friend of mine:
"Well, see, those hot girls are the kind of girls you just want to bang. You're the kind of girl you want to settle down and have kids with."
Example of a half-assed compliment I overheard once:
"I think it's really cool that we have a lot of the same opinions on this, especially when you're so old."
Let's examine this.
"You're not that fat." Okay, so I'm fat...but not that fat. I'm fat, but not hugegantic, ginormous, big-enough-to-have-my-own-moons-orbiting-around-my-ass fat.
And the one about the kind of girl you want to bang vs. the kind of girl you want to settle down with? Yeah. What that really says is, "Those chicks are super-hot and way out of my league. You are not super-hot and therefore not out of my league. While I would prefer to settle down with the super-hot chick, she would most likely have nothing to do with me. But you...you are the kind of girl I could settle for. I assume you might be grateful to have me, since you are not super-hot and therefore cannot get any man you want and maybe are slightly desperate. If you are grateful to have me, you won't mind bearing my children, picking up my dirty socks or putting up with my pathetic attempts at foreplay. All in all, that makes you my kind of girl."
Let's not forget the "you're so old" comment. This was said to an attractive lady in her early 40s. She is not old. She is not 70 and in need of a walker. What that comment is saying, though, is, "Wow, I can't believe you and I have anything remotely in common, as when I look at you, I see ancient vagina and I can't fathom that an ancient vagina might be so hip as to think anything similar to what I think. Because I am young and cool."
And the forehead comment. Oh, that was the best ever. I will always remember that one. The answer to "Are you ever self-conscious about your very large forehead?" is "Well, no...I mean, not until just now, anyway. Thanks for that. And it sure is good to know that my giant alien forehead doesn't bother you. Thank you for deigning to be attracted to me despite my giant alien forehead. I am so glad there is someone in the world that is so accepting of the flaws in others. So...just...thank you for you."
Now, please bear in mind that all of these half-assed compliments were delivered by men, to women. I am fully aware that when these males said these things, they had no idea what they sounded like -- which is to say, complete assholes. I think that, in their minds, they were delivering awesome compliments from on high that should be met with accolades and laurels and perhaps blowjobs.
After such a half-assed compliment is delivered, the receiver usually responds with a blank stare or a look like, "Wait, did you just say what I heard you say? GOD."
Which is followed by the deliverer going, "What? What'd I say? WHAT?"
"Gee, honey, I'm glad you temper your admiration for my body with a tinge of reality. I sure wouldn't want someone to overlook the fact that my thighs are a bit wobbly when paying me a compliment. I'm glad you know I'm fat, but really, since you also know I'm not that fat, I am terribly flattered."
Men are not the only ones that deliver these compliments, but I think they are the only ones that deliver them unwittingly on a regular basis.
I have heard women do this, too. Though, with women, it's harder to tell if they know what they're saying or not. Women are, by nature, catty and prone to saying nasty things in a nice tone of voice.
Let this be a lesson to you all that do this: if you can't say something completely nice, don't say it at all. A half-assed compliment is NOT better than no compliment at all. I would much rather hear the sound of silence than some idiot telling me I don't look as bad as I used to. Because telling me I don't look as bad as I used to implies that I used to look fucking bad and now I just look less bad.
Less bad =/= good.
Less bad = less bad, as in "bad, but not quite so terrible as before." Absorb this. Understand this. And shut your fucking mouth.
PS - I'm not fat. I'm big-boneded.
2.) People that ask for my "honest opinion" and then get upset.
Look. I am not long on the tact. Nor am I quiet or a shrinking violet. My Brain to Mouth Filter is, on a good day, only barely functioning.
Anyone that has known me for more than five minutes should realize this. In fact, since I broadcast this about myself all the time, you don't even have to realize it on your own little oddy-knocky. Just hear it and take it at face-value.
But still people ask for my "honest opinion" and then get pissed off at whatever I say.
Well, SORRY. You ASKED. If you didn't want to hear it, why did you ask? And why did you ask me, of all people?
Did you think I would not be honest? Did you think you were somehow special and therefore not subject to my honesty?
So, next time, let's not play this game, O my brothers.
If you want to know what I honestly think, then ask for my honest opinion.
If you want to hear platitudes and have your ego lovingly stroked, then ask for that. Say, "Zombie, I would like to know what you think about this, but I would like you to tell me in such a way that I may continue to undeservedly feel good about myself and blindly gambol through life on a bed of sunshine and daisies."
Better yet, don't ask me at all. I'm not good at making people feel good about themselves even when I'm telling the truth. If I have to strain and lie about it, it's just going to make me feel vaguely itchy. And I don't like itchy, vaguely or otherwise, and might still end up trampling your fragile psyche by saying something like, "Wow, this is the best poem I have ever read! You fucking rock! And you give me a rash! An itchy, nasty rash! MY SKIN FLAMES FROM HAVING TO TELL YOU THAT YOUR PIECE OF SHIT POEM IS GREAT BECAUSE IT'S NOT GREAT AND YOU MAKE ME ITCH. SO THERE."
3.) People who give Jesus credit for their good fortune.
...especially if that good fortune is the result of some hard work on the part of other people or yourself.
Look, Jesus did not go to your job and do your work and earn your money and deposit your checks and pay your bills on time and earn you good credit and buy your new car. YOU DID.
Jesus did not decide to turn your life around and stop you from ruining your life by drinking/gambling/fucking hookers with syphilis of the gums/stealing/lying/cheating/wife beating/children beating/mother raping/FATHER raping/enjoying the musical stylings of Britney Spears. No, if you stopped all those things, YOU DID.
Stop giving credit for YOUR hard work to some invisible cosmic daddy in the sky. It was YOUR hard work that gave you your good fortune, or it was the hard work of someone around you that gave you your good fortune. Have some self-respect. Recognize when you've done a good job and give yourself a pat on the back. Don't denigrate those around you that helped you by basically saying that their work means nothing because your Jesus is responsible for this boon, not them.
If your good fortune came to you via a stroke of good luck and no doing of your own, then you can thank Jesus or purple rabbits or flying monkeys or Zebibobo the Pagan Pink Unicorn of Death, for all I care.
But if you worked for it, thank yourself. Otherwise, you're annoying and stupid and I hate you.
4.) People that take forever to make a point that doesn't make sense.
I go into a blind rage every time I am around someone that opens his mouth only to have...absolutely nothing come out.
If you have something to say, please say it. In a timely manner. Do not say, "Uhhhhh...." for 15 minutes. Do not say, "Well, I think....uh...uhm...I don't know how to say it, exactly, but it's like...when you...uh...uhm....you know?" No, I don't know, because you haven't told me. I don't think that you know, either. You're wasting air and time. And you're making everyone around you uncomfortable. So knock it off.
Think before you speak.
It's not hard. It's a simple process. You are in a discussion. You have something to say. You think about what you want to say - you don't have to think forever, just long enough to be able to have a coherent sentence come out of your mouth - and then you open your mouth and you let that sentence come out.
Whew, that was easy, wasn't it? If you find any part of that process difficult, you shouldn't be talking at all. If your brain moves too slowly to be able to coherently form a sentence, then just don't talk. We're all better off not hearing what you don't have to say.
Do not come to my door to try to sell me something or get me to donate to something. I do not have any money. And if I did have some money, chances are I don't want to spend it on whatever crap you're peddling about.
If I wanted to buy whatever crap is in your little catalog or donate my pennies to a worthy cause, I would do it on my own. I am not languishing around the house, just hoping that someone will knock on my door and present me with the charitable giving opportunity of a lifetime.
Yes, I realize being a door-to-door salesman is rough. I realize it's hard to go from house to house, begging for money for the Society for Confederate Widows and Orphans of Policemen Killed in Action on the Banks of the Polluted Body of Water That We Must Clean Now Lest All the Fish Be Lost Forever and Ever Amen in Partnership with the American Red Cross Please Give Money and Blood If You Have That One Blood Type That's Universal But Not If You Have Some Crap Blood Type We Don't Want, Hey, By The Way, Support the Pistons. That must be rough. I get it. I'm sorry.
The reason it's rough is that no one likes you. Don't ring my doorbell. Don't corner me in my driveway. Don't snag me by my mailbox. I am not standing by my mailbox, ogling my ridiculous energy bill, just HOPING some jackwad with a backpack and a clipboard will accost me and ask me to give money to the fucking Sierra Club.
I DO NOT HAVE ANY MONEY. Have you SEEN my energy bill lately? Jesus!
Still, even if I did have money, I wouldn't give it to you. I like money. When I have some, I like to hang onto it or buy shoes with it or use it for some other purpose I see fit to use it for.
So, don't bother me.
And if you DO bother me, don't continue to bother me after I've already declined to help fund schools for one-legged, hare-lipped 8-year-olds in Lower Mongolia.
Do not go for the "second ask." I know what the "second ask" is and I know that you will then go for the "third ask" and "fourth ask," if I do not shut you down immediately.
Look into my eyes. See the hate there. Never send to know for whom the hate tolls. It tolls for thee.
In conclusion, I SAID "NO," SUCKA!
6.) Power Outages
El Bastardo will not be appearing on today's post, because as we were getting ready to put it together, his power went out.
He informs me that he called the power company and was told that a customer had been digging and that's what has caused the outage.
All I want to know is this: WHY on EARTH would someone be digging in the middle of the night, let alone digging deep enough to mangle the lines? WHY?
The only explanation I can come up with is that this person was digging a grave in his wife's vegetable patch. He's burying a body. The police better go check that shit out. They may find a severed head nestled amongst the rows of wax beans.
Look, I don't really give a toss if you want to bury a body in your vegetable garden under the cloak of night, but, next time, can you be a little more careful so you don't cause a fucking power outage?
Your little shenanigans are ruining our good time. Your right to bury dismembered limbs stops where our good time begins.
So let's just have a little respect and common courtesy up in this bitch, okay? Thanks.
Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. Try the flounder!
link | posted by Zombie at 5:07 PM |
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