Thursday, October 12, 2006
Things Zombie Hates Thursday, With Special Guest El Bastardo, In Absentia
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries
of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
1.) People Using Those Walkie-Talkie Phone Thingies in the Store.
You know what makes me crazy? I mean really crazy, not my usual chipper sort of stream of consciousness yippety-yapping about twenty subjects at once sort of crazy.
And if you've never had the dubious pleasure of having to listen to me do that, count yourself lucky. The rambling thing I do here on the blog is NOTHING compared to how I am when I am talking to someone. It's a wonder EB is not deaf by now. Not because I'm loud, per se, but because he put something sharp in his ear in order to avoid having to listen to me chirp about shoes AND how annoying something is/was AND how I wish death upon such and such AND (insert other random and pointless thing here) at the same time again. I think Skippy blinded himself years ago to avoid having to see my constant rush of blather pour into his IM box and is only pretending he can read now.
The thing what makes me crazy: I am ambling along an aisle at the store and then, "Chiiiiiirrrrrppy chirp chirp cricket, (insert other, more accurate phonetic representation of that hideous noise here), krrriiickkk static can you krrraaaakkkk static some static beer static static please? static glrk."
And then, of course, the person holding the Small Talking Device of Despair couldn't understand that, and so the phone makes that horrible noise again and the person SHOUTS into it, as if that will somehow make things clearer, "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU. I'M AT THE STORE. DO YOU WANT ME TO GET ANYTHING?"
And the cycle repeats. Cricket-thing, static, cricket-thing, screaming. And on and on.
Look, people: obviously this technology isn't all that great. You know why? Because it doesn't usually fucking work, that's why. You can't understand what the person on the other end is saying to you, they can't understand you, you're shouting like a maniac into your hand, and everyone hates you.
Not to mention that the little cricket-thing sound scares the everloving crap out of me every time. For serious, I jump. I almost go "Yipe!" like Scooby Doo.
I never expect to hear that noise, and then there it is and AHHHH. I jump and I have to stifle the Scooby and I really hate that.
It's really hard to make like you're a classy broad while ambling through the store when you're jumping and yipe-ing and Scooby-ing every five seconds because you're surrounded by imbeciles.
To me, this walkie-talkie bullshit appears to be the modern-day equivalent of tin cans and string.
So, People Using Those Damned Things at the Store, I think you'd get better results if you lit a goddamned campfire in the middle of the Mart of Wal and used a bathmat to send smoke signals to your white trash husband, who's sitting on his can at home in front of the television and just remembered he's out of Pabst Blue Ribbon but can't be bothered to actually DIAL your phone number - no, he has to use the neat-o walkie-talkie function.
Except, since I figure you're probably illiterate to begin with, perhaps the smoke signals thing wouldn't work.
"HYE RAM T A STARRRR DUE EWE KNEEED NEFING?"
"YARRR KNEEEEED BEEEEEEEAIR GLRK!"
"WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU."
Oh, just fuck OFF, already.
2.) My New Mailman.
My new mailbox is one of those ones that is attached to the side of my house, right next to my front door. I ADORE this! I do not have to trek across the Bog of Eternal Shoe-Eating in the rain and snow and such anymore! I can just open my front door a crack, snake my arm out there, and stick my mail into the box.
The only downside to this great new mailing experience is that my new mailman appears to be a complete twat.
Ignoring, for a moment, the fact that he's one of those middle-aged, pot-bellied mailmen that insist on wearing the Post Office-issued mailman shorts (and really, no one needs to see your knees, please put them away), he is really crap at his job.
Now, I can imagine that being a mailman is difficult. There's all that driving with your steering wheel on the wrong side of the truck to get used to. Then there's the walking. And the no rain, nor sleet, nor snow getting you a day off from work thing.
But is it that hard to come to my mailbox and remove my mail? I shit you not, people, there is a letter in my mailbox, as we speak, that's been sitting in there for going on 6 days now, something that MIGHT be important to someone SOMEWHERE, but it has not been removed from the mailbox because my mailman is a twat.
This mailman will actually put my new mail in the box - ON TOP OF THE OUTGOING MAIL.
I guess he thinks that if he doesn't feel like it, he doesn't have to take my mail away. I guess he thinks that if he doesn't feel like it, he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to.
Well, I got news for you, Sunny Jim. You may think you're clever, not taking my mail away and always avoiding my surprise ambushes by coming at a different time each day, if you do happen to show up and stuff my junk mail into the box without checking to see if there was something to go out, that is...but I will get you. Oh yes, I will. I will one day be hiding behind a hedge and see you in your little man-shorts chugging along down the street and I will LEAP OUT! I will leap out and I will say, "I HAVE MAIL! OUTGOING MAIL! YOU SHALL TAKE IT, VILE POSTAL WORKER WEARING VILE SHORTS, IF I HAVE TO CRAM IT DOWN YOUR VILE POSTAL WORKER-Y THROAT! Maybe you think you are too good for my mail, but I assure you that you are not. No one could be too good for anything when they're wearing such man-shorts. No one at all. Do you see how I have not only ridiculed your style of dress, but also called you vile? See? I can be mean. Mean and clever. You don't want to fuck with me, Sunny Jim. Get this shit out of my mailbox and be on your merry man-shorts way! ON YOUR WAY, I TELL YOU!"
I think that when I do this, I should be wearing a Viking helmet. Perhaps the kind with the really long braids attached to it. And I could brandish a sword I've made from tin foil. I bet I'd be very menacing. MENACING, I SAY!
3.) This Headache I've Had All Day.
I woke up with the mother of all hangovers this morning. Except I haven't had any alcohol in a couple of months, and I'm pretty sure hangovers don't show up unannounced several months later to lay seige upon your innards.
So I guess I'm just ill. Or something. All I know is that this headache is perhaps the worst headache I've had EVAR. It feels like a troupe of very industrious dwarves (not the cool midget kind - the sucky kind with the pointy hats that live in caves or mines or whatever) have taken up residence in my skull and have been tap-tap-tapping away on the inside of my forehead with their very sharp pick-axes. Which, FUCK! That hurts.
EB's hate coming later, natch.
Now I am going to go lay down and stare at the ceiling until my head stops trying to make me vomit.
link | posted by Zombie at 6:29 PM |
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