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Thursday, November 16, 2006

Things Zombie Hates Thursday


1.) People That Mix Up "Phase" and "Faze."

Dear sweet bleedin' Jesus, I hate it when people mix those words up. Well, really it's that people don't seem to be aware that the word "faze" exists. Every time I see someone write something like, "He was unphased by the commotion," or, "The insults did not phase her," I just want to slap a fat kid.

And not in the good way, either.

Listen up, chumps!

Faze means to cause something to be disconcerted. In other words, to cause something to be disturbed or bothered.

Phase, however, has many definitions, but of the most common, I will give you two: a stage in a process, or an aspect or point of view.

Okay? Please fucking stop using "phase" when it should be "faze."


2.) People That Think They Can Somehow Keep Their Little Corner of the Interwebs Private.

The Interwebs is not a private place. If you put something on your blog, on a messageboard, in a chat room, on a profile, on your dumbass MySpace - it's public. (Unless you lock it, which you CAN do with some things - not that there aren't ways to get around that, probably.)

Do not post private information that you only want a select few people to see and then get all self-righteously indignant when a whole bunch of other people find it, read it, and possibly make fun of you.

For example, let's say you frequent a website with many messageboards. Let's say that, during a discussion, you disclose some private information about yourself. Then, let's say, someone you didn't want to know this information about you uses it to crack jokes. Then you're upset! How dare someone use private information you only meant for a select few individuals to be privy to against you?

Well, hello. You put it out there on the web. The web owns it now. So don't act all startled and start whining about it.

You see this sort of thing a lot in chat rooms, too. Two people are having a conversation in the open room. Someone else interjects an opinion and then OH NOEZ, this is a private conversation and you are not allowed to express your opinions on it! Even though it's taking place in the open room.

Fucking retards. Get over yourselves.

3.) The Holiday Season (Reason the First).

I say "Reason the First" because I just know there are going to be a bunch more to come.

I hate how the holiday season brings out all of the door-to-door religion salesmen. Last week, it was the damned Jehovah's Witnesses. This week, it was the damned Mormons.

I was feeling rather blighted the day they showed up. I am having an FMS flare-up right now and it's making me see everything through a grey haze of apathy. Except for when I'm seeing everything through a red haze of homicidal mania, of course.

Fortunately for Elders Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Fucktard, I was deep into the whole apathy portion of the evening when they knocked on my door, and even after hauling my half-dead carcass all the way across the living room, only to open the door to see two freakin' MORMONS on the porch, I could not summon up enough residual energy to yell at them or say anything blasphemous.

Instead, I said, "Oh. That's a very nice coat you have on," smiled vaguely, and promptly shut the door.

This did not stop them, though, from leaving a little glossy card with "JOY TO THE WORLD" written on it in flowing, ethereal script, accompanied by a picture of the Virgin Mary goggling at the Lil' Baby Jesus as he lay in his manger, and various men with rags on their heads, holding sticks, looking on in wide-eyed wonder.

On the back, it tells me I can order a free DVD of the Nativity story, complete with music by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. What it doesn't say, though, is that if you order that free DVD, then you've basically signed yourself over to the Mormons and they will come bang on your door and try to tell you about Jesus showing up in Harlem or whatever-the-fuck, every day, for the rest of your natural life.

You know how sometimes when you're outside of an apartment building and, in one of the windows, you catch a glimpse of someone discreetly lifting one bar of the Venetian blinds to peer out at you, and you instantly know it's a crackhead, because that is the one thing all crackheads do, because they're paranoid that you might be the heat or a space squid on the attack?

Well, that'll be you. Except instead of (only) being paranoid about cops or space squids, you'll be lifting that one bar of your Venetian blinds to check for young men in white shirts and little black ties, riding bicycles up and down the street, just yearning to get you into a set of magic underwear.

Oh, the fresh-faced menace that they present. The blinding-white, toothpaste-commercial-smile-worthy madness of it all. The horror. The horror.

Anyway, I was going to take a picture of the card for y'all to see, but I ate it instead.

You'll probably get one, anyway, because, after all, tis the season for bullshit to knock on your front door!

His coat was very nice, though.

4.) The Holiday Season (Reason the Second).

See? I told you there'd be more. And so quickly, too! I even amaze myself sometimes.

Holiday music drives me up a tree. Long ago, when this blog was still called Confessions of a One Hour Photo Girl and I worked the retail during the holiday season, I learned to loathe the very idea of holiday music. The store started playing it well before Thanksgiving. And there appeared to be only one CD, which they put on repeat, and it played all day, every day, until well after New Year's.

That's almost two solid months of "White Christmas" and "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire," and "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." That's enough to make any sane person crazy, don't you think? So now you know another reason why my heart is three sizes too small.

Christmas music did it.

And now, you see, every time I go into a store and I catch the tell-tale strains of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" wafting down from the PA speakers embedded in the ceiling, I am immediately consumed by a fiery rage heretofore only reserved for bicyclists and people that misuse apostrophes.

It makes me want to break stuff and yell at people and spout off overly long monologues about the miseries of abject materialism, the dangers of global warming, the plight of one-legged Mongolian Siamese twins working in the sweatshops of Saipan, and What I Did On My Summer Vacation.

And do you know what I did on my summer vacation? Well, I don't like to say in mixed company, but I can tell you that it did not involve Mannheim Steamroller, "Jingle Bell Rock," or Bing Crosby tapdancing with Danny fucking Kaye.




link | posted by Zombie at 6:11 PM |


Anonymous token commented at 12:36 PM~  

So I've been living in the 'hood for over a year now and I've not been pestered by a single mormon.

Good for me.

Maybe not so good for them. Are they a'scared to go into the hood? Do they not want to indoctrinate all walks of life? Is the lack of blonde-headed-blue-eyed kids roaming the 'hood keep them away?

Answer yes to any of these questions and you, too, should move to the 'hood.

Anonymous Morgaine commented at 8:28 AM~  

This is a little late, family is mormon (and I am not).

When we first moved into our house, they came to our door and I gave them some water (because my brother in law was on a mission, and so I do feel some sympathy for the poor my nephew will probably go on a mission also and I can only hope people will be nice to give him a glass of water...) and told them that I was related to LDS but that I wasn't interested. That it wasn't for me.

They haven't bothered me since. Probably found out my name somehow and saw "Devil Woman" and decided I wasn't worth it.

Or something.

Though if they did come back I would give them something to drink again...

Blogger Zombie commented at 10:36 AM~  

I'll keep the water thing in mind.

Can I put some coffee in it, though?

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