This Week in Anger: Bears, Balloons & Belligerence

7:00 AM | Comments (0) | by Adam Blank

The Bears lost to the Falcons last night. I'm still trying to come to terms with this. Since each football team only plays 16 games in the regular season, my quick math skills tell me I should feel roughly 10x angrier at a Bears loss than a Cubs loss. Judging from the nausea I felt after the Bears didn't convert on that final 4th & 6, that equation seems adequate. With concentrated rage still festering inside me, I have decided to unleash my fury at anything and everything that has pissed me off this past week...

The Balloon Boy: I'll admit it. I thought the whole thing was hilarious even before he was found safely "hiding in the attic." But looking back on this hoax perpetrated by fame-crazed nut jobs, this entire thing seems so desperate and ugly. Now I understand how my ex's feel...

Anyway, fuck you, six-year-old Balloon Boy. You were the first Falcon to piss me off this week, but not the last.

Other People Buying Me Clothes: I know I dress poorly. Most of my t-shirts have unexplainable bleach stains on them. Of the 3 pairs of jeans I own, two were purchased at the flea market. If I lose a button on a shirt, I have been known to sew on a new one of a different size & color, and then paint them all black with a Sharpie so they'll match. I get it; I suck at dressing myself.

Still, anyone assuming they know enough about me to buy me clothing is both instantaneously creepy and arrogant. Would these people feel secure enough in their presumed knowledge of my tastes & preferences to buy pornography for me?

"Here, I saw this in the store and thought of you..."











Hell no they wouldn't. Because it's weird & wrong. Besides, just like pornography, there's an overwhelming probability that their clothing purchase will be kept hidden like a dirty little secret that I don't want my friends to find out about.


Anybody Who Says the Word "Delish": This one is for the ladies...If I had enough testosterone to grow hairs on the back of my neck, they'd be standing every single time I hear one of you use this word. Thanks to Facebook, whenever some female I know cooks something remotely edible, they post a status update to tell the world that their Lentil & Blue Cheese Muffins were "delish." And while seeing it written is upsetting enough, hearing it spoken is beyond infuriating. Ladies, what happened to the ending? Did your uterus contract when you try to add the "-ious" part, somehow causing this malformed word to leave your lips as a kind of linguistic abortion? I don't know how that shit works. If that's not the case, for fuck's sake, use the entire word! Or at least abbreviate "scrumptious," because if you shorten it to "scrumpt," it sounds like you made something vaguely filthy and sexual. And that's way more fun to ponder while I mindlessly block out your narration of a boring cooking story.

Telling Non-Transferable Work Stories: Speaking of boring stories, here's something that everybody has been guilty of at some point in time. You come home from a frustrating day of work. You really don't want to talk to anyone, but your significant other cozies up to you and asks you how your day was. Rather than just sighing "fine...", for some reason you decide to give a lengthy recount of your day; describing the co-workers, policies and corporate culture that nobody could possibly understand if they haven't been working alongside you for the past five years. My friend, you have just told a non-transferable work story.

The poor bastard hearing your saga tuned-out the moment you used the word "productivity" and they're giving you feedback based solely on your inflection and facial cues while thinking of limbs they'd be willing to part with in exchange for you shutting the fuck up. Deep down inside, you're well aware that nobody can empathize with your position & work environment, but you plod along with your boring story of idiot co-workers and dreary paperwork anyway.

People Who Insist on Describing Their Dreams: And while we're on the subject of shit people should shut up about, let's get dreams out of the way. In the past week, I've had no fewer than 3 dreams recounted for me. Why do people feel the need to do this? Dreaming is an uncontrolled function of the brain. As such, it is an involuntary biological function. And while I usually find humor in a well-timed fart, you can keep any other biological functions to yourself; especially ones as boring as dreams. The real kicker is that the person recounting their dreams always seems so fucking impressed with themselves for interpreting the random firing of synapses into a vaguely coherent story. Yet they still manage to pat themselves on the back for being able to recognize the obvious illogical nature of the plot. Wake up and smell the coffee, dreamers; Nobody else cares about your wacky nonlinear story that didn't actually happen anyway!

People Pestering Me To Watch A Certain T.V. Show:
I don't think most people fully understand the severity of this infraction. Being unemployed, I watch a lot of T.V. Mostly sports, late-night reruns of 80's sitcoms, and Girls Gone Wild infomercials. In actuality, I watch very little current programming. The few contemporary shows I do watch mean a lot to me. While I personally believe that television has reached a Golden Age in terms of the amount of quality programming available, I don't have the time or patience to follow everybody's ridiculous suggestions. Nowadays, even bad sitcoms have linear plots that would require days of unending DVD viewing to catch up on their backstories. With the fall television season beginning, I'm overwhelmed with people giving me tips on how to waste more of my life in front of the television. On my newly minted "Pain in the Ass" scale, suggesting that I begin watching a new television show falls somewhere between learning Urdu in my spare time and adopting a club foot baby. Come on, people! Go read a book. It's much easier to dismiss your poor taste that way.

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