December Hateful: Day 2

Okay people.  It's day 2 on the December Hateful list.  I was driving in to the office this morning, enjoying a cop of coffee and trying to think of something that I hate enough to actually write about.  I had nothing.  I don't know what the deal was.  Maybe a lack of caffeine.  Anyways, I continued the rest of my voyage without any thought.

As usual, I stop in at one of the local convenience stores for the days provisions.  As I enter the building, I notice this odd looking couple just standing in the middle of the store and they were wearing their pajamas.  When did this become an acceptable thing?  I gave them a good looking over to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me and sure enough... his and hers flannel pajamas, right out there in public for everyone to see.

Now, these people were positioned in such a fashion that it wasn't going to be easy to maneuver around them and get to the products I was going to need.  As soon as I realized this, I made a sharp right and headed to the restroom in order to recycle the coffee I drank on the way in. 

I position myself in front of the throne and begin to take care of business.  I finish up, zip up, buckle the belt and head to the sink to wash my hands.  I wave my hand under the automatic soap dispenser, get an appropriate amount of soap and wash my hands, just like momma taught me.  I grab a paper towel, dry my hands, again proving to momma that I am a big boy and reach out to grab the door handle.

That's when it happens.  There is something on the door handle.  I don't know what it is and that scares the shit out of me.  I remember the idiot dude in his pajamas out in the front of the store and I picture him having some kind of perverted, convenience store bathroom sex ritual with the door handle.  I'm convinced that this is what happened but am hoping he is one of those special sickos that just likes to walk around and lick door knobs, as if that might be better. 

Back into the bathroom I go, gagging.  Now I break out in a hot sweat.  Are these 2 pajama wearing degenerates Al Qaeda and have they just successfully liquid anthraxed my ass?  I am so grossed out by the viscous fluid on my hands that I cannot rub them together, so I just keep waving my hand under the soap dispenser until I have about a half of a quart of this foamy soapy shit all over the place. 

I have the water cranked on full blast, as hot as it can get.  I keep cussing, crying and gagging, hoping this shit will get off my hands but its not happening.  I grab a wad of toilet paper and paper towels and try to remove the stuff this way.  Guess what?  That ain't working either.  This stuff is like a semi transparent baby shit.  Towels and toilet paper isn't picking it up but rather just moving it around.  Now I am really grossed out and manage to puke in the urinal.

Had I not just puked on the urinal mint, I would have picked it out of the pisser and scrubbed down with that fucking thing, but no way was I going to add coffee puke and urinal mint juice to this blatant act of terrorism.

Back to the sink!  I've got my coat and shirt off, and it looks like I am getting ready to take a bath in the sink.  I broke the air freshener dispenser off the wall and discharged the entire can all over my hands and arms.  In my fury, I accidentally sprayed  some of this shit into my left eye and now I find myself half naked, half blind, staggering around a convenience store cussing to myself.  I managed to trip over my coat and I land on the floor.  Now I am wallowing around in all of this sick shit and I begin to think of all of the fine diseases I am about to pick up.  Typhoid, the plague and ass herpes all cross my mind.  And at this point, I am sure that I will be dead by noon.

I somehow manage to get my shit together and get dried off and semi cleaned up.  I get my shirt back on, put my coat back on and leave the restroom, and guess who is standing in front of me?  Pajama boy!  I nudged him out of the way, grabbed my provisions and made my way to the counter.  The clerk asked, "Is everything okay?" 

And that is what got me!!!  I replied, "Man, you know god damned well that everything is not okay! You heard me cussing, gagging, puking, and falling down and breaking things in the shitter.  I come out of the son of a bitch looking like a used up hooker who took first place in the bukake catching contest and you are going to ask me "Is everything okay"?  Yeah, pal... everything is wonderful.  Give me the usual and I am out of here."

Before I exit the store, the pajama people do.  Apparently the just came in, did some sick shit to the door handle, hung out and awaited their victim and then left.  Out of all of that, I hate the stupid question.... "Is everything okay."

Here it is, hours later and I still don't feel okay.  I suppose I will make it.  Perhaps a go fund me account will help and I can install a 400 lbs vat of that hand sanitizer shit on the Stunt Truck for any other unfortunate encounter I may have in my future.  Maybe I will just go have a glass of whiskey and a good cry.  "Is everything okay?"  The only answer to that question from here on out is, "Fuck you."

December hateful.....

December Hatefuls: Day 1

Christmas music.  I hate it.  In my opinion, there is only 1 good Christmas song and it is Chuck Berry's "Run, Run Rudolph".  In my head and perhaps only in my head, that is a fact and the whole hearted, fully thought out truth. 

But its not so much that I hate Christmas music that has me pissed off this morning.  Nope.  I read an article in the newspaper this morning about a radio station that has decided to drop playing at least one song because it might offend someone in the #metoo movement.  That's what I am most hateful for today.  This radio station doesn't want to offend the 7 idiots wearing vagina hats that doesn't like that song.

I remember a day when, if a song came on the radio that you didn't like, you turned the dial.  That's it.  Nobody was offended.  Nobody felt the need to write a 1000 word essay into their local newspaper's op/ed page revealing their true feelings about how a song could be so hurtful. 

I did research on this.  I asked 100 people, "If a song comes on the radio that you do not like, what do you do?"  Not one person said, "I find time to be offended."  Not fucking one! 

We've gotten to the point in this country where we are looking for things to be offended by then think  everyone else on the globe has to understand and offer up some empathy statements.  If shit like a horrible Christmas song offends you, you aren't paying attention.  If shit like a horrible Christmas song offends you, do something useful and go fuck yourself.  Nobody wants to hear you talk for 30 minutes about how you find the song "Baby its Cold Outside" offensive.  Nobody.

Better than that, how do you find the time to to be offended by a fucking song?  Why do you feel it necessary to take time out of your day, to form an opinion, stew on it, let it get you so worked up that you deem it necessary to demand that people hear you out?  Nobody cares... its you... its a dumb fucking song.... turn the station or shut the radio off.  Quit complaining or I am going to send one of Santa's elves on steroids over to your house to kick the ever loving shit out of you with an ax handle.  When that happens, you can be offended.  Until then, shut your god damned yule hole and be thankful.

My name is Brice Dudley, and I approve this message.  If this offends you, nobody cares.