Don’t Do It. Don’t be an. . .



I mean that so sincerely that I just Googled HTML font size tags to make sure it caught your attention with the title.

Here are some things that make you an asshat, just so that we all work from the same playbook.

  • Parking in a handicapped spot just prior to JOGGING into the store.
  • Talking on your cell phone while you POINT at pictures on the menu and nod to the waitstaff to place your order
  • Bitching when there are pickles on your sandwich after doing the above because the waiter doesn’t speak mime, and when you double tapped the pickle, he misunderstood you to mean double pickle.
  • Telling my 5-year-old he is rude for refusing to shake the hand of your little guy who just wiped a 5 inch swath of snot across the back of his own hand
  • Not apologizing to someone after berating them for 10 minutes for being late, when you, in fact, were early because you don’t know how to calculate time zones properly.
  • Throwing your McDonald’s leavings out the window of your moving car**
  • If you make a public apology wherein you apologize for any “misunderstanding” of what you said point freaking blank. I’m talking to you Mr. I-respect-same-sex marriage. . . but-I-absolutely-don’t-respect-adoptions-in-gay-families Barilla.
  • Arguing for drug tests in order for people to receive public assistance, because fuck kids***
  • Not reading. This doesn’t make you an asshat unless you choose to BOTH not read, AND to get pissy defending your opinion on anything other than what to have for dinner to anyone with eardrums.

**This is especially egregious if there is another vehicle traveling behind you. Particularly, when it is MY vehicle.

*** And to you, I urge you to turn your tiny little mind to Arizona. Look up how many people they busted with that program. And how much they spent doing it. Read. Something. A ketchup packet might get you started. You know, ease into it.

But today’s Asshat category winner is a jewel among jewels.

You choose to send a private note to a person up in front of a live audience of 100 who is giving a professional demonstration while simultaneously monitoring a question board and trying not to cough as she recovers from a bronchial infection that should have resulted in her calling in sick, but didn’t, because all of the clients’ time, aka YOUR TIME is too precious for her to take a needed personal day.

Especially if that note says,You say ahhh and umm too much.”



3 thoughts on “Don’t Do It. Don’t be an. . .

  1. “Go ahead, make my day.” Ah, I do so wish I could be Harry Callahan when I read shit like this. A hard dose of reality is what these ASSHATS, ASS CLOWNS, ASSHOLES truly need and swiftly. It would be so wonderful to just tell people up front, YOU, MADAM/SIR ARE A TRUE SHIT AND HERE’S WHY… Having been committed and being legally blind allows me a certain latitude to be able to do such things, i.e., the Frankenstein who was behind me idling along in the Grocery store parking lot, as I made my way to the entrance. I could hear him and was close to the entrance. This bastard honked his horn and I almost fell into the gutter. I turned around and yelled, “YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER, I’M BLIND, NOT DEAF! DO YOU GOT SOMEWHERE YOU GOT TO BE, COCKSUCKER?” I tend to lapse into ‘hoodspeak. The problem is while, that self-centered moron may (or may not) be wary of me, he is not going to have any sort of epiphany about how he should treat his fellow man at large. He will continue to do stupid, egregious things like that and once, in a while, get a surprise.

    The problem I believe is just this whole Ayn Rand-Dystopic zeitgeist. There is this enormous sense of entitlement, even among people who have no right to expect such. I do not understand it, but I see it acted out, everyday. When I was homeless, I got into a HUGE fight with a friend of a real friend who commented on one of my posts. I laced into him, explaining, that after 2 highly successful careers, some bad life choices – nothing undoable – but a 3rd divorce that was ugly and lasted for years and the loss of a house and my health, I became homeless at age 54, when I lost my house after a 2-year fight to keep it. It wasn’t part of any life plan. But, ah, the stigma. So, I’m not entitled, although others in my current “peer” group believe they are. I hear it all out on the streets, bad mama daddy, no money, just need 15 cents. Stuff it. I had a REALLY shitty childhood; that’s why I never had kids and aborted the one time I did get pregnant. No regrets, because at 57, I’m still a hot mess.

    Along with that, we have the ever-increasing rise of violence within the U.S. of A. itself. Old Mom and Apple Pie have been swapped out for an AK-47, or Bushmeister .223 for higher kill-counts and body armor. The easier to focus your unfocused deranged rage with, or at. I never could get those straight. The beautiful thing about anger, rage or fury, is that you are alive. The ugliest thing is that it is usually felt and used by people who have no earthly idea of what it’s for or how to use it. It’s atavistic. It’s born of the old “flight or fight’ response, I believe. Since we no longer migrate over tundras, we can no longer flee, thus we must turn and fight. But how? In a “civilized” society, our options are so limited as to be non-existent.

    One can be an old broken-down 57 year-old violist and computer engineer, who had the good fortune to go blind and get committed for having a psychotic break. I can be pretty terrifying in person. Or, you can be like Harlan Ellison, an author I read as a kid. Just because I had one of the most dysfunctional childhoods ever, and who hasn’t, my folks made sure I was a very well-read little Asperger kid. I read James Thurber, Bram Stoker, Robert Louis Stevenson, along with Ellison, and more modern authors. I heard an intervew with Ellison on NPR 4 or 5 years ago and something he said stuck with me. He said, “I get up every morning, mad. Just mad as hell at the world.”

    I think that was my mom’s problem and also mine. Once I admitted I wasn’t happy with the state of the world it was easier to acknowledge my own fury at all of it. My poor mom tried to make believe it was this happy, sunny place, when, it isn’t. She learned, though, and she became just this most awesome woman. The woman she was meant to be. I hope I make it there. Beautiful, Lynnette. xoxox


  2. I very much enjoy the naughty words. And people who also enjoy them make my day. A number of people seem to be of the mind that I am a Mom, so I should talk like June Cleaver. Something I am certain would eventually drive me to stick my head in an oven. Glad you enjoyed your visit!


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