- Words that aren't spelled like they sound. I hate the English language, what a freakin' hodgepodge. Eye before Ee, except after Cee - the rules, they're just plain arbitrary. Strunk and White were drunkards. Every rule of English grammar (See? See? Why is it "grammar" instead of "grammer?" Drunkards, I say) is stolen from a real language. English is the duck-billed platypus of written communications.
- Installation programs that open a dialog box with an indicator bar to gauge the progress of the installation - and when they get to 'zero seconds remaining' they just sit there. Forever. And ever. And for freakin' ever. Goddamn it, there's obviously a few stinking seconds remaining, isn't there? It's like the program is just taunting me. A computer is basically just a fancy clock, would it be so damned hard to show an accurate progress bar? Well, would it?
- The bell on my toaster oven. Hell, the bell, beeper, buzzer, binger, dinger, donger, or ringer on any damned machine. I hate being preemptively summoned by the the toaster. Hate. It. The toaster oven has a loud shrill electronic bell that bleats like a panicked republican at a gay pride parade. Seven times when the toast is done. Seven times. Seven. Jesus Pea Picking Christ on a left-handed chrome-plated gas-powered pogo stick, if I let the damned toast get cold before I remember to get it - then that's how I like it today. Piss off, toaster oven, it's just toast not the end of the world. And the buzzer on the damned clothes dryer, holy battle stations Batman! Nuclear alert warnings for a Soviet first strike weren't that loud, shrill, or persistent. Buzz! Buzz! Hurry! Hurry! Your raggedy work pants are getting wrinkled. Help! Alert! Sooner or later I'm going to take a hammer to the Maytag man. I don't like taking orders from a machine and I really don't like machines that talk. Don't even get me started on those demon-spawned self checkout lines with the smarmy computer voice that sounds like bad Majel Barrat from the evil alternate Star Trek universe in Mirror, Mirror.
- Splash screens. Modal splash screens. You know, the ones that pop up while the big bloated program loads and sit square in the middle of your screen blocking everything else so you can't check email or do anything useful until the goddamned program is finished loading? Yeah, those. I hate those damn things. Kiss my chapped ass, Adobe.
- Those damned paper subscription postcards stuffed into magazines.
- Cat hair. I've got two big house cats (yes, and one wee Shop Kat). The two house cats shed like you would not believe. Seriously, I get enough hair on a daily basis to knit an entire other cat. Sometimes I find giant wads of cat hair, like some freakish dust bunny hopped up on Hair Club For Men, big enough to clog the Dyson industrial vacuum cleaner. What the hell is the purpose of this? If you're into evolution, what possible survival characteristic is continuous and sustained marathon shedding selected for? If you're all about the creation thing, what possible reason for this furry blizzard could there be other than God hates me?
- Spam. No not the canned pork-like product. I like that, especially fried. The other kind of spam. Spam pisses me off. Spammers piss me off. People who click on spam piss me off.
- DVDs. I hate everything about DVDs. Stupid, slow, ugly, crippled over-priced technology. I hate that dumb FBI warning that I can't jump over. I hate the idiotic packaging on new DVDs, sealed, shrink wrapped, security enabled, double banded, locked, blocked, chocked, and wrapped in a rabid pitbull's colon. For crying into your tomato soup, those spent plutonium casks the DOE is transporting through your neighborhood to Yucca Mountain aren't sealed half so well. Good God, it's a three dollar copy of Doc Hollywood that I got out of the bargain bin at Wal-Mart, I'm not going to steal the fucking thing - even if it does have Julie Warner naked in it. But more than anything, I hate DVD menus. I hate them with the heat of a thousand flaming suns being ripped apart in nuclear agony by ravening black holes spawned in the hearts of dying galaxies. I hate them. Every damned menu is an opportunity for repressed neverbeenlaid technogeeks who dream of becoming real movie directors to express their creativity. Just get to the controls already! And then, when the controls finally do appear after ten minutes of clipped scenes and clever sound bites and swirling effects, there is no standardization to the controls at all. You can't hardly tell which damned button is selected by the little curly cursor thingy and then when you finally do get it onto the Play Movie button, well do you push "Play" or "Enter" or "the magic button that does nothing anywhere else so we made it start the movie button because we know how much you enjoy DVD menu control cryptography and getting to know your remote?" Seriously, pick a fucking standard, Menu Geeks.
- Lowerider jeans. Ten pounds of ass in a five pound bag. Nobody looks good in those. Nobody. Really. Seriously ladies, from behind you look like you've got a load in your britches. A woman's ass should be heart shaped, not shaped like a stack of bricks on a pallet. I'm going to be honest with you all, lowriders make you look like a Shar Pei stuffed into a one of those doggy Halloween costumes. But that's not what irritates me, no. What irks me about lowriders jeans is the constant hitching. Goddamn, ladies, this entire generation looks like it's been infected with mad cow disease. Women must spend 80% of their day hitching those stupid pants up and pulling their little belly shirts down and bitching about the cold. You're cold because your clothes don't cover your ass, that's the whole damned problem.
- and lastly, Dick Cheney and Alberto Gonzales indicted by a south Texas Grand Jury for the mistreatment of foreign prisoners and it doesn't even make the major news feeds above the fold. It chaps my ass that it's taken this long. It chaps my ass that their boss isn't included in the indictment. And it chaps my ass that the America people don't care enough about it to even notice.
Yes, I'm feeling crabby today. Can you tell?
So, what chaps your ass?
What chaps my ass are DVDs, period, for much the same reasons. I still weep for LaserDisc. Well, not literally.ReplyDelete
At least you could get them open. And skip over the FBI notice. And there were no menus whatsoever.
English is the result of Norman men-at-arms trying to get dates with Saxon barmaids, and is no more legitimate than any of the other results.ReplyDelete
And yes, my explanation is that God hates you. But don't forget, so do your cats.
FYI, on my dryer I can turn the buzzer off.ReplyDelete
I just have a toaster, and it doesn't have a buzzer.
Have you considering having a seat, putting your feet up, and petting Show Cat for awhile? Petting cats does wonderful things for the blood pressure.
You like spam? (the canned meat) o.OReplyDelete
Sorry Jim, but I don't think we can be friends anymore ... >.>
Damn those Normans, damn them. Saxon barmaids though, well, I'm all over that. ;)ReplyDelete
And I just want to say that I'm very proud of English is the duck-billed platypus of written communications. Soon, that phrase will be quoted far and wide. Oh, yes, yes, my precious. Then the fame and the glory will mine.
I do like Spam, MWT. Fried, with mustard on a sandwich. mmmmm.ReplyDelete
Try living on MREs for a while, Spam will look good to you.
Okay, from that perspective I guess you have a point. I was just expecting better from the superchef that taught me how to make clam chowder from scratch. ;)ReplyDelete
Also, full agreement on the lowriders. Dumbest fashion trend EVAR! Why would anyone want to emphasize their blobs of hip fat?
Spammers ought to be hung by their thumbs, shaved with a cheese grater and a wire brush, dipped in tabasco sauce and lemon juice, and then deep fried in their own pus...ReplyDelete
Spam from a can, on the other hand, is awesome. Sliced so thin that it only has one side, fried in its own jellyjuice like bacon... Ahhh... And an ice-cold Harp on the side... Add a Saxon barmaid (think Medieval Inn in Dallas before it was turned into Ben's and then demolished) with a Shop Cat and you're set.
And that 'eye' before 'ee' except after 'see' isn't even fucking true.ReplyDelete
Not to further chap your ass, but no jumping around and swigging champagne until a judge signs the indictments.ReplyDelete
The story did show up on MSNBC's front page, at least it did earlier (although it wasn't a priority story). At the moment, however, it seems to be a curiosity more than anything--sort of like Kucinich's awesome but useless introduction of Bills Of Impeachment against Cheney this year.
We'll see if the thing grows legs--it already has balls.
Eric, yeah, I know. I do find it interesting that it was even filed in Texas.ReplyDelete
Oh, the lowriders on either sex will do for starters.ReplyDelete
The men that let their boxers show while strutting their "stuff" and holding up their baggy pants by the zipper to keep from losing them. Trust me, ain't none of you got that much junk that you need that much room for it!!
Besides, I don't care if you are a 7 foot, 300 lb CEO of your own multi-million dollar global empire, you look like a 2-year-old holding his peepee because he's got to gogo potty!! REALLY!!!
Do they not realize an entire generation that's been begging for respect from the rest of the world looks like idiots?
And the women, geez...I ride public transit and have seen more cracks on the train lately than, well, I can't even come up with a metaphor.
Guess I'll head home on the train and look for further inpiration!!
Ah, yes, the female plumber's crack. Exactly the same attractiveness on a young female as it is following a beer bellied forty year old male plumber.ReplyDelete
Here in Alaska, I like to keep my change in an outside jacket pocket - so that it gets chilled to subzero liquid nitrogen temperatures - then drop a quarter into exposed ass crack as I go past.
Now, that, my friends, is entertainment.
More crack than a dried up lake bed...ReplyDelete
And those 'whale tail' bits of crack floss - what's that about?
As someone who lights a candle for the designer of the push-up bra (yes, I know what they're like on, I've seen the marks, but still, damn), those low riders are just ick me out. And remember when hinting and stolen glances and kisses were the best tease? Whale tails, ugh. I blame it on the general lack of imagination in the younger generation.ReplyDelete
And yeah, I paid for the frickin' DVD do not, Not, NOT run advertisements at me. Or if you do, don't charge me more than $5. And enable the damn play button on the player to start the movie. Just fargin do it.
See, Steve gets me. He does.ReplyDelete
What's the matter with the rest of you people?
Two day migraines. And excedrin that must be a bottle of placebos.ReplyDelete
What's the matter with the rest of you people?ReplyDelete
How long have you got?
how long have you got?ReplyDelete
Oh! Christopher Walken quote:
I can't drive, but I can wait. Till the stars burn out...
Quick, what movie?
Hmmm...I also hate those little cards in magazines. There was a time when I had to go through all the magazines that came into the library. We had over a hundred subscriptions. I threw handfuls of those things away every day.ReplyDelete
I actually like the buzzer on my dryer, but the one on the washer makes me nuts. I have a fancy front loader, and the thing locks during the cycle, but the buzzer goes off before it unlocks. I don't know how many times I've gone to get the laundry out and not been able to get the stupid door open. I don't mind a buzzer. I just want it to actually be done.
As for the lowrider jeans, I used to have fun with the people wearing the ones that were really low. My comment was usually "So that's your natural hair color!". At that point they'd start tugging those jeans up lickety spit. Fun.
And just to add something new, I hate hardbound books that are so poorly bound that the spine cracks after one damn reading. These books cost over $25 usually. The good binding costs about $2.50, but the publishers are too cheap to pay for it. They'd rather spend the money on marketing. Pisses me off to no end. I had one publisher tell the library that we should run a hot iron over the spine so the glue will set better. We sent them hate mail. I remember when you'd by a hard bound book because it lasted longer. I miss those days.
My name is Keith. Think about it.ReplyDelete
On top of that, I live in Canada - We randomly add the letter U to words just to confuse things even more.
The Prophecy :)ReplyDelete
He's great - I love how he can talk without punctuation.
"Study your math, kids. Key to the Universe."
WalkenTalk - gotta love it
It is a crying shame that such travesties of human existence inspire such wondrous prose. If only these powers could be used for the forces of good...ReplyDelete
I haven't laughed out loud until tears flowed either reading this silently or reading it aloud to Mrs. Dr. Phil in a long time. About as long as the full progress bar on an 11MB "almost finished" Norton Anti-Virus update... during which entire spectral class O stars have formed and burned through their hydrogen cores and are already onto becoming helium burning supergiants. Sure, a short time in the great scheme of the universe, but far beyond the lifetime of mere mortals.
You teh funny, Jim.
ps- Is "Shop Kat" the new official name?
Speed bumps. I mean how on earth did we ever get along without these? You're driving through suburbia USA and there's the sign. "Speed Humps Ahead". (on one side of the state line its speed bumps and the other speed humps).ReplyDelete
Not one little bump in the road but a series of giant mounds made of tar and concrete the size of which makes any mountain peak in Ohio pale in comparison!
For what? Why are they there? They weren't there last week, last month or 10-years prior. Nothing in the neighborhood has changed whatsoever except now there are 50 thousand speed bumps on the little side street you have been taking for years.
A main road by our house was repaved. Speed bumps were there prior to the repaving and then one glorious morning, as I gently motored down the street, THEY WERE GONE! Yup, gone, never to be seen again. Finally! I said to my astonished wife who was startled by my sudden outburst of glee. They got rid of those stupid speed bumps! The county is finally using a little common sense! What will do they do next stop the arrest policy for library book scofflaws?
I was happy for weeks! Until the faithful day when I was cautiously jaunting down the road and BOOM there they were, back and larger than life, informing you to slow down to 30.
One can get used to these annoyances. After all, they were there before but why did they put them back? The story doesn't end there. It was several months later when they disappeared again but before I became to overcome with joyful emotion I saw the county contractors back out there putting new ones in YET AGAIN.
Now the sign says slow down to 20 and they are one million times larger than before. Crossing the DMZ in Korea is probably easier than driving down this road!
Yes, that is my tax money hard at work, keeping me safe, "calming me". What on earth is this all about?
People who spell "tsar" "czar". It's called standardized transliteration people. The Russian language is much more consistent than the English one. You should try it sometime. Argh. Newsfeed idiots.ReplyDelete
Oooh, another one. "Let the Big 3 burn in a fiery hell!" Seriously people? Seriously? Do you know how far down the economic ladder that would ripple? You'd watch the ladder separate into two legs whilst desperately wrapping each arm around one and trying to hold the damn thing together. We are talking millions of jobs once you include the supply chain. Oh and don't forget all the retirees who would be SOL on their pension plans, healthcare (if you think Medicare and Medicaid are giant black holes of money now, wait until they are all trying to use it!), and oh yeah, THEY WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO FIND JOBS TO SUPPORT THEMSELVES BECAUSE THERE AREN'T ANY TO BE HAD FOR LOVE OR MONEY.ReplyDelete
'Scuse me, I have to go stock up on tinned food, water filters, seeds and ammo. You know. Just in case.
Sorry Yanni, but you lose this one:ReplyDelete
Main entry in M-W is czar variant is tzar:
Variant(s): also tsar or tzar \ˈzär, ˈ(t)sär\
Etymology: New Latin czar, from Russian tsar', from Old Russian tsĭsarĭ, from Gothic kaisar, from Greek or Latin; Greek, from Latin Caesar — more at caesar
Michelle - then the M-W is wrong. :pReplyDelete
Just because a lot of folks do it, doesn't make it right. /dad-mode
" CZ" is used in other Eastern European languages for a completely different sound, and "Tz" is wrong as a transliteration because the Russian sound has a devoiced "S" not voiced "Z" after the t. Chinese and Japanese have a "tz / dz" sound, Russian does not.
Most transliteration systems were devised in the 18th and 19th centuries by missionaries who were not all that observant about non-spiritual things, and were certainly not linguists.
Speaking of which, both Pinyin romanization and Wade-Giles transliteration systems chap my ass big time. "X" is pronounced "sh"?!?! In what alternate Universe of Latin / English orthography did that originate?
Jim, I love your suggestion of depositing cold hard cash into said butt cracks.ReplyDelete
But since one of the new laws in the state of Georgia allows concealed weapons (permitted, of course...yeah, right) to be carried on public transportation, I believe for the time being I shall refrain from following your shining example.
And thanks to Karl for the whale tail reference, I confess I had not heard that before, but certainly fits those guilty of both butt floss and crackitis. Most of them around here would give ole Shamu a run for his money. Oh, you mean the garment?!?!
Worse, saw one woman last week in hospital scrubs with her whale tail showing, and she kept yanking on things to try to cover up. Now if I walk into a medical facility and see that, I'm walking right back out and will have no problem explaining to the medicos in charge just why I left their unsanitary facility. Yick.
I once saw a Sailor fall into the harbor from the bow of a Destroyer moored at Pier Seven at San Diego NavBase because he was distracted by a whaletail sported by a lovely young lady who bent over on the pier to pick up her dropped cell phone. Those things are dangerous, cell phones I mean.ReplyDelete
But I'm with Wendy, I don't want to see undergarments of any kind in a medical facility. Period.
And speaking of cold things dropped into butt cracks - on a training deployment in Northern Maine one winter many years ago, we had a team member who suffered a bad case (is there any other kind?) of plumber's crack. This guy's ass was always hanging out of his camies. I swear his ass crack ran all the way up between his shoulder blades and it was a running joke in the team.
One day in subzero temperatures, he was bent over assembling a piece of equipment and exposing that canyon to the world. Somebody, not me, dropped a large 16" crescent wrench handle first into the slot. He screamed and began dancing around, both hands behind his back attempting to pull it out - but it wouldn't come. Why? Well, see the wrench was at ambient, about -20F, and his butt crack was, ah, warm and filled with moisture. The result was that the wrench bonded instantly with the skin between his cheeks and froze there - like, forgive me, licking a metal flag pole with your tongue at the same temps.
Eventually we got him into the shelter and poured warm water down his ass in order to thaw the wrench and debond his ass crack from the same. He lost skin, a lot of it. He bled. And two days later, he got an infection (shudder) which resulted in an embarrassing trip to the doctor, antibiotics, and a salve that had to be applied to the damaged area every time he completed his, uh, business. There was an inflatable donut seat involved, labeled "Property of US Navy Medical Facility, Winter Harbor, Maine.
Much, much hilarity ensued.
Good times, good times.
Hopefully it was a Craftsman wrench so you could take it back to the store and say, "It, um, defective. I need a new one." Then, as you left with your shiny new never butt-cracked wrench, the sales clerk could yell after you, "What is this, skin?"ReplyDelete
Snap Lock, actually. Better.ReplyDelete
And somebody actually mounted that wench on a board with a plaque commemorating the event.
We also got a very serious (really, stop that snickering you idiots) safety lecture on the dangers of tomfoolery by the Lt who had to fill out and submit the mishap report and was not pleased.
I love how this thread has gone from the discussion of figurative ass chapping to a discussion of ... umm ... a near literal occurrence of same.ReplyDelete
All part of the plan, Mia, all part of the plan.ReplyDelete
Which, of course, brings to mind a movie quote:
Max: So, what's the plan?
Pigkiller: Plan? There ain't no plan!
"My name is Keith. Think about it. "ReplyDelete
I'll bet Sam Kieth has it worse.
I shoulda known better than to be eating lunch when I read your little story Jim...ReplyDelete
Hiemlich, please, someone...
OMG, too funny. Truth is stranger than fiction!
Sorry John, you missed the last time there: from Latin Caesar — more at caesarReplyDelete
It's not a direct transliteration. Like most other things in English it's an amalgam of things all dumped into a pot and given a swirlie.
Jim said: And somebody actually mounted that wench on a board with a plaque commemorating the event.ReplyDelete
That poor wench. Is she still up on the wall?
Husband's comment: Sailors do like to mount things...
Yep, I was wonder how long that would take. Longer than I expected, given the general nature of this crowd. :)ReplyDelete
Look, I made a snarky comment as soon as I read it, whaddaya want? I have to do real work during some parts of the day (even though I *am* an employee of the Federal Gov't).ReplyDelete
Natalie -- yes, yes, reading your site instead of working yet again...