Shut-up, Shut-up, Shut-up!

3/29/05

Being as I have a severe desire to be left alone by the public at large and a greater desire not to be dragged into a long and circular conversation with an individual devoid of logic and rational thought, I’m writing this down so I don’t blow my brains out with a nail gun. There may be a bit of cowardice mixed in there with my other reasons for not vocalizing my massive frustration with the downward spiral of intelligence in the American populace, but I prefer to think of it as staying above the stink.

Am I the only one who has a problem with these over-enthusiastic, constantly aggravated human beings who, according to their own estimation, have done everything and have a superior opinion on every goddamn subject? Seems like some kind of mental disorder, doesn’t it? The humans I speak of are these shining gems of the species who treat conversations like war games and speak to you as if trying to verbally bash you into submission. As if whatever you say could not possibly be of any importance and all of their insights are much deeper and somehow truer than yours. It doesn’t matter what you say to them; there is no gray area too misty for them to put a big black stamp of their almighty opinion on, usually at great length, volume and on a subjective, nuanced subject the rest of us understand can’t be summed up in a monosyllabic tirade delivered in an accent that does Deliverance proud. In short, I am speaking of people who are terminally, chronically Full of Shit.

You’ve seen them; they’re the people who talk about strange armies of the night stealing into their homes to try and liberate their firearms from “my cold dead hand.” Now there’s a particular person I have in mind when I speak of this, but that’s only because she happens to be the worst example I am forced to be around on a regular basis. Oddly, most of the people she talks to are of a similar persuasion and personality, only on a slightly lower level. She is the catalyst and these others cycle around her as she spurs them on from one conversation to the next at breakneck speed like some kind of nuclear, hillbilly A-bomb. Those of us around them not fortunate enough to be bleeding from the ears are left shoveling large portions of lukewarm food into our maws in an effort to avoid saying something and thereby contributing to this madness. (Most of this takes place in the lunchroom, you see.)

This woman doesn’t even need an audience for her enlightened verbal diarrhea; I’ve literally seen her talk to a vending machine or just spurt nonsense out into the lunchroom as if fishing for someone to take her retarded bait or perhaps addressing the Universe at large. I’m not kidding. If you ever encounter anyone of this variety I strongly urge you not to make eye contact. Just as dogs and bees can smell fear, these social vampires take any minimal show of interest as a sign that you wish to be blessed by their vaulted opinion. Just keep your head down and walk away as if you’ve just realized you’re in imminent danger of shitting your pants. Speaking of which, that’s not a bad defense mechanism you could use to extricate yourself from their Satanic hold; shit your pants. I defy anyone to continue to talk to somebody who had just defecated in their underwear. It’s hard to concentrate on what you were saying when smelly brown stuff is leaking from your subject’s pants leg. You might want to keep some prunes on hand.

Everyday, and I mean everyday, this woman trolls the newspaper with a fine-toothed comb looking for things to rise her ire. Said stories usually involve what should be done to people for committing various crimes ranging from child molestation to kidnapping to murder. Her suggestion is always a variation on a theme; an eye for an eye. Child molester? Well this bastion of legal genius suggests somebody rape you and then beat you about the head and neck with a sock full of rocks. Murderer? Pretty easy there; we kill you in whatever manner you killed the other person. Hammurabi would be pleased. Unfortunately, we’re trying to have a society here, as someone has failed to point out to the legal eagle. We can’t go around chopping peoples’ hands off for taking a loaf of bread, you crazy bitch. I just want to scream at her to stick to what you know like dick-sucking in an outhouse and straining grain alcohol through cheesecloth and keep your bat-shit-insane advise to yourself! But that would get me fired. It would almost be worth it if I weren’t afraid of losing my steady stream of booze money.

I believe I have exhausted this subject and myself so I’ll bid you good readers adieu; I think my prostitute just arrived anyway.