If You Were A Dinosaur, You're Name Would Be Fagasaurus Rex
I went to the movies last night expecting to see a movie in relative peace and quiet. I was sadly dissappointed also.
I had barely sat down with my Coke when a flock (Gaggle, herd, whatever) of elderly people came in. Normally, one wouldn't expect much trouble from such a group, but this was different. This group couldn't decide where to sit. Not only that, but they shared the whole discussion with the theater in that really loud whisper that people try to do. Why do people do that anyway? Everyone around can hear anyway, you might as well speak in a normal tone.
"Where should we sit?"
"How about up there?"
"No, I can't make it up there with my hip replacement"
"No, my neck is too stiff"
"Well, I have to sit close to the door because my bladder has the capacity of one of those new mini coke cans"
"You mean the 8 ounce ones?"
"Then why didn't you just say 8 ounces?"
"What I said sounded better"
"Did you bring the Preparation H this time?"
"You shit your pants again, didn't you?"
Have you ever heard a thorough philosophical discussion expounding on the vices and virtues of where to sit in a movie theater? I hadn't either, before last week.
I guess every decision becomes important when you're old because by the time you're that age, you've already made all the important choices of your life. You already know what career to pick ,where to live, what slore to marry, and what kind of car to drive so the only thing left to debate over is denture brands and life insurance (and where to sit at the movies).
I think that illustrates that freedom of decision is wasted on the young. We take it for GRANTED. I see people all the time making horrible, horrible decisions. There was a guy riding a Harley-Davidson motorcycle today who pulled up to me at a stoplight. He had the whole Harley get-up, the jacket, helmet, sunglasses, everything He also had tassels on his handlebars. That's the decision that got me.
When we were young boys and girls, only the GIRLS had tassels on their handlebars. We made FUN of the boys who put tassels on their handlebars. We even came up with sophisticated insults such as this one:
"If you were a dinosaur, your name would be Fagasaurus Rex."
But then we grew older, and it wasn't cool or funny to insult people by calling them Fagasaurus Rex, and then suddenly it became cool for guys to wear tight leather pants and have tassels on their handlebars. Did I miss a memo?
I think I did. In fact, I know I did. Many things have changed. When I was young, the postman (or envelope technician, as it is now called) would park his truck and WALK from house to house. He would walk down one side, then walk back on the other side to his truck, drive another block, rinse, repeat, and so forth until everyone had Sale papers from the grocery store and various other crap they didn't need (or ask for).
Now, it's different.
This led to a confrontation the other day. When I got home from work, I parked my truck in front of my house. No big deal, right? Wrong. Unbeknownst to myself, I was parked in front of the MAILBOX, which is apparently an EGREGIOUS breach of etiquette these days.
I only found out when my envelope technician pulled up in front of my house.
"You can't park there."
"There, in front of your mailbox."
"Because you can't."
"It's my truck, isn't it?"
"It's my house, isn't it?"
"I rest my case."
But HE wasn't done.
"You can't block my access."
"Why can't you get out and walk?"
"Because I don't feel like it."
"If you were a dinosaur, your name would be Fagasaurus Rex."
No one FEELS like doing anything today. Everyone is content to believe that their own 1 gigatrillionth of the universe is paramount to the survival and success of the rest of the world. GOD FORBID someone have to WALK. It's not as if the vast majority of Americans have legs or anything. Maybe we should abolish the federal postal service completely, so envelope technicians could WALK to the unemployment office.
But that will never happen.
It will never happen because making it happen would require that a whole bunch of people get off their ass and do something about it, which is about as likely as Vanilla Ice making a comeback.
So we can't fix the FUNDAMENTAL problem. What is the answer now? The next logical step is to make life a living hell for the one person who exhibits the fundamental problem for you, in my case the mailman, which is why I shattered about three glass bottles and left the shards scattered in front of my mailbox.
The even bigger problem though as I see it, is that everyone in society these days has an acute case of BMS, short for Bitch and Moan Syndrome. Everyone. Even me. I'm bitching and moaning about people bitching and moaning.
For example, you can't call the mail man a mail man anymore as I alluded to earlier. You can't call blacks "blacks" - now, they're "pigmentally disadvantaged". (Don't worry too much, you can still call white people "whites") Indians aren't Indians anymore or even Native Americans - now they're Homogenic Pasteurized Indigenous Peoples. Gays are just plain Homo, but you can't call them that, or Fagasaurus Rex for that matter.
It pisses me off.
Everyone has to accommodate for everyone now. Most modern day jumbo jets only seat 4 passengers - JUST IN CASE a morbidly obese blue whale (excuse me, horizontally challenged bi-ped) needs to get on board. The seats MUST be big enough.
"But overweight people deserve to fly too!" you cry.
And I completely agree! But not at the expense of everyone else. I think we should do the same thing with two-seat people that we do with luggage: if it doesn't fit in the seat, check it. And by that I mean if you weigh over 300 pounds, chances are you're flying in the cargo hold next to my suitcase full of soiled undergarments.
"But that's not humane! That's not FAIR!"
Everything has to be fair. Everything has to be equal. Everyone has to have a level playing field. There cannot be a SHRED, there cannot be an OUNCE, there cannot be an IOTA of competition ANYWHERE in ANY segment of the American marketplace or workforce. To hell with competition! We don't want it anymore! Get it out of here! Who needs it?
Nobody does now. We've got guys in wheelchairs getting jobs as search and rescue team members, we've got women being admitted as sperm donors, we've got bald men being pitched in shampoo commercials and WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THE BRAILLE AT FAST FOOD DRIVE THROUGHS?!?!?!?1
That never FAILS to piss me off. I pull up to the drive through at McDonalds now, *cackle cackle* Can I help you? Um Yes, my name is Catscradle and I'm blind but I'm also deaf, have no arms, and am a transvestite, can you accommodate me?
We've got fat people suing McDonalds because their food made them fat, THEN they sue McDonalds again because they GO BACK, and force McDonalds to adjust the width of the drivethrough to ACCOMODATE for the width of the car they now have to drive, a car which they sued Ford to make to ACCOMODATE for their extra wide ASS which they got from cramming their faces with McDonalds in the first place.
Accommodate, Accommodate. If ONE MORE fat person bitches about McDonalds they're going to have to accommodate for my foot in their ass.
I tried to tell one of those jokes the other day. You know the ones that go like this:
"What do you call a man with no legs and no arms who lives in the trunk of your car? Jack!"
But I BARELY finished before I was arrested by a squad of G-Men for my appalling lack of sensitivity to handicapped people. So I'm in jail now.
But wait a second. Shouldn't I be getting assraped by a large black inmate named Bruce right now? Maybe before, but not now! Prisoners have unlimited Computer and Internet Access now to accommodate for their NEEDS.
Needs, needs, needs. I need THIS, I can't live without THAT, I MUST have THIS. Whatever happened to shutting the fuck up and dealing with one's problems? What happened to "Deal With It"? Answer me that. What happened to "shut the fuck up"? What happened to "get off your lazy ass and walk to my mailbox"? Forget about Deal With It folks, Deal With It is GONE. It's like a whole generation of little kids whining at the toystore for the latest commercially produced trend skipped adolescence and went straight to being upstanding leaders of the American populace without ever learning valuable life lessons such as "Life is not fair", "God helps those who help themselves", and "When the going gets tough, the tough get going".
Christ Almighty. You can barely even say Christ Almighty now.
I have to sign off now. Another inmate is here, he needs to get on the Internet. He will use it to look up prison escape plans. He will escape and rape, murder, and pillage your wife, children, dog, and possibly even your goldfish. But don't worry, you can rest assured that he is being treated FAIR to accommodate for his internet needs. Until you are murdered that is.