- Lady at the register at Price Chopper in front of me: If you pay a $400 grocery bill with EBT, you should not have a half dozen live lobsters in your shopping cart. Also: EBT is meant for you to get nutritious stuff for your kids, too. You also purchased a whole 12-can flat of nasty ravioli, I see. You should consider exploring the nutritional middle ground between fresh Maine lobster and Chef Boyardee ravioli product.
- Oblivious woman at the I-89 interchange: When you pull out in front of me while I have the right of way, so I have to step on the brakes hard enough for the recycling containers in the back of my van to crash into the front seat backs, you don’t get to then complain about me “riding your ass” when we get out of our cars in the Borders parking lot within earshot of each other.
- Modulation-impaired guy in the Borders cafe: Cell phones are truly an amazing technology, and I share your excitement about the ability to talk to people sans wires. I am, however, entirely uninterested in your conversation with your girlfriend—which, by the way, was conducted at sufficient volume to burn through the aural shield of my iPod serving up tasty tunes at 75% volume.
- All you Vermonters who go shopping in West Lebanon on Saturdays: I do appreciate you bringing your business into our lovely state, even though I am subsidizing your tax-free shopping with my substantial property taxes. Do, however, try to pull your collective heads out of your asses, and learn the basics of traffic flow on our dear, overtaxed Route 12. You really ought to have figured out by now which lane goes back on the highway to Vermont, and which lanes are for through traffic and local folk just trying to get home in time for lunch. Trying to squeeze into the Vermont-bound lane and tying up local traffic because none of your fellow hippies will let you cut in line makes the locals very cranky.
- Tough guy in the pickup truck throwing me the dumb-aggressive evil eye for daring to look over at you: Don’t. Just don’t. I have seen things that would make you scream in a girlish timbre. I can change a nuclear diaper on a Six Flags rollercoaster without getting a fleck on me, and still shoot out the ten ring from twenty yards right afterward, all while half dead or fully drunk. You’re not as tough as you think, zit face.
- Dear Miley Cyrus: Do you like to sing? Well, if you do, maybe you ought to have someone give you lessons. I accidentally listened to twenty seconds of your “Party in the U.S.A.” before I could get a hand free to change stations, and my IQ dropped by a corresponding number of points. Holy farking shyte, that sounded like someone ran a sound sample from a middle school recess conversation through Auto-Tune.
That’s about it for the day. I now declare the bar open. We’re having baked ziti tonight, and I intend to marinate in rum & coke after dinner.