It seems like Chinese water torture.
Once upon a time, I was liberal, understanding, forgiving.
The other day, my wife asked me, “When did you start hating Pakis?”, and, without thinking, I answered her.
A recent study proves that women with higher-than-normal levels of testosterone will not co-operate with others, insist on having their choice/decision acted on, and are wrong in their choices 74% of the time.
(You can make up your own jokes about men and testosterone.)
Actions and attitudes. There were things in my twenties that I never even noticed, things in my thirties that I noticed, but shrugged off, things in my forties I noticed and they irritated me, things in my fifties that I said, “Why the F**k can’t they be a little more thoughtful?”, about. Now I’m past my mid-sixties, and, there’s not a day that there isn’t someone I feel should be beaten to death with a shitty diaper.
There ARE colored people who are Niggers.
There ARE Indo-Asians who are Pakis.
There ARE men who are arrogant ass-h**es
There ARE women who are shrewish bitches.
There ARE Muslims who are terrorists.
There ARE Christians who are narrow-minded bigots.
And they’re making life hell for the rest of us.
I went to my supermarket yesterday. There were two shopping carts stuffed into one of the wheelchair parking spots, the one which is back-to-back with the cart corral. At least they were right at the top. A handicapped person could park in the space, carefully, and use one as a walker, as my wife does. The cart-return kid always thanks me when I move them. I want to ask him why he doesn’t do it, but he’s got to work on volume. Get the ones from the corral back to the store first, then worry about stragglers. He’s a nice kid. His mother drives down to the store and delivers his lunch.
If you drive away leaving a shopping cart, you’re just lazy, selfish, unthinking, inconsiderate and egotistical. If, instead of walking a hundred feet across the parking lot and putting the cart in the corral, you walk ninety feet across the parking lot and stuff it in a handicapped spot, I’m going to have to call on BrainRants to define the level of ass-holery being committed.
I backed into a parking spot, in the dark, in a snow storm, and found that someone had left a cart in it. I know, it’s at least half my fault. Punched a base-ball sized hole in my light cover, the one which stretches all the way across my trunk lid. Five hundred dollars from the dealer, only, after a visit and two phone-calls, never got back to me. Two-hundred and fifty from a scrap dealer, if you can find one who’ll peel it off an undamaged trunk lid that they can sell for $600.
My son was driving the car one day, and some guy chased him three blocks and caught him at a stoplight. Offered to sell him the cover and the two outside lights for a hundred bucks, cash. Some self-employed entrepreneur who spent $1400 for a trunk spoiler and fancy light cover to doll up the same Impala I can hardly afford to keep on the road. I happily paid for the privilege of cleaning out his garage. After we drove for three years with packing tape over the hole to keep water out.
Came out of the same grocery store a couple of weeks ago, just in time to see some 30ish female abandoning a cart in the middle of the same spot. I BELLOWED at her, “DON’T LEAVE THAT THERE!! THAT’S A HANDICAPPED SPOT! I mean, the guy at the strip mall across the street looked over.
Yeah, who are you?
I’M the guy who has to use that spot!
For just a second, I thought that I had made contact, but then the look of entitlement slipped back into place. She wheeled away and gave me an over-the-shoulder dismissive wave, and a, “Whatever.” She headed towards my car, which was parked in the next row. I thought perhaps she had the grey van parked next to me. I figured on pulling another leave-the-cart ploy, but she walked between the vehicles to a car on the far side. Oh well!, I walked the cart around and put it in the corral.
I walked back around to head for my car, and met a Paki shoving another cart into the middle of the same spot. He was already wearing the shitty diaper on his head, so I considered beating him to death with the cart. Throat was a little raspy, not quite as much volume this time.
DON’T put that there!
Oh no??? (In Paki sing-song)
It only took him a few seconds to put it where it belonged. Why couldn’t he have done that without being yelled at? Where do all the bad manners come from? Ikea? Do they assemble them themselves? My kids (and grandson) were taught better than that. He then walked over to the grey van that was parked next to my car and got in. That’s who owns it. Damn! missed out on my chance to play the parking lot abandon-the-cart game.