WHAT BUGS ME
Believe it or not, there are some things that bug me – other than the existence of Republicans and radical Islamic terrorists. You may not want to know this. If that is the case, just put down the paper and go back to the Golden Girls rerun you were watching before you flipped over here. No harm done.
Up first, it bugs me that the “Preparation H” people didn’t think up the “Head On” advertising concept before they did. That would have been so much more interesting.
Second, there’s the guy in the “Quizno’s” commercial that says “Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm!”, when there are clearly only four “m’s” there on the screen. You’d think somebody would’ve caught that. Why do I have to do everything?
Having been a raging, wild-eyed liberal all my life, it bugs me to have to tell you that Nancy Pelosi’s eyes look like they’re propped open with invisible toothpicks.
Somebody should have explained to that crazy astronaut lady that, if she hurried, she could pee while she was gassing up her vehicle. There’s no way she could drive 900 miles without having to stop for gas. That whole diaper thing … you know what?… bugs me. If she would’ve been thinking like a real American entrepreneur, she would have used her loony vendetta as a publicity stunt, by teaming up with some hybrid car manufacturer that could actually go that far on a tank of gas. Then she might have had the extra money to pay her legal fees and psychotherapy bills. Everybody respects somebody – even somebody who’s nuts – that knows how to make money.
Unless I understand English, how in the wide wide world of sports am I going to understand some telephone recording that tells me “For English, press one”? If I do understand English, why would I have to select some other language? To me, this is as dumb as the sign at the drive-thru window that says “We have menus in Braille”; or the “Handicapped Parking” spot at Sonic; or the sign inside the elevator that says “In case of fire use the stairs”. If that sounds “racist” to you, go ahead and turn me in to Paula Zahn. She’s pretty much turning over every rock she can find anyway to find anything she can turn into a race issue. That kinda bugs me too.
Cars with “vanity plates”. Well, not really the cars as much as the people that have them displayed. We already know it’s a Jag. And if we don’t, there’s nothing you can put on that plate that’s going to impress us anyway. What if you were out to commit some kind of crime, or you just didn’t want somebody to know who you were? You think it’s harder for a witness to remember “BOBZVET” than some regular plate? If I was going to get some custom license plate, I’d make it as difficult as possible for somebody to remember. 3GZ3PDC. Let ‘em repeat that over and over in their heads ‘til the cops get there. You never know when you might not want somebody to testify that they saw you gassing up your vehicle while wearing a diaper.
Kissing your dog on the lips, or letting him/her lick your lips, is a really disgusting thing to do. If you’ll just pay attention – following that animal around for a little while – you might notice some other things that Phideaux licks with that same tongue, that would help you understand my position on this. Don’t do that. It bugs me. And, if you do that, I don’t care how long it has been since I last saw you, a simple handshake will suffice.
Sending me those “chain” e-mails that say stupid things like “If you love Jesus you’ll send this to 10 friends”, or “If you delete this instead of sending it to 20 people you’ll have bad luck for a year”…that does more than bug me. That really makes me mad. I’ve read most of the instruction book, and can’t find any place where Jesus even referenced the Internet. I doubt if the connection speeds in those days were even sufficient to use e-mail. So shut up. I’m deleting the thing. You do not control my luck. The Cherokee Nation Casino does.
© 2007 Rick Baber