lou dobbs

lou dobbs, you self-important, condescending, opinionated, pasty-faced, mean ol' grandpa of a talking-head masquerading as a journalist, you really piss me off. you deliver the 'news' with a big heaping teaspoon of smug, and by 'news' i mean 'your opinion.' if i wanted to be patronized in my own living room i'd invite the young republicans over for some martinis and crustless sandwiches. at least they dress better. you have an enviable forum, one you could use to allow for open debate of differing opinions; instead, you waste valuable airtime sputtering out your own old school (the bad kind, not the good kind) agenda. please do us all a favor and take that stick out from up your ass and beat yourself over the head with it until you knock some sense into yourself.

wide loaders

you people with wide loads, you really piss me off. here's the thing, if there's two-feet of space on the subway bench and your ass is two and a half-feet wide, don't sit down. that's why your parents gave you that plastic toy when you were little, the one with all the shapes cut out of it and the corresponding geometric pieces. it taught you that a square wasn't going to fit into a circle, that a triangle wouldn't fit into a rectangle. from this you should have gleaned which space the bredth of your flesh would fit into, and which it wouldn't. but you didn't learn. and so you sit on me. and like an unwelcome airline blanket, that excess 6-inches of polyester-covered lard lies across my thigh like a coating of silly putty. do the math and keep standing.

beyonce

beyonce, you really piss me off. you're so hot. i made it a goal to be 1/20th as hot as you are, and just when I got close, you got even hotter. stop it. stop getting hotter while I just get older.

flip-flop tailgaters

you who walk so closely behind me that you step on my low hanging flip-flop, you really piss me off. not only do you cause me a moment of pain as the flip-flop is tugged between my effort to take another step and your dead weight, but you also interrupt my stride...break up my rhythm. why are you walking closer to me than my own shadow? and why do you never apologize? it's a big city. there's room enough for the both of us, no matter how late you are for your appointment at the unemployment office or wherever it is that you go. give me my space and i'll give you yours.

leg spreaders

you who spread your legs way way apart when you sit on the subway, you really piss me off. you take up the room of three with your hip-opening real estate grabbing. and you are mostly men. are they really that big? if they are, perhaps you should be standing, let them hang loose. it's just horrible how you sit there with your legs akimbo while the visibly pregnant woman on crutches carrying a 32" television set stands before you, balancing precariously between stops on the local. you spread, as if the subway bench is your throne, as if we are your royal subjects and it's rude, so rude. pull those legs together or i'll be forced to take a seat on that elephantine thigh of yours.