You, sir? Are a dickwaffle
[and other observations
on the breaching of the social contract]
Benjamin Kissell
I'm told 'Shut The F#@k Up' is more tasteful
than calling people names ... oh ... wait ...
Some days it doesn't pay to wake up and face a world full of people who believe that the focus and extreme epicenter of all-things is their own narcissistic butt. When in fact, most of these self-centered asshats wouldn't even register on the radar of others if it weren't for their extreme selfishness.
Believe me; my not bitch-slapping each and every one of them is no mean feat ... and I am aware that I only achieve my own part of upholding the social contract by sheer force of will [read: buckets of my bitter, bitter black coffee]. I'm not perfect; although some of my more ... vocal dissentions are from having my patience rubbed raw by f#@ktards whose self-blind runnings often lead me into snarky rants where my naturally-sweet temper is shattered and left with jagged edges [or the occasional profanity-blistered-victim].
*whoops*
The social contract - (that basic tenet of societal norms, responsibilities and manners that were drilled into our heads as children (The Golden Rule, for example) where we had a baseline respect for others as we say 'please' and 'thank you', letting people cross the street without getting hit or respecting personal space and people's opinions) - seems to be not only null-and-void, but thrown out the window in lieu of the vitriol of the internet troll and the safety of its relative anonymity [notice: I have pictures of myself all over the internet - no anonymity here]. Each generation's growing sense of entitlement hasn't helped, either. The idea of affording others the same respect we ask to be given ourselves is horribly out-of-fashion.
*massive sigh*
In the interest of warning/advising/possibly-getting-myself-off-of-a-future-premeditated-homicide-charge, here are a few of my 'favorite' self-centered every-day jackasses.
.............................................................
Asshole Day, Week, Month, Year ... Millenium ...
THE ASSHAT:
We've all been late for something in our lives [if you're me and perpetually want to put off dealing with work, you're almost late ... a lot]. It's a basic fact that 9/10ths of people are in a rush to be somewhere whenever you deal with them. Another basic fact is that they will be impatient (and possibly erratic in said impatience).
Of course, this neither excuses nor alleviates the Asshat whose impatience cuts you (and those behind you) off.
Whether in traffic - and they run up the lane that is clearly marked as ending so you had better sodding merge waaaaay back there like everyone else - or in a queue at your local coffee shop - because they need their triple-sugar-infused-flavored-coffee drink RIGHT THIS F#@KING MINUTE OR THEY WILL EXPLODE IN PIECES OF SELFISH STUPID - these line-cutters are complete jackasses and should be tasered.
On sight.
THE C.A.B.:
Affectionately called C.A.B.s (short for Carbon Arc Bastards), these are the jackasses who not only believe that brighter is better, it is necessary for their very existence. These are the drivers who go around 24/7 in High-Beam mode because ... well, f#@k, if they can see what else matters?
Obviously, it won't matter that your high beams are so disgustingly bright that when you came headlong at me I was LITERALLY blinded so badly I swerved into oncoming traffic taking us both out. Sidenote: at least you saw my little old Honda coming at you, right?
Personally, I don't advocate bashing their headlights in on a regular basis ... but ... um ... I saw Wal-Mart was having a sale on aluminum bats this week.
The only appropriate salute when greeting one of these malefactors.
THE DICKWAFFLE:
These are the jackasses who believe that a conversation via cell-phone and delivered at TOP VOLUME is needed for every possible situation in life; often filling the world in on EVERY SORDID DETAIL of their personal life [like why they can't figure out why they developed a weird rash on their no-no bits] or bitching about the interminably long wait in-line.
Of course they hold up the line as they cannot end said over-share conversation while trying to check out at the register.
When I worked in a bookstore I refused to be cowed by them or awed by their flagrant and dirigible-sized senses of self-worth. I refuse to be admonished for wanting to shove their smart-phones either up their rectums or into a wood-chipper [possibly in that order ... but that might make it homicide - which I, also, refuse to be convicted of].
THE F#@KTARD:
We all remember the Seinfeld epsiode 'Close-Talker' [yes, even I occasionally watched the show] - but, this is no laughing matter.
Daily, more and more people lose the little bit of vestigial socially-conscious-brain-tissue that regulates perception; replacing it with a lump of dead-weight known as the TUMOR OF ASSHOLE-NESS. This tumor completely kills any remaining social awareness and produces extreme levels of smugness [which can create a visual hazard - hence the need for extremely bright headlights!], de-regulates the censorship function and creates a dense lens of f#@ktardary which focuses all of the victim's perceptions into an extremely central image:
The world completely revolves around them.
Personal space? Non-existent. Awareness of others as legitimate thinking/feeling/needing people outside of self? Don't make them laugh. These are the people who make the zombies on tv and in movies look most considerate.
......................................................................
Of course, if one occasionally slipped a foot out in front of one of these dickwaffles as they walk by zoned-out-staring at their tablet/phone/ipad BECAUSE THEY CANNOT POSSIBLY EXIST IN A WORLD NOT CONSTANTLY ENTERTAINING THEM EVERY BLOODY MOMENT OF THEIR LIVES and tripped a nascent carrier of the F#@ktard TUMOR OF ASSHOLE-NESS? Well ...
*whoops*
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