Thursday, June 12, 2008

Anger Mismanagement

I've got beef, and I'm going to take Coolio's advice and eat a porkchop. Here are some everyday, routine things in life that make me angry. Not just like, 'Wow, this is so annoying.' No, these are things that to most people aren't such a big deal, but drive me almost insane with anger.


Not getting a run home with a man on third and less than two outs. I despise this. Just put the ball in play. That's all you have to do. Don't strike out, don't pop out to the catcher, just hit a ground ball or a fly ball somewhere, and it's almost a guaranteed RBI. I realize it's not as easy as just snapping your fingers and doing it, but I literally freak out when the Sox leave people stranded in this situation. Just get the run in.


The t9 texting function. Cheese mentioned this awhile ago, and this has always been one of my pet peeves. t9 is swell, if you use it correctly. Speaking personally, I can text faster when I'm actually typing out what I'm trying to say, instead of hoping that the t9 function will guess correctly what I'm trying to say. However, I have seen 16 year olds that can text faster with t9 than I can type on a computer keyboard, so I'm not gonna argue the merits of t9 for those freaks of nature. My problem is with people who use t9, and then don't bother to look over their text before they send it my way, and it's filled with words that don't make sense because they used t9, thus saving themselves all of 2.5 seconds. Well, guess what, now I'm not responding to your piece of shit nonsensical text, so you can sit there and wait for a response that's not coming, you gaybot. The time you save yourself by using t9 is not going to be time I waste proofreading your shit. I'm not a 7th grade English teacher.


Taking my cruise control off for some idiot. Driving on the interstate causes me more potential anger than any other activity I can participate in. The thing that drives me crazier than anything else is having to take off my cruise because some tard doing 68 in a 70 pulls out in front of me and passes someone else doing 67 in a 70. Speed up when you pass someone; the accelerator is the one on the right!


My season in MVP Baseball. Unreal. I'm the Mets, and my record is currently 72-45, a tidy .615 winning percentage. I have the third best record in baseball. And I wouldn't even make the playoffs if the season ended today. That's because the two best records in baseball belong to the Nationals and Marlins. When was the last time that 117 games into a season, the three best records in the sport all belonged to one fucking division? I call shenanigans. Throw in the bullshit bunt that broke up my perfect game (see previous post); the fact that in 4 consecutive games, I suffered major injuries to Orlando Cabrera, Eric Chavez, Ken Griffey Jr., and Derrek Lee (my 2-5 hitters); and that Jon Garland has an ERA of 1.89 yet has a win-loss record of 8-10; and I'm convinced that the whole season is a conspiracy against me by my Playstation. What a blowjob festival.


Speaking of blowjobs, how about Chelsea Lately? What a gigantic B she is. She's not funny, she is not attractive, and she's banging the dude who runs E! I wonder how she got her show. She has a big rack and that's all. How many shows must be created that do nothing but make fun of celebs? David Spade did this show 18 years ago, it was called Hollywood Minute, and it was a sketch on SNL. It was a sketch because that's all it needed to be. There's no way we need to stare at your cleavage and listen to your shitty jokes for half an hour every day. To the people who religiously watch her show and thus keep it on the air- Alex, I'm looking in your direction- shame on you. Rhetorical Question of the week- how old do you think Chelsea is?





Answer: 33. Thirty fucking three! My initial guess was 44, and I was afraid that could be low. This broad wears every blowjob she's ever given on her way to the top all over her face, and yet she has the audacity to make fun of Britney Spears and other Hollywood sluts. Go back to your home on Whore Island.

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