Certain, special humans are far too happy in their diluted microcosm of society and it's fucking irritating, mainly because the world is actually littered with pain, struggle and about 46 saturated quarries teeming with humans we should largely regard as pieces of shit had we dumped their useless cadavers inside these virtual bowls to pack some soupy landfills. Angst serves of much more importance than allowing psychiatrists to make a living, as inner-rage provides all sorts of inventiveness and benefits such as this website, which is why nearly 4 years ago the domain "catharticlament.com" was established rather than "inspirationalbullshit.com."
Hey, I don't even know if inspirationalbulllshit.com exists because just the title alone make me not want to confirm. Those two words combined makes me think of every person who seems to have that perpetual smile thing happening, and seeing that many teeth at frequent intervals makes me want to grind mine even more---
Newsflash: the world is not compiled of puppies, hearts, Christmas bonuses and altruistic foundations. Wretchedness is etched and sealed into mankind's objective in numerous ways, with principals standing in a sullen, sorry stance in the rear-view and all that remains is to embrace some anti-utopian outlook because ultimately, people as a whole equal complete and perfect shit.
For instance, when I'm outside the deejay booth at work, seated at the bar or just at a table by myself, I swear, once a week a stripper will breach my bubble of solitary and say, "Zack, SMILE!" Their tone almost demands this apparently because it would seem I frequently look angry while minding my own fucking business---something of which a woman hasn't the concept.
With that, I must propose the question: Who the fuck is seated by themselves---waiting for time to pass---with a smile on their face? In fact, who is doing anything mundane in life with even a mild smirk accentuating their fat head?
The answers are drug addicts and retards, of which I'm neither so can the pep talk and keep walking. Using the word "justify" makes me feel responsible for explaining this apparent scowl that's constantly plaguing my facial disposition, so I won't exactly apologize after any given instance . . . I'll simply give good reason as to why my lips often advocate what's happening in my brain during those boring instances in life.
Average/common sparks in my brain while you're interrupting my serenity:
And there it is: "what pieces of shit people are" comes in first with a clear advantage . . . and what pieces of shit they are. Check it:
Transients
Most of you go to bed at an appropriate hour so you can get up and go to work. Oftentimes you might cut your fun-filled evening short because of something many in society label "responsibilities" the following day. It's pretty basic and routine by now and we, as functioning members of the country simply soak it up and cope and have been exercising this perfunctory process since we realized that smoking weed all day and having our parental figures flip the tab for the grocery bill just wasn't producing a true feeling of accomplishment. So with that, let me just say:
Fuck the homeless.
Fuck every lazy bum out there, especially every asshole asking me for a cigarette while I'm outside smoking here in Wisconsin. It seems that the degenerates of society are compelled to sponge from those of us who have an alarm clock, and there couldn't possibly be a mortal being out there who says "fuck that" more than me. I won't even give to the red bucket at Christmas time while those rejected from community college are standing outside of Walgreens, because . . . What for? Three cops pulled me over last year and raped me via paper, vehicle registration went up another $20 since the last time I gave a shit, and for some oddly reason, Netflix is charging me and everyone I know another dollar a month because . . . movies have apparently gotten better?
What-the-fuck ever. Like, after weeks into months of being pillaged by every entity in the country, I feel like donating to some guy standing there by a bucket doing absolutely nothing but irritating my eardrums with gay percussion. Bitch, please.
There has to be SOMETHING you could be doing instead of ringing that goddamn bell . . . Stupid dick. The freeway system has been under construction in Milwaukee for a CONSTANT 6 years. SIX FUCKING YEARS!!! Go mix some concrete, you fat fuck and get shit done.
Cyclists: Motorized
Hey, I love the holidays just as much as anyone, but for different reasons. I love November and December here in Wisconsin and the following months because it's cold with some tangible precipitation in the forecast, but my love for these months isn't that I want to make snow angels and jump-start some stripper's car at 3:00 A.M. because she doesn't have her shit together.
Hell no.
Fact is, when it's cold and snowy up here in shit-lick Wisco, bikers don't have the option to annoy us with their Harley Davidson noise, which we have to comfortably assume would have made Ray Charles pissed off for being blind rather than deaf because this is complete bullshit. I mean, I know everyone is accustomed to this unnecessary noise pollution when some redneck, biker asshole revs his "hog" and no one really takes action. Well, I'm not only sick of it . . . it's the sole reason I hate summer, actually.
You're trying to have a conversation outside or enjoy a cigarette in peace under the sun, and what happens? Some fucking dickwad blasts the throttle on his motorcycle and it instinctively makes you think the Japs are attacking again or Satan is surfacing.
Bikers are amazing. Amazingly stupid, actually. They've professionally formed this image of themselves that simply says they're a step above rednecks, but not quite whole enough to evolve past factory employment. I can justify this statement by the obvious behavior of bikers, which is that they're inconsiderate of others proximity to them similar to that of a monkey, because what do monkeys do? Well, they act nice for 6 minutes and seem harmless, but inevitably the mother fuckers lose sight of non-primitive-like behavior and adopt bully-mode or just start spraying diarrhea at random people for no logical reason. I've a sneaking suspicion had I taken a chainsaw and yanked it into operational mode two feet from a biker's head, he might find that a bit irritating had I done that once, but then the bad news for him would be, "Hey, we got seven more to go, big boy just to break even for what I have to put up with simply walking six blocks in July. Tough shit. It's an annoying process, for you and me, because believe me, I would rather just start a tornado in your asshole and be done with it."
Discourteous bastards. Refinement takes a backseat while the spotlight is on "image" with bikers, especially their tattoos, which is exactly what a tattoo is supposed to say: "Hey, look at me!"
So, mathematically we now have the loud motorcycles (Hey, look at me!) and the tats (Hey, look at me!) and for shits and giggles we can throw in their beer guts, which say "Hey, look at me and my fat ass!" and it all adds up to making me just want to look away.
There's another group of assholes out there who burden the general public with their showy crap. Instead of riding Harley Davidsons, I think they typically drive Cadillacs, which might or might not be a quieter experience as the owner rolls down Main St. in your city---depends on the year of the Caddy and the subs in the trunk, actually. Whatever. Every time you, the reader, hears a goddamn biker misusing the clutch on his obnoxious, glorified bicycle, have a bullhorn ready and scream into his ear:
Bikers don't do shit but jack up Miller Brewing Company stock and your local bratwurst stand's profits. Fuck bikers and overly fuck their parents who have obviously failed miserably at teaching their sons vital civility. We often hear the words "biker bar" uttered together, which easily makes us think of some shit-hole on the edge of town pumping Pabst Blue Ribbon as the Tuesday special, which is exactly what I'd need in my system by the gallons in order to stuff my cock into the haggard bitch riding shotgun on the back of any hick's motorcycle, and on the end-note, no one wants to hear that bitch no more than they want to hear the small tractor transferring her old ass.
I have to wonder how illegal it would be to shoot at a Harley rider with a paintball gun as he takes off full throttle. By law they have to already be wearing protective eyewear so we're covered there for safety regulations, therefore I don't see why I couldn't just be a public asshole right back to them by spraying the whole fleet with orange and yellow pellets.
BIKERS: If the ground beneath my feet shakes as you accelerate, we got bigger problems than your 47-year old, trailer park queen rockin' the bandana for a helmet, dipshit!
Attention shoppers: you suck.
Something about the idea of the general public stirs and churns the bile within my stomach due to the incredible degree of pieces of shit they are. It's difficult to think of evolution as successful when there are so many impolite and unthoughtful entities suffocating our altruistic and optimistic viewpoints, and apparently these people pay sales tax just like the rest of us.
Who treats a public institution with such disregard? Why isn't the hierarchy of this store keeping his program straight? There is no other explanation other than people = shit, not even mattering their corporate rank, as retail is a prime place to find all sorts of shit-bags and their wonderous methods of conducting themselves as if they're in their very own bathroom.
Ever been strolling down the cereal isle in the grocery store and see a package of meat just sitting on the shelf next to the Apple Jacks? Fuck yea, you have. That means some asshole sometime within the last 3 hours had personally withdrawn the $8.50 steak from the refrigerated meat section, then mid-trip decided against the purchase and simply just flopped it onto a shelf that holds a static 72 degrees for it to rot or a sorry employee to discover; whichever came first. And that's the same asshole who after putting his groceries into the car, simply leaves the cart in the parking lot so the wind can blow it into someone else's car.
Well, fuck you, shopper. Your actions make me want to pay an HIV-infected meth addict to shoot up, steal his needle then return to you, only to stab you in the fucking throat with it as to perform some illegal public service. Die.
Seriously; who does this type of shit? I mean, I'm an asshole and often a drunk one, but NEVER would I jab a perishable product aside something the Jews could have stuffed into their trenched hovels and feasted upon for 10 Twinkie-like years just because I didn't have the goddamn common courtesy to walk back 30 feet whence I came and restore shit back to its natural, working order. One really needs to avoid being a burden amongst the general public if any one of those shit-bricks wants us to attend their birthday parties or more importantly, their funerals. The general public is lazy, insufficient and has the brain equivalency to that of a turnip not on a truck so why should I give to the homeless? I have a hard enough time opening the door for some asshole who
doesn't have dirt on his clothes, so get real. These levels of discourteousness sets my brain on fire, like the hagglers at the checkout line since those people are always trying to talk to the cashier or complain about how shit is bagged, priced, "It's cold outside," "It's hot in here," and what their mother thinks is a great pair of scissors for cutting coupons and several other miscellaneous drivels that spill from a consumer's mouth while I'm trying to continue my day. How about this: SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MOVE ALONG. I don't give a shit what
nigger asshole is in line.
Stupid dicks. Even in the express checkout line, "15 items or less" turns into a burdening instance because as you look at the guy who seriously has only 4 things awaiting scanning, what does he spit onto the cashier as you stand there thinking, 'There's no way he can fuck this up, is there?'
"Oh, I also need a pack of Newport one-hundreds. Box."
Now the bitch has to walk all the way to the cigarette district within the grocery store to get this putz something he should have taken care of at a different establishment for a way cheaper price. Great. No biggie, right? Just another 3 minutes out of my day because he's an idiot; who cares, eh?
Fucking asshole. Nobody goes to the grocery store to purchase cigarettes in the same way nobody with a IQ trumping 63 heads off to a strip club to get laid. Losers.
Learn it.
I hate the general public the same way I hate dog farts, which means: "fuck shit up on your own time, not mine"---This will come out of my mouth till I die AND out of my keyboard until it ODs from my righteous ways. I'm hardly wrong, and if you think so, get back to the
stripper Hallmark cards. That's exactly what I'm fucking talking about-->
People don't inspire me. Sure, I could get a cat or a dog (or a kid) or something else lame to provide inspiration, but then I'd just be a douche-bag like most of you.