Nothing more self righteous than my own indignation

Like most reasonable people I glide around through life in a bubble of sweet serenity, exuding an air of calm and tranquillity and bestowing good wishes and grace upon my beloved brothers and sisters of Earth. At least that is till some stupid pigfucking human dares to stumble clumsily into my bubble and shatters it with their arrows of hate. So today I am going to discuss some of the things which people do which drive me to an apocalyptic rage and will probably shorten my life by 40 years due to a massive brain embolism

So here's the scenario. Due to some bizarre alignment of the planets I've been working away hard for once like an industrious little fucker. I send off an email with my beloved spreadsheet attached, full of complex equations and made up statistics and a few minutes later get a reply, 'thks'. That seemingly random collection of letters is their expression of gratitude for my hours of painstaking and deeply incompetent work. That is the least amount of thanks they could give, I'd rather they said nothing. How lazy can you be, how ungrateful and complacent can you have got, when you can't be fucked to stick an extra vowel and a consonant to make an actual word and thank your fellow man, rather than send him what is at best a noise. Why do they do this? To save time? To save wear and tear on the 'A' key? Maybe you get more letters the more grateful they are? You wouldn't do this in a face to face conversation, if you did people would think you were a bit special needs and you'd be chased back to your retard cage by men with pitchforks, or at best returned to the travelling circus from which it would be assumed you'd escaped.

Or maybe reality TV

 Not everything that enrages me is a deliberate act of provocation, many are indirect and seemingly illogical. I'm on a train travelling from one boring destination to another, safely ensconced in my own private fantasy world and humming the train song (Hmmm,mmm,hmmm,mmm,hmmm) when I realise I'm approaching my destination. I get up and stand by the door behind a businessman who has his serious face on and stares directly in front of himself with an intensity which curdles milk and miscarries babies.

The train arrives and the door makes that 'ping!' noises and the door open button lights up and nothing happens. He just stands there and for all I know would continue to stand there if I hadn't pushed the button myself like some sort of mythological hero. His duty is clear, as the man nearest the door he should open it, but no, not for him. His sense of entitlement is so huge that doors simply magically open for him and to make matters worse I have helped perpetuate this arrogant assumption by opening the door for him! It's too much to bare, so to even things out I push him under the train as it pulls out of the station, but still it rankles.

Coffee. Coffee is a fine thing. It wakes me up and makes me jerk and twitch in an endearing way and without it I'd probably never shit again. When combined with my intake of cigarettes it helps age my skin so I can rehearse being in my 40's and it also helped contribute towards a fairly ok South Park character 'Tweek' and an excellent episode (the one with the underpants Gnomes, man that was good, funny little chaps). So I have no problem with coffee, it's cheap and hot and wet like a Filipino whore and it gives me a lot of pleasure (unlike a Filipino whore). My problem with coffee starts off when you visit a coffee chain like Starbucks or Costa in an attempt to gain a little pick me up and it's too early for hard liquor (it's never too early, I'm just supposing). The problems start immediatelyy as you enter the door and you are assailed by the impossibly smug middle class jazz vibe they seem to channel. The clientele are the type of turtleneck wearing, goatee sporting hate sponges that you imagine only appear in satirical cartoons or in the depths of your most boring nightmares but are actually walking the street fucking everwhere!

My beard is ironic and my baldness post-modern

Life is full of surprises and one of them is that people are every bit as pathetic and douchelike as television exaggeratingly depicts us for comic effect. We really are that fucking annoying. It's like hipsters, parodied and widely derided for their ironic beards and constant wearing of those fucking scarf things, like a silken fart draped round their puny, chicken like necks. Everybody hates them because they're so fucking lame, not as they suppose because they're blowing our minds with the skinniness of their jeans or the blackness of the glasses

Or the shortness of their short shorts

Yet these people exist in droves and walk about flouting their dickheadness in public. When really, through fire and steel, blood and thunder, they should have been chased to the very fringe of civilisation and forced to reside in the very heart of heart of darkness itself, clawing at their own faces with their splintered nails and chewing on the  tongues of their no longer ironic friends. Tortured by demons both imagined and real they collapse into a living human mulch of flesh and bone and are eaten alive by fire ants.

The fuck...was i talking about coffee? Yeah, so back to the point after my usual diversion into genocide, i'll get onto my main point regarding the coffee thing. So you choke your way past the dickheads, past the unnecessarily placed sacks of coffee beans on the floor (why?) and try and ignore the laid back songstress on the radio and eventually order a coffee. This is where the real problems start. Say you want a medium coffee, and this is what you politely ask for. Well medium doesn't exist in the world of Starbucks, no, these smug wankers want to introduce an air of mock European sophistication whether you're in a bustling metropolis or in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, so they then condescendingly reply back 'Do you mean a Grande?'. A Grande? Holy shit, that sounds huge, it sounds like the biggest thing on earth, i want a goddamned medium. Even if you ask for a small coffee you get a 'tall'. What the fuck is wrong with these peoples size perception? I guess the next time i get my dick out i'll describe it as a 'tall' but they''ll probably miss the point, kids don't care about coffee. And so on it goes, the biggest one is a 'Venti' which probably contains more fat and caffeine then the women's toilets at weight watchers.

Anyway, so you want a coffee with milk and maybe sugar if you're a barbarian. They'll look at you as if you asked for the milk straight from their tits. As if your humble coffee isn't worthy of their monumental coffee making powers. 'What the fuck is this?' they seem to say, 'I can't make a picture of a leaf in the foam on top of this coffee. I can't even put a shit tonne of ice in it. You disgust me''.



I'm like fucking Michelangelo



Because people don't go here for coffee anymore, at least not coffee in a recognisable form. They want it covered with whipped cream and cinnamon, with chocolate sprinkles and syrup. With peppermint and gingerbread and nut and soy milk (the fuck is that?). These people don't want coffee. They don't want something to warm them up and give them a lift. They don't want a coffee, they want a cake. They want something that you have to eat with a fucking spoon, something so crammed with artery clogging fat that they might as well just neck shot after shot of lard with a coffee bean in the middle. Nothing is simple any more, everything has to be special, to be a treat. We're such pathetic little consumers that we need everything to be some type of reward, something that makes us feel that we're getting a little extra. Everything is an event, so lets have a fucking ticker tape parade for our shitty little lives and feel special together.

Anyway that's enough for now, i could have gone on about more stuff which annoys me (The spelling of the month 'February', crisps, 'Nu-rave' music etc) but really you could just replace the word 'coffee' with any of those of your choosing and you'd get the idea.