I'm getting tired of guys who smoke pipes. When are they going to outlaw this shit? Guy with a fucking pipe!

It's an arrogant thing to place a burning barrier between you and the rest of the world. It's supposed to imply thoughtfullness and intelligence.

It's not intelligent to walk around with a controlled fire sticking out of your mouth. I say "Hey, professor,

You want something hot to suck on? Call me! I'll give you something to put in your mouth!"

I think these pipe smokers ought to just move to the next level and go ahead and suck a dick. There's nothing wrong with sucking dicks.

Men do it. Women do it. It can't be all bad if everybody's doing it. I say "drop the pipe and go to the dick".

That's my advice. I'm here to help.

I'm also getting sick of car alarms. Not the screeching and beeping. That doesn't bother me.

It's just the idea of a car alarm that I find offensive. Especially the ones that talk to you: "Move away! Move away!".

- "Oh, really?". That's when i reach for my sharpest key. And i put a deep gouge in that paint job, all the way around the car.

Three hundred and sixty degrees. I might even make two trips around, if I don't have a luncheon appointment that day.

And then I walk away slowly, unconcerned about the screeching and beeping, because I know that no one takes car alarms seriously.

Car alarms are a Yuppie-boomer conceit and they're responsible for most of the carjacking that's going on.

Car alarms and The Club have have made it harder for thieves to steal parked cars

and so instead, they're stealing cars with people in them and people are dying.

And it's all because these selfish, boomer degenerates can't stand to part with their personal property.

Fuck boomers and fuck their pussified car alarms.

I'm also sick of having to look at bearded guys who don't know how to trim the lower edges of their beards, where they extend back toward the neck.

They trim too far up toward the chin, leaving a glaring, fleshy strip where there ought to be hair.

Guys, you need to let the beard extend far enough back under your chin, so it reaches the point where your neck begins.

Then, from the fold or angle that forms between your jaw and neck, you shave downward. If you don't have that fold;

if you have a fat, fleshy pouch under your jaw with no definition, you shouldn't be trimming your beard at all.

You should let it grow long and bushy, so it covers that goofy-looking pouch.

And I've just about had it with all these geeky fucks who walk around listening to Walkmans.

What are these jackoffs telling us anyway? They're too good to participate in daily life? They're sealing themselves off? Big fucking loss!

And what is it they're listening to that's so compelling?

I think a person has to be fairly uncomfortable with his own thoughts to have the need to block them out while simply walking around.

I'd love to know how many of these obviously disturbed people become suicides.

I've also grown weary of reading about clouds in a book. Doesn't this piss you off?

You're reading a nice story and suddenly the writer has to stop and describe the clouds. Who cares?

I'll bet you anything I can write a decent novel with a good, entertaining story and never once mention clouds.

Really! Every book you read. If there's an outdoor scene, an open window, or even a door slightly ajar, the writer has to say

"As Bo and Velma walked along the shore, the clouds hung ponderously on the horizon like steel-gray, loosely formed gorilla turds."

I'm not interested. Skip the clouds and get to the fucking!

The only story I know of where clouds were important was Noah's Ark.

Here's something else; I don't appreciate being put on hold and being forced to listen to someone else's radio.

I don't even listen to my own radio. Why should I have to pay money to call some company and listen to theirs?

And it's always that same shit; soft rock! That sucky, non-threatening, easy-listening pussy music.

Soft rock is an oxymoron. Furthermore, it's not rock and it's not even music. It's just soft.

One more item; I'm tired of being unable to buy clothing that doesn't have writing and printing all over it.

Insipid sayings, pseudo-wisdom, cute slogans, team logos, designer names, brand trademarks, small-business ego trips; the marketing pigs and advertising swine have turned us all into walking billboards.

You see some asshole walking by, and he's got on a fruity Dodger hat and a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt.

Of course, you can't see the shirt if he's wearing his hot-shit Chicago Bulls jacket. The one that only 50 million other loser jock-sniffers own.

And since this cretinous sports fan/consumer zombie is completely for sale to anyone, he runs out his ensemble with

FedEx sneakers, ValuJet socks, Wall Street Journal sweatpants, a Starbucks jock strap and a Microsoft condom with Bill Gates' head on the end of it.

No one in this country owns his personal appearance anymore.

America has become a nation of obedient consumers, actively participating in their own degradation.