Americans,
claude le monde no networks, no nukes, not notcakes
how we do: + you are # |
1:58 pm | 29 September 2004 | IRRITANTS may cause bleeding I'm marginally-to-moderately annoyed a good 60% of the time, and fully engaged in annoyance about 15% of that. Since I am a person who likes to be really rabidly in touch with my feelings about every topic, isolating my annoyance triggers and either then seeking to avoid them or becoming more sharply annoyed at their inevitability is, thus, a big part of my day. Let's look at a few of them. . . . Promotional materials for "fancy" or pricey events that are lame, cheap, or shitty. Mr. Felix Dennis, I am already having trouble with your claims of being "one of Britain's richest men, and now best-selling poet*," and your shitty flyer isn't helping. The drawings are weird and weak, punctuation is intermittent, and it's at like 12 dpi. I ain't going to your show based on that, and this is despite the advertised (or threatened) free wine. Keeping The Claw away from Free! Wine! means you must realllllly look like total crap. . . .
This scenario: You're in a store, say Togo's, probably getting a sandwich, say a medium vegetarian toasted with extra peperoncini, and you go to pay with your credit or debit card, and the cashier, say a violently-browed Lebanese man of 50 or so, takes your card and swipes it violently through the reader as though the speed of swipage determined the validity of purchase or, like, he was gonna get 12� extra by swiping through the sound barrier or something. WHAT THE HELL. It says "swipe rapidly" so you don't just stick the card in the slot and wait (unlike INSERT PERSONAL ANALOGY HERE), but you don't have to rip the plastic past the reader at Mach 17, you fuckneck dipwad. This also applies to situations where you are William Yang at the Broadway/Alamitos Shell Station. . . . Cops who follow you without actually pulling you over, like the kid I blew past last night doing 70 on the Vincent Thomas bridge (limit: 45) who then proceeded to shark behind me for like THREE MILES into San Pedro without actually doing anything. Like, ticket me or fuck off, dude. I was in the wrong but you are being a harassing terrorizer and I don't 'preciate it. . . . Lady across the courtyard from my apartment: fuckin' I HATE YOU. At all hours, one of three things is happening: did you miss the previous entry's gun-range pictures? unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |