The Annoyances Post: Volume #755

There are too many shopping days until Christmas.

I came to this conclusion after someone teed up their minus with “Are you all done with your Christmas shopping?” and then followed that up by reminding me how many shopping days I had left before the clock struck Santa while I constructed homicidal scenarios on the fly. After which I decided to work up an annoyances post since I don’t really feel like becoming the next Netflix murder docu-series star.

Let’s do this thing . . .

• There’s some intrigue as to whether US soccer coach Gregg Berhalter will be back after his club was ousted in the Round of 16. If he decides to leave, good for him . . otherwise, who are the suits going to bring in that’ll do a better job than he did? Is Andy Reid available? No? That’s annoying!
• You know the people who blow through stop signs in a parking lot as if they’re just for show? They annoy the fuck out of me.
• People who assume I love gadgets because I’m a dude are annoying. I don’t.

• “Survival Kits”- Duke Cannon offers peach men’s grooming products and I have no issues with a company that churns out quality products while donating 5 percent of all profits to military causes.. But the packaging annoys the fuck out of me. Take for example the “Survival Tube” shown above; it includes hand balm, lip balm, face lotion and cooling towels. In other words, if you ever found yourself stranded in the Yukon and alls ya got is this boy boutique bundle? You’re going to become a grizzly sandwich right quick. And yes, I understand why companies pimp their merch with this terminology because I’ve done it. And I always hated myself just a little bit more in the doing.
• People who say “I’m keeping it 100 percent” annoy me.
• Billboards that implore you to pay attention to the road because distracted driving can be fatal are not simply annoying, they’re dangerously annoying!
• Hard seltzers . . . annoying.
• You know when you go to the store for one item and then you start buying other shit? And then you get back home and realize that the one item you went to the store to buy is the only thing you forgot. How annoying is that?

• “Gear”- Everything is gear now. The proliferation of tactical terms speaks to a society that looks in the mirror and sees a badass staring back at them when in reality we are closer to Chuck Barris than Chuck Norris. I realize calling a winter jacket or a pair of sneakers or hell, even a wristwatch something more physically imposing is all about maximizing profit and burnishing a brand, but hell if it’s not annoying as all get out.
• People who don’t say “Thank you” when you hold the door for them. Hey, I ain’t looking for a Nobel Peace Prize for holding the fucking door for your ass. Just a simple thank you. Two words . . it’s not hard people!
• The Tua apologists who act as if the kid’s struggles in his first two seasons were entirely the fault of former head coach Brian Flores. I seem to remember a QB who was stuck in a similar situation to what Tua went through; he had a defensive minded head coach who was a genuine hard ass and didn’t have any use for his QB either. And yet, Tom Brady did pretty okay during his time in New England . . .

• Money Mouths- As Phil Mushnick of the New York Post has pointed out many times, sports fans tune in for the game, not the voices calling it. I would tune in to a Chiefs vs Bengals game if my uncle was calling it, and he’s been dead for years. Conversely, nothing and no one is going to compel me to watch a Lions vs Jaguars tilt. And yet, the networks keep throwing good money after really bad by signing names like Romo, Aikman and now Tom Brady to obscenely extravagant contracts to be the voices of their most valuable product. I think they wear suits and spout inane football jargon to justify the silly money. They can shout that a player is “running north to south” instead of running in an open field, and that he is “high pointing the ball” rather than saying he jumped higher than the other guy to make the catch, but you ain’t selling me on it. As if all this isn’t bad enough, after the networks hire these guys, they lay off a bunch of working stiffs whose profiles don’t come with a Q rating. It’s not just annoying, it’s awful.
• Hallmark movies.
• Hallmark cards.
• Okay, anything Hallmark.

You know what annoys me to no end? People who don’t take a hint when you start walking away because you have used up all the small talk you can muster and you just want to get on with your day but noooooo, they keep right on talking. They don’t care that you’re done with the conversation . . they never stop to think that maybe you’ll hate them for wasting your time . . . and then they hit you with, “Are you all done with your Christmas shopping?”.

I take back what I said earlier. Maybe a Netflix murder docu-series is in my future.

 

 

 

Mashup Theatre Presents: The (Non)Annoyances Post!

I decided to make good on my threat to ching a mashup of annoying things with stuff that supplies disco to my senses. To borrow from those classic Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercials, I got some harsh in my mellow and I got some mellow in my harsh. It’s about time the twain should meet, so let’s dance!

Mellow– Playoff hockey. The coolest game in the world achieves Jules Winnfield status when the weather gets toasty, and this season was no different. The Colorado Avalanche knocked off the two-time defending champion Tampa Bay Lightning, denying the SEC another title. In the process, The Avs served notice that Joe Sakic is the new John Elway and his club ain’t done courting Lord Stanley just yet. 

Harsh– People who subject everyone to their phone conversations. You hear them in the grocery store checkout line and you even hear them at the movies. These ass-hatted humperdincks think they’re sooooo scary interesting when the truth is, we’d rather eavesdrop on a Mormon marshmallow roast.

Mellow– Furry friends in pet strollers. It’s the cutest Godamn thing this side of Emilia Clarke wearing a baseball cap. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve made the acquaintance of a calico cat named Pancake and a Westie named Mr. Wigglesworth. I am all about that. 

Harsh– Those infernal two-seater shopping carts. If only these consumption conveyances were used as God intended. But nope, they’re usually occupied by elementary school students who attend the Regan McNeil School of Performing Arts or college kids majoring in drinking games that were obviously created by Eli Roth.

Mellow– The New York Yankees in 2022. It’s been a Kinsella novella for my pinstripes to this point in the season. And while it would be easy to forecast cloudy skies ahead based on how the Astros outplayed them this weekend, Imma stick with the glass being half full. If the boys can somehow make it rain champagne in October, I’ll write ’em a love letter.

Harsh– The New York Yankees Announcers. Mel Allen must be crapping in his dead pants every time he listens to this bunch. John Sterling doesn’t call a game, he massacres it. And new addition Carlos Beltran fits right in when he offers up stuff like “Anthony Rizzo doesn’t like to strike out,”. How can a historic franchise suffer this kind of bush league broadcasting?

Harsh– Starbucks People. There’s nothing sophisticated or hip or irreverent about ordering a double caramel macchiato with 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk and a 1/3 hemp milk, a double pump of Madagascar vanilla syrup, a dead eye triple shot and a sprinkle of angel dust. You’re just projecting your neurosis onto a barista who doesn’t make nearly enough to deal with your shit.

Mellow– An ice cold beer when the temps get contentious. It’s Tchaikovsky for my taste buds. And sure, that ice cold beer isn’t going to change the weather. But it’s going to help me forget all about it, and isn’t that what counts most of all?

Harsh– Driving has gone Grand Theft Auto. I don’t know if it’s the post Covid Effect where peeps jolly their rogers by burning Stuntman Mike in effigy, but I ain’t down with it. If you wanna burst your bubble by playing bumper cars? Move to Florida.

Mellow– Horror flicks. Because they offer me a reason for living that the daily news cycle just ain’t supplying. 

I would like to thank Jesus for providing me with the inspiration for this jaunt. That dude is the best straight cash homie mechanic/drug dealer ever. And as for a sequel to this nice meeting vice business goes?

Seguramente.

 

 

 

The Annoyances Post . . . Back and Butter Than Ever!

As the legendary Ella Fitzgerald once crooned, into each life some rain must fall. Of course, the Queen of Jazz presented this unfortunate reality with the kind of elegance that made  heartbreak seem like a stroll through Paris Hilton’s walk-in closet. The quixotic heft of her brilliant lie left our simple minds believing that clouds were a cursive weep that helped ease the pain of bad whiskey and even worse decisions.

Regrettably, Ella never did get around to explaining why it is that we have to live with annoying shit. Cosmically speaking, the lack of such a nope-us of an opus is a missed exit that can never be undone since it never was done done in the first place.

Which is pretty annoying in its own right . . .

• Golf. Having played it, I can honestly say it’s a sport tailor made for those with infinite patience. Oh yeah, and sadists too. As for viewing? I watched the last few holes of Tiger’s first win at the Masters. Because, history. And I watched Greg Norman go from hero to spiro at the Masters the year before, because I love disaster flicks. And that’s it. Because to me, watching golf is right up there with watching flies paint.
• Last night I planned on staying up to watch Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals between my Heat and the Celtics. I hadn’t watched a single minute of a Miami Heat game this postseason and what did I get for my time? A 20-1 start for the Boston Celtics, after which I turned on something else. I’m a penny stock investor when it comes to my sports portfolio and I’m not ashamed to admit as much.
• Circus Peanuts. How in blessed hell are these marshmallow monstrosities still breathing our air?
• There is no messing with the serrated edges on a roll of aluminum foil. I’d sooner be stuck in a phone booth with zombies.

• And that reminds me. You know what really annoys my ass? The total liquidation of the public phone booth. I mean, for aesthetic reasons alone they should bring them back!
• Miller Lite commercials that still have the audacity to peddle flavor, forty-seven years after their introduction. The science of our taste buds ruled on that shit back in high school and it came back with a verdict of As Fucking If
• When did they pass a law that most every contemporary female musical artist has to sound as if they just woke up? And every male artist has to whine the lyrics?
• Youtubers who post rants while sitting in their car.

• Target art. As if the masters ain’t dead enough.
• This idea that every last popular (and in many cases, even the not so popular) flick needs to get a reboot is absurd, not to mention lazy. Fresh ideas people! Find ’em!
• People who turn their car radio up so that everyone knows about their shitty taste in music. And they think it’s cool, even though it’s the exact opposite of cool.
• Hoverers.
• Amazon. Every time I dial up their tunes, I get prompted to sign up for their Unlimited plan, which I have zero interest in. All I want is to randomly plug into some shit I may or may not have jammed to previously. I don’t do playlists because, like everything else in the world, it has become so repulsively cliché.
• Airbnb commercials.

I would like to thank my special guests Ella Fitzgerald, Douglas Adams and Ayn Rand for being the inspiration for this post. And my since apologies to Tim Anderson and Josh Donaldson for never making it out of the Green Room. But rest assured Imma have them back later this week because I simply cannot allow their level of stupid to go unpunished.

Until then, remember kids. Keep your friends close and your beverage of choice closer.

The Annoyances Post! (My Therapist Is On Vacation Edition)

The Rundown has been preempted so that I can bring you an unfiltered, unfitted and unfettered mess of thoughts that have been squatting in my cerebrum. I was afraid this might happen if I ran out of Cinderella 99, so I’ll chalk this unexpected voyage up to living and learning. You can catch this week’s episode of The Rundown on Sunday.

Until then, here’s something less thought provoking . . .

• Mario Lopez seems like a very nice person, but I can’t take him seriously when he uses words like “Cute”, “OMG” and “Yay!” in any sentence, much less the same fucking one. Listen, I ain’t down with the bullshit Hemingway methodology of machismo, but . . . if you got any testosterone in the tank, you can’t be riffing like Doc McStuffins.
• They had to make another Joe Millionaire? Really? You know what the twist is in this show? That they made another Joe Millionaire.
• AOC goes mask-less in Florida, Warren Davidson compares vaccine protocols in the nation’s capitol to Nazi Germany and the investigation concerning Matt Gaetz’s alleged sex trafficking is heating up. As if the Founding Fathers weren’t dead enough.
• For the last time, Circus Peanuts are not fit for human consumption. If you disagree, you best get help for your blue pill addiction.
• How the hell does Rob Lowe still have hair like that? I mean, without having to scalp somebody?
• I think we can all agree that adjectives can be used for good or evil. So if you call someone ‘fantastic’ or ‘zealous’, congratulations on being a righteous human being. But if you refer to someone as a ‘national treasure’ and her name ain’t Betty White? Be assured, you are on my watch list.
• Miami Dolphins owner Stephen Ross cycles through head coaches the way Kim Kardashian cycles through love tonics. He fired Brian Flores this week, never minding the fact this dude coached the hell out of an incredibly flawed team. Never minding the fact Flores didn’t lose his team when it sank to 1-7. Never minding that Flores was 4-2 against the great Belichick as Miami boss. That’s a shit ton of never minding, but it’s what Ross does. And now he goes looking for his seventh head coach since buying the team in 2008. Ross blathered on about how Flores was difficult to work with. You know who else is difficult to work with? Bill Belichick.
• Renn Hawkey won Love Powerball, but I betcha he wouldn’t know Jane Austen from Steve Austin. A very trusted source provided me with this information . . .
• Applebee’s stole the Cheers theme song now? Oh. Hell. Nope. (Psssst! That’s called foreshadowing).
• MLB owners and the player’s union got together yesterday, and the only peeps happy about this fact are the caterers. The owners are intent on keeping their payrolls young and cheap for as long as possible while the players argue the suits are manipulating their service time. You’d never know the MLB pulled in more than 3.5 billion last year, but it happened. To quote Nino Brown, money talks and bullshit runs a marathon.
• When someone begins with “Nobody asked me . . .”, shut any further nonsense down by finishing the thought with ” . . . and we are all the better because of it”.
• I have a sneaking suspicion Power of the Dog is gonna roll this year’s Oscars. And good for everyone involved, really. But I saw it and I’m still waiting on a time refund from Stephen Hawking.

Welp, that’s a wrap for this magical mystery tour. If you made it all the way to the end, please let me know what you were drinking, smoking or ingesting in the comment section below. Remember, to err is human but to annoy is unforgivable.

Salud!

The Annoyances Post (Volume . . Mucho)

Back in the day, I used to pen my annoyances on an almost monthly basis. The hope was that in expelling these inner turmoil ridden snake bites from my system, perhaps I would lighten up. Needless to say, Vietnam was a romantic comedy in comparison. I would love to blame this epic failure of a stratagem on my therapist but we broke up during the second Obama administration, long before I started writing these fuckers up.

Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. These posts . . not the relationship.

Anyways, with the goal of self-improvement no longer serving as a hindrance, Imma dish up another edition of “Shit that annoyed me this week!”. If you find yourself playing along at home . . well, I’d seek help immejiately.

Aaron Rodgers- He spent the summer singing songs of woe is me, making State Farm commercials and wondering if his career was in . . wait for it . . Jeopardy. Okay, so his bosses are disingenuous schmucks who made it clear he is replaceable. Wow, like . . that never happened to anyone before.

Vladimir Putin- More insufferable than Chevy Chase, colder than Chrissy Teigen (too soon?) and smugger than a gossip scribe’s twitter page. All that and he rides horseback without a shirt. Who does that? This fucking guy, that’s who.

Jersey Mike’s Subs- No one, and I mean no one in the history of ever has exclaimed “Mmmm, New Jersey makes the best bread!”. It’s not a thing!

Pumpkin Spice- Their attempts to colonize every single food- from Cheerios to Chobani yogurt to Peeps and pancakes and pretzels is bad enough. But their attack on Milano cookies is an act of war.

Cracking my phone screen- Two decades, many phones . . and so 2021 became the year when I went broken china on my screen, and what’s worse? Tupac ain’t around to rhyme it back to life. Jesus, Mary and Martin Cooper . . . why???

Pants with drawstrings- The physics of this seemingly harmless invention is destined for tragedy, and still I return to the scene of this fashion crime. Shame on me.

People who say “What’s on your plate today?”- In a world where most phrases have the shelf life of a mayfly, why won’t this one just die?

Applebee’s commercials- To borrow from Tessio in The Godfather. . for old time’s sake.

The Miami Dolphins- If this sad excuse for a football team that should really be sold for parts were a person . . it would write a screenplay that feels very much like Capra in the magical first act . . and then turns into a Family Guy episode. After which, it punches you in the face . . and then steals your car and your house and your girl and your cats and your dog . . and then takes your identity, leaving you penniless, forcing you to rob a bank which leads to your arrest and conviction and the next thing you know, your cellmate is a three-hundred and fifty pound guy named Stumpy who’s serving two life terms and thinks you have a perty mouth. And then Miami comes to visit you every Sunday . . and he brings you a Jersey Mike’s sub.