It's Not Rocket Science

Queuing. That's pretty straightforward, isn't it?

If more than one person wishes to avail themselves of a product or service then they form themselves into a line. Each new person arriving adds themself onto the back of the queue and as each person at the front is served, the queue moves forward. In time, everyone gets served.

No. I don't like queueing. I'll be frank, I fucking hate it. Do I want to be standing in this stinking fucking line, in between the alcoholic who smells of piss and the woman with the mewling brat who's screaming because she won't let the snot-streaked little bastard have another bag of E numbers and sugar?

Of course I fucking don't. That's the point.

Do you hear me, you queue-jumping motherfuckers? I don't want to be standing in this dismal queue any more than you do, but I fucking do it anyway, because I understand that this act is one of the most basic representations of society. That this simple, fundamental demonstration of the concept of community is one of the things that separates us from the bloody animals.

So what makes you so bastard special that rules don't apply to you? You're in a hurry? You've got somewhere better to be?

Guess what? Me, too. So, the only way you legitimately get to be in front of me in this queue is if you were here before me. Anything else and you're just self-centred, inconsiderate twat who thinks that you're better than everyone else.

Newsflash: you aren't. You're one more part of the problem. You're one more symptom of the creeping, festering rot that gnaws away at the simple, basic day-to-day decency that makes living in a community of other human beings bearable.

You're a jumped-up piece of shit. If you don't want to act like a human being, then don't. You're a chimpanzee in a baseball cap. You're a baboon with bling, you useless cunt. Why don't you just shit on the floor while you're at it? Why should you have wait until you get to a toilet to relieve yourself? The rules don't apply to you, do they?

Get to the back of the fucking line and wait your damn turn, just like everyone else.

You don't want to do that? Then how about me, and every other poor git stood in this queue, fucking well makes you?

Like I said yesterday: it's time we collectively grow a spine.

Going the extra mile

Today, I would like to offer some congratulations. Congratulations to whichever consumer electronics R&D department first thought of beefing up the internal speakers on mobile phones to the point where music could be played out loud on them.

You bunch of total bastards. What the fuck were you thinking? Congratulations on taking the most annoying device known to man and finding a way of adding a whole new dimension of irritation to it.

I mean, for Christ's sake! Wasn't it bad enough when we had to sit in the pub, or on the bus, listening to braying idiots discussing every minute detail of their soul-destroyingly dull social lives at the top of their voices, whilst punctuating every sentence with "innit" or "knowworrimean"?

Clearly, it wasn't enough. Clearly, the mobile phone had potential to impact still further on the collective frustration levels of the public, because there's nothing we want more than to listen to tinny R&B as part of the rich collage of sound we experience on public transport, or in other public places. Screaming children and bleating teenagers not enough? No, of course not! Let's add Eminem to the mix! Yeah!

Up until this point, we all genuinely believed that the tss-tss-tss-chff-chff-chff sound of someone listening to music through headphones was probably the most annoying thing known to man.

We were wrong. The weedy, mono, bass-free screechings that emerge from a mobile phone playing back music through its speaker is actually the most annoying thing known to man. Congratulations on pushing back the frontiers, on expanding the boundaries of what is truly, teeth-grindingly, homicidal-rage-inducingly infuriating.

But ... wait! Let's also spare a thought for you, the people who are so unbelievably arrogant as to think that we, the rest of the world, actually want to hear your preferred choice of what passes for music in your narrow little view of the cultural world.

I have news for you, you socially retarded, inconsiderate fucktards. We don't.

I have impeccable taste in music, and I don't presume that anyone other than me would want to listen to it on the bus! More to the point, even if I did think that other people deserved to hear it, why in the name of buggering fuck would I think that playing back the weedy, mono, bass-free screechings that emerge from a mobile phone would be the best way of introducing people to that music?

Stop it.

You know perfectly well that you are just annoying the living shit out of everyone around you. You fucking know it. If you pathetic little bastards were actually interested in the music, you'd have it on your headphones and would be listening to it properly. You aren't interested in the music, you're only interested in making the day-to-day environment of everyone you encounter just that little bit less tolerable, just that little bit more irritating.

I hope that one day, some day soon, somebody finally snaps. Just loses it and goes flat-out, bugfuck crazy, takes that phone off one of you and shoves it so far up your self-centred arse that it makes your eyes bulge. You absolute bunch of unutterable cunts.

Failing that, how about we - the general public - show a bit of backbone? How about that? The next time we're sat in a public place and there are a whole bunch us all gritting our teeth as we're tormented by the bastard Sugababes squeaking out of some chavved up little bleeder's Motorola, how about just one of us has the balls to tell them to shut the fuck up? And, when this audacity earns the inevitable tirade of unoriginal abuse, how about just one more of us has the balls to say: "No, actually, I agree. That's really fucking annoying. Will you please turn it off?"

How about it? I'm game if you are. Remember that there really are more of us than there are of them.

Thought for the Day

So ... today's question is aimed at every bloated moron who takes their oversized offspring down to the supermarket in order to stock up on more carbohydrate, saturated fat, and sugar derivatives.

Why? Seriously. Why?

You do know that you can get this nutrition-free crap delivered to your house via the medium of the internet, don't you? Why risk burning those all-important calories that you're clearly hording against the day the fucking sun goes out, or something, by waddling and wheezing your way around the aisles?

No ... surely it's better if you leave your corpulent arses festering on the sofa and have the whole lot delivered to your door? Don't worry, you'll still get plenty of exercise hauling your blubbery frame to the door to sign for the delivery.

Of course, the real beauty of this plan is twofold:

1) You get to gorge yourself stupid on all that pizza and chocolate and fizzy fucking drink that is clearly more important to you than a long life, a pair of trousers without an elasticated waist, or the least modicum of self-respect.

2) I don't have to navigate my way around your gargantuan frames to try and get to the salad aisle, where you have clearly only paused in order to catch your breath before striking out for the grazing pastures of the chips & dips.

To be honest, I don't actually care about you, it's seeing your kids that's doing the damage to my blood pressure. The poor little bastards don't stand a chance. First of all you called them Britney, or Christina, or fucking Wayne and now you're hell-bent on shovelling so much cholosterol-laden shit down their neck that they're already bulging out of their junior fucking shell suits. These poor little bastards don't know any better; they were looking to you to feed them properly. What's your next trick? Showing them how to play with matches? Teaching them not to look before crossing the road.

You make me sick. Someone should fucking prosecute you for child abuse.

Do I come across as angry? Bitter? Good. I'm pleased. Because I am.

'Til next time.