Comment Corner

Folks, there are just some things in life that are going to remain mysteries, no matter how hard decent folks try. I’m not talking about stupid mysteries that drive people to force oversized novelty crystal decanters up the ass of people who use finger quotations for words that don’t need it. I don’t mean throwing somebody from a moving helicopter for saying “okey-dokey-schmokey” and I don’t mean blankly pointing and laughing at people who flail their cell-phones around their heads like they’re trying to scoop a signal out of the air. Actually, the real mystery is why those people use Telus. Fuck you Telus.

I’m talking about mysteries that are truly unexplainable. Mysteries such as… (segues available for $2.95 a pop…)

PARENTS WHO TAKE SMALL CHILDREN TO INAPPROPRIATE MOVIES

Movie theatres need to make things abundantly clear to people who try to tottle into movies dragging along clingly little mouth-breathing retard kids who have spent the last 3 hours inhaling air such that they can emit a single whine for 2 hours. In the past 3 or 4 years, science has advanced to bold new heights in the world of baby-sitting by inventing baby-sitters. As a result of these break-throughs, no longer do intelligent ticket-buying patrons have to sit in a theatre, trying to watch a half-decent movie only to have it interrupted by a child who’s is crawling around on the floor eating M&Ms mixed with Coca-Cola and semen, or kicking the back of my chair like they’re practicing for the boogery little shitkid Mexican hatdance dance-off in Moncton, NB. There’s something these parents need to understand about their children, besides that their children are fleshy anchors and that is that the theatre is not an appropriate place for them, much like driving a truck, performing dick surgery or designing pharmaceuticals are not appropriate for kids. (Not on the list: chained to sewing machine).



Do some parents honestly fucking believe that a 3 year old is going to sit quietly through Syriana? I mean without benefit of welding a steel plate to their mouths? No. Children can’t even sit through a beating without crying.

So, no longer should I have to sit in the theatre wondering why the fuck Junior is barfing in his lap and can concentrate on the overpriced shit Hollywood is cramming down my throat.

LINE UPS AT THE CAR WASH

How the fuck does this one occur? I drive around until I find a gas-station that’s completely abandoned, pull up, pump enough gas to get the $2 discount (you cheap fuckers with your billion dollar profits can’t toss away $2 for those of us that only want to buy a mouthful of gas.), check not once, nor twice but thrice for other patrons, notice nobody and then go into the kiosk. Once inside the kiosk, there’s only the vacant-headed teenager twiddling their nose-ring, not another soul around. I buy the gas, order the car wash, check once again to make sure I’m the only patron and wander outside. Once outside, there’s a 465 car pile-up in the mouth of the car wash with at least 30 or 40 cars skidding into the twisted mess every step I take to my car. Honest to Jesus’ nuts, I would swear that a car dump-truck came up, emptied its load and then just lifted off the ground and flew away.



I have no explanation for this, but I’m considering beating a Star Trek nerd into explaining wormholes to me.

NOT KNOWING WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO ORDER AT BURGER KING AFTER ONLY HAVING STOOD IN LINE FOR 33 MINUTES STARING AT A LARGE-SIZED PRINT BACK-LIT MENU WHICH IS PROMINENTLY DISPLAYED RIGHT THE FUCK IN FRONT OF YOU.



This one makes me want to just yank off somebody’s dork and throw it wildly to the ground. There is simply no reason for this one to occur at all. It’s a line up at Burger King, nobody is discussing viable solutions to extricating American forces from Iraq or the neurological meaning of sleep nor are they discussing the perils of frequenting $5 Guatemalan hookers. Since the conversation in line at Burger King is banal at best, there’s nothing compelling people from at least once staring up at the menu.

But it never happens. Too often, people arrive at the front of the line and are shocked that the lazy teen behind the counter isn’t psychic and can’t pluck their order from their brain. So, they fumble around worse than Paris Hilton being forced to eat out her mother. They (it’s always a they and almost always involves a woman) stare at each other, laugh inappropriately and seek guidance from the other over what to order. What they don’t know is that I’ve been pouring packet after packet of vinegar into my mouth, collecting it for one massive spew at them through a source of flame. Even if it doesn’t burst into flame and torch the fuckers, it will at least land on them slightly warmed.

And that’s a small victory.

I’m sure that there are other mysteries in life which can’t be explained, but I’m too lazy to try and figure out what they are right now.