Finally, an open letter to several folks I was stuck in traffic with yesterday: Hey! It's possible I could like you. We could even be friends. You're driving a nice car, and seem to be a nice person. There's even a chance I could learn to like your music. If I could hear it, that is. But . . . I don't hear a cotton-picking thing except that gawd-awful thumping bass woofer you've got stuck in your trunk, and turned up to 8.6 on the Richter scale. Like I said, you may be a really nice person, but at this exact moment, I really, really wish that the wires to your woofer would short out to , say, about 1200 volts, and generate a pressure wave that would completely implode your worthless fu**ing skull.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Random Sunday irritants . . .
The latest commercial has four or five full-on gee-tar playin', cowboy hat wearin', country singin' good ol' boys singing "VIVA Viagra!" Yeah. Like that's going to happen
Is there anyone more irritating than this guy?
I don't get it. In fact, I never did. I guess it's a chick thing. Also, I've noticed that all of Sarah Jessica Parker's magazine covers are photographed straight on. No profiles. I think I nose why.
On "The Tudors," Anne is in deep doo. Who could have predicted that? Not really irritating, but I hate to see her go off all headless.