"Irregardless of Anything...."

Let’s keep it short and sweet so you can all dream of pumpkin pie.

I want you to sit back and think about the title of this blog for 30 seconds. I want you to think long and hard about it. If your head comes up blank or you don’t think about anything except your indigestion, sleep, or  the last small animal you throttled, I want you to take your hand.....ball it into a fist.....and punch yourself as hard as you can in the temple.

That sentence is not English. 

Irregardless is not a word you morons.

Let’s say you are discussing potential outcomes of your planned attack on the Hipster sitting across from you. You think it’s an absolutely amazing idea to rush towards him, grab his scarf, and strangle him mercilessly as he checks his e-mail on his Ipad2. 

Your friend says it’s not a good idea. 

You argue back that it is.

Then your friend makes a fatal mistake and utters something stupid such as:

“Irregardless, I don’t want you making a scene in front of everyone.”

........

Hopefully in your fury at this comment, you turn your anger towards your friend instead and lash out with your Mexican Throwing Star. I know I would.

Or I would stuff a bar of soap down his throat and watch him choke to death.

Anyhow, let’s make something very clear here. 

Irregardless is not a word.

It is a double negative.

It is an improper grammatical superlative.

It is a word uneducated, mentally incompetent, backwards, hipster-like people use.

My favourite is during a class presentation:

Presenter:  “Irregardless of these things.....Avatar was a great movie.”

Me: (puts hand up) “You mean REGARDLESS you retard?? Ha ha you are a stupid individual!!”

Quick English lesson here....

Regardless according to the dictionary means: “Having or showing no regard; heedless, unmindful; without concern as to advice or warning.

Irregardless therefore means: “I am a dumb sack of goat meat that tries to sound intelligent but ends up sounding like a complete buffoon.”

If you hear someone utter this phrase, please help cleanse the Earth of these fools 1 at a time.

I suggest beating them to death with a Webster’s dictionary so their last thought is wishing they would have learned to speak properly.

Ugh.

Tazmanian Devil Children

Not all kids are cute.

I mean when they’re really little pounds of flesh and they aren’t able to talk or move around, (think babies), they’re pretty awesome.

Even when they grow older and morph into elementary and junior high students they’re pretty cute.

As long as they’re parented properly.

There seems to be a growing amount of parents in our society who idolize their children so much that they sincerely believe that their kids can do nothing wrong. Their children are angels. Their kid will be the next President, or astronaut, or famous Nickelodeon star. Their kid is always cute and never causes trouble. That would always be someone else’s child causing difficulties.

Drop dead parents.

Let’s be real here. I can tell you numerous stories of kids who act like perfect angels when their parents are looking and then transform into razor sharp-toothed destructive Tazmanian Devil Children. They rush around breaking things, touching stuff that isn’t theirs, throwing dog poop, pulling the tails of animals, and generally acting like mentally deranged possums. Devious little kids. Yeah....real cute.

But the absolutely, positively, irrefutably, most irritating ones are the kids that act like this while their parents watch and do nothing. Example:

I used to work in a retail store. This store was occasionally frequented by parents with small bratty children. Well one day a lady came in with 2 of the ghastly little beasts hanging off of her shopping cart. Once in the store the kids, the kids leaped off the cart and began to lose their mind while the lady shopped. They pulled shoes off the display, started shrieking and running around, ran into the back of the store, smeared their hands all over the glass mirrors, threw garbage at each other, threw shoes at each other, and shrieked some more. I looked to the mom for help, expecting her to act like any reasonable parent would and rein in her children. But of course she was not an ordinary reasonable parent. In fact, she acted as if nothing was happening and the world consisted of unicorns, happiness, and rainbow fairies. 

Then they ran behind the counter and stole my stapler. And began emptying the staples across the floor of the store.

At this point I just lost it. I asked the lady firmly, in a savagely not-nice tone, to control her children because they were being raging destructo-maniacs. (I was even fairly certain I saw the one kid sharpening his fangs into a point with a file while rolling his eyeballs around madly in his sockets and foaming at the mouth......but I could have been hallucinating).  Anyways, what was her response?

“I know, aren’t they just the cutest things ever?! Don’t worry about them they’ll be fine.”

#&*$#&(*@. 

No. Your children are not cute. In fact they are about to become victims of a “tragic accident” in which they find pens somehow embedded in their cerebellums. 

I am not worried about THEM lady, I am worried about ME. 

So.....I decided to mobilize myself in order to neutralize the Tazmanian Devil threat myself. Oh wait, my hand was stapled to the desk by the demon-spawn child with the crazy eyes. It was in this moment of realization  that one of the kids pulled down our entire display of Crocs (about 200+pairs of them all over the floor) while I could only watch in slow-motion anger. 

That was it. I called security. I told the lady she had 2 minutes to get her ill-behaved bratty children out of the store before security escorted them out and she was slapped with a fine for destruction of store property. Her response:

“But they’re not even doing anything; I mean they’re just playing nicely! They’re so cute how can you be upset at them?! Oh and I really like these shoes can I try some on?”

Me: “No. You need to invest in some serious discipline for your children seeing as they have only made rude replies and faces to me when I asked them to stop. If you can’t control your kids when you’re in public, you shouldn’t take them out. Sorry. You need to leave. Now.”

The mom huffed and puffed breathily and called her little Taz’s to her. (Of course they didn’t listen). Then she proceeded to yell. (They still didn’t listen). Finally she just walked out of the store. 

Well, the little bratty boy threw the stapler across the store nearly shattering a mirror and then dashed out screaming bloody murder. The girl started crying about how she was hungry and followed suit in a path of whirling madness.

Honestly, some kids deserve to be spanked. Actually some kids deserve to be spanked 100 times. Actually, some parents could use a good spanking too. Just because they’re your kids does not make them perfect angels or applicants for the Nobel Peace Prize. 

DISCIPLINE YOUR CHILDREN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

Or stay at home. 

Or don’t even have kids. 

Tazmanian Devil Children are a Class 1 dangerous animal.

I will hunt down your children and take them to Social Services.

How cute are they now???!!

Ugh.

That is all.

Every Time You Smile an Emo Person Dies

Think about the title of this blog. Now smile. Congratulations you have just killed an Emo person!

Or at least I wish that was the case.

Emo people are last year’s model of the hipster. Just more misunderstood, and more perishable. (As in die easily).

They are shy, fragile, creatures who hold buckets and buckets full of feelings and emotions that they don’t know how to express. So they all express themselves the same way:

• Through their sad pathetic clothing and hairstyle 
• By listening to music which they feel empathizes with their inner feelings 
• Being a Mute, Crying/Corner-sitting 
• Playing in Traffic 
• Self-persecution (I SUCK SOOOOO MUCH AT LIFE! SO I’M JUST GOING TO KEEP DOING THINGS I SUCK AT SO I FEEL WORSE ABOUT MYSELF).

Let’s go through each of these manifestations in closer detail so we can discover exactly why I despise Emo people.

1. The whole world already knows they lack any sort of athleticism or physical strength, yet Emo’s insist on dressing in skin-tight jeans to show off their knocky-knees and pencil legs. Why would you want to wear nut-crusher jeans is my question?  Also they grow their hair long and dye it black (sometimes with a coloured patch in it) and then they comb it over so it covers one of their eyes—which they then use to stare at the ground.

Oh Emo people, you think you make such a statement by telling the world you are sad and depressed through your hair and dress. But in actual fact, you just make yourself a bigger target for being run over and flattened by garbage trucks who mistake you for pesky skunks. Oh well, nobody misses Emo's anyways.

2. They listen to songs like “Perfect” by pInk (real song) or “It’s Raining Glass and Knives” by The Cornersitters (I wish it was a real song). Either way, the songs frequently reference suicide, death, dying, knives, being cut by knives, dying on a bed of knives, committing suicide by falling on a bed of knives, sadness, deathly sadness, worldly sadness, there is nothing but sadness, dying on a sad bed of knives while tears fall into eternal death....you get the point.

Oh hey Emo people, you know what, nobody else listens to that music. Why?  Because the rest of us have these fun little things called mouths and we use them to share our feelings with others. Oh and also, those artists SUCK and most of us prefer not to listen to suicidal-sad-depressing-the-world-is-ending-I-hate-my-life-bands.

3. It’s a fact: Emo people are pretty much mute. Have you ever tried talking to one? It’s like talking to a sack of hammers with a mouth. A really really really stupid sack of emotional hammers. They are too self-absorbed to respond to anything you say so they just shuffle away and stare at the ground. Or they go cry in the corner by themselves because you tried talking to them (which somehow means you don’t understand them).

The best way to make friends with an Emo person is to stand next to them and not say anything but nod your head sadly in empathy.

I prefer my method: mace them. “SEE YOU CRY NOW SUCKAHHH”

Or smile. And watch them die. Because every time you smile an Emo person dies.Fact.

4. Emo’s are at highest risk for dying in pedestrian related accidents. Reason being they can’t see past their hair and shuffle everywhere.

But nobody cares.

5.  Self-persecution is rampant amongst Emo people. And you know what? 

Nobody really cares about that either. It’s their own choice. If they want to think that everyone hates them.....fine....we can make that happen. If they want to believe they can’t do anything with their life.....fine.....it’s easier for the rest of us to be successful. 

I don’t buy any of this nonsense that it’s somehow my fault that Emo people are Emo. Being Emo is a choice. If you choose to sit in a corner and cry about your life I don’t feel sorry for you at all, nor do I feel like joining you. I feel like Emo people need to adopt one of my favourite slogans:

Deal With It Or Die With It.

And that’s The Daily Ranter.

Dead Fish Disease

This is not about fish, this is not about being sick, this is not about being dead--but at the same time it is about all of these things; this is the dreaded Dead Fish handshake.

Yes, a handshake.

But this is not any ordinary handshake, oh no. You see, most humans have been brought up by their parents and peers to utilize a handshake as a greeting or means of introduction.  Those who haven’t are mutations of real people and are in desperate need of a vaccine. Please inform the WHO if you find one asap.

Anyways, the proper protocol dictates you shake hands with the other person, squeezing relatively firmly up and down (maximum 2 times lest it become awkward). You give a small smile and perhaps say “Hello” or “How are you? I’m McAwesome Man”. Your hands are clean and somewhat warm....the exchange goes smoothly and you have made a good impression on the other person. No venomous thoughts occur.

Dead Fish Disease on the other hand, is an abomination to the world of handshakes and hello’s. The individuals with this disease do NOT shake hands. Rather they extend a limp, slimy appendage to you as you reach out for a handshake. Covered with cold and clammy sweat, and a sheen that can only be described as ‘mucus-like’, they drop their hand into yours. Not knowing any better, you follow the proper handshake protocol and squeeze slightly firmly. You suddenly experience the following emotions and feelings:

1. They do not squeeze back.
2. Their hand is limp as a dead fish.
3. They do not smile.
4. They gaze through you towards a distant fog.
5. They make a gill-like fish slurping noise.
6. You feel like you are shaking a cold bag of squishy Jello.
7. You draw your hand away....it smells like toad farts.
8. Gross.

Now I don’t know how the rest of you feel when this occurs, but I get filled with an inner rage and repulsion. I want to take out my personal fish bonker and club them dead while yelling: “FISH FOR SUPPER, FISH FOR SUPPER!!”

It’s just a handshake, seriously. If you’re too scared to shake hands and sweat profusely, then stay home and maybe drink some hand sanitizer. Or else learn the high five/fist pound. The human hand is one of the strongest structures in the body, so nobody buys your garbage that you can’t physically have a firm handshake. And also.....CLEAN YOUR DISGUSTING HANDS! Haven’t you ever heard of washing your urine and bodily germs off your hands? Or making sure that you don’t rub your mucus-sneezes all over your hands in vigorous rubbing motions? Yeesh. 

Oh, and last thing about you who suffer from Dead Fish Disease. YOU ARE ALL WARM-BLOODED VERTEBRAE WITH CEREBRAL CORTEX’S—ACT LIKE ONE.

Otherwise we will spear hunt you all to death:

“FISH FOR SUPPER, FISH FOR SUPPER!”

That is all.

Baby Stroller Battletanks

I HATE baby strollers. 

See when I was a young infant, my family in fact did have a baby stroller. However this was an ordinary baby stroller: it was small, could fold up into almost nothing, and could only hold 1 baby at a time. Well technology has advanced, and now it has brought us to create a stroller which is the bane of my existence—the Baby Stroller Battletank.

These are the strollers that you see plodding down the mall or on the street that are the size of a small car. At first you think it’s pretty cute that someone has septuplets (7 kids) and has decided to take them for a walk. But then, you gaze into the gaping interior to discover......1 baby. 

1 freaking baby.

These parents need to be punched in the head repeatedly. Excuse me, it’s a baby stroller NOT an ATV or a German Panzer tank. I mean the rest of the interior is wastefully stuffed with plushies, diapers, food, and a home entertainment system. You know, because the parents like to bring their entire house with their baby when they go out for 10 minutes due to their inability to take care of their children themselves. (Which is child abuse by the way).

These battle tanks are also conveniently as wide as a barn door and bar the sidewalks and buses from being used in the proper capacity. I have seen pedestrians throw themselves mercilessly onto the road into oncoming traffic in a desperate attempt to maneuver around them. Poor souls. My favourite is when you are taking the bus and have to stop for about 20 minutes while little Sally Moronface has to load her 5,000 ton Baby Tank onto the bus. I always plead in my head for the bus driver to savagely kick her in the knees and push her onto the street so she gets hit by a semi-truck—this never happens unfortunately.

It’s true though, these things are truly built for war.

They give parents absolute power and control in public places. Countless are the times in which I see adults pushing their way through a crowd and obnoxiously making room for themselves exclaiming “sorry, I have a baby stroller”. Nobody questions them because the worst thing you can do is mess with a woman who has just gone through birth and is suffering from extreme hormonal fluctuations. Plus, you’re pretty sure that they must be packing heat somewhere in that stroller to take out anyone who stands in their way.

Which brings me to the next point, and that is the baby weaponry.  It’s a well known fact that babies shriek like the Nazgul when upset—a most effective crowd-clearing tool and means of driving off enemies by striking fear and terror into their hearts. Also, their poop smells like rotting corpses and nobody wants to be the victim of a diaper gravy attack from an enraged baby. That's just bad news.

Lastly, these Battle Tanks also serve another greater purpose: stealing. Ohhhhh yes, I worked in retail for 2 years and let me tell you that mothers believe that a stroller is a shoplifting tool.  Their septuplet stroller doesn’t even have 1 baby in it, but rather is filled with shoes, clothing, electronics, and anything else they can get their grubby mitts on. When challenged about shoplifting they look at you with puppy-dog eyes and say “My baby’s sleeping in here”. Which is a bald-faced lie. (This by the way is a true story, and has happened to me more than once).

So the solution to this problem is pretty obvious. Since Baby Stroller Battletanks are weapons of warfare, those who pilot them should be treated as POW’s. We should hunt them down, lock them up, and try them at Nuremberg. Then we should hold a stroller-burning, and follow that up by executing the inventor of the stroller battletank. 

Or we can just Ninja Kick them in face, steal their babies on the street and give them to gypsies.

Both would work.

That my friends is The Daily Ranter.

SCD: An Undiagnosed Problem

I am extremely concerned today about the rise of SCD in modern society. Now I don’t mean syphilis, gonorrhoea, herpes or any other related illness (that’s STD’s you fools), I am talking about SCD—more commonly called Shopping Cart Depression.

Victims of this mental illness can be seen in grocery stores across the planet and trust me, you see at least one or two such idiots on each trip to buy your groceries. Just like the rest of us, these people have picked up a shopping cart to buy their groceries. However the victims of SCD are so unlike the normal civilian population whom push their carts around, that it’s not even funny.

In fact, it’s downright infuriating.

These cretins do NOT push their shopping carts around in an upright position. Oh no. Rather they lean over 90 degrees and rest their arms and elbows on top of the shopping cart—sometimes even their heads. Their entire body weight is propped up by the shopping cart and they lean on it as if they are too tired to go on.

They are at the end of their rope. Life is over. There is nothing left but them and this shopping cart. They can't feel their legs. Everything is fading quickly.

They shuffle along the floor allowing the slow motion of the rolling wheels to carry their useless carcasses forwards. In fact, if you were to pull their cart out from underneath them they would fall into a depressed heap on the ground and probably never get up (unless you scraped them off the ground or picked them up with a shovel and put them in the dumpster).  Consequently, victims of SCD aggravate the shopping experience for every other normal person in the grocery store. They block parking spaces, clog up grocery aisles, and conveniently park their behemoth carts in front of the 1 item you need to purchase....then glare at you when you mutter an "excuse me" and squeeze past their jello-like bodies.

They take forever to put anything in their cart (sometimes they actually don't buy anything but medication which kind of concerns me.....actually I just lied.....it doesn't concern me at all). They gaze sorrowfully at the groceries around them as if each movement or thought drains the life energy from their useless bodies. They will not, in fact cannot, survive without their shopping cart. You would honestly think that their life is ending and they are buying groceries for the last time in their pathetic existence.

They are just soooooooo tired.

And soooooooooo sad.

And sooooooooooo depressed.

“Woe are they, woe are they!”

Yes....depression is a disease, however Shopping Cart Depression is an active choice.

You know what? If you’re so tired, so depressed, and so sad, that you can’t even walk around for 5 freaking minutes to buy your bloody groceries the solution is simple:

DON’T.

The world would be better off if you and your family just starved to death in your house due to lack of food. In fact, you would fully deserve such a death and I for one would not feel sorry for you one little bit.

In fact I would support burial in an unmarked grave. 

So if you suffer from SCD please (for all things merciful) keep your lazy sloth caboose parked at home. Maybe order in food, relax, get some sleep, chill with your kids, do drugs even, or heaven forbid.........GO GROCERY SHOPPING TOMORROW!!!

Yeesh.

That is all.

The Sacrilege of Starbucks

Hello all creatures dead and alive and all you whom are unsure of the current status of your heartbeat. I suggest you check your pulse quickly before you begin to read as blood may squirt from your eyes or other orifices. I have searched my soul over the last week on what should qualify as my very first official blog post upon this page. Upon deep reflection, the very first subject came to me quite clearly! Today I am going to discuss the disgusting cult and impracticality of the snootiest coffee shop known to mankind: Starbucks.

 

Within the mall that is close to where I live, there is a Starbucks sneakily built into the Chapters. This allows for nerdy sycophants to combine reading Margaret Atwood novels with consuming drugs, a great combo considering drugs are needed to read Atwood. Just saying. Well last week I found a gift card that has lain neglected in my wallet for several months to Starbucks! Yippee gift cards!!  In my young adolescent ignorance I decided to soothe my throat before school and stop by to pick up a cup of hot chocolate. The scene which greeted me was nothing short of appalling. 

Upon finding a parking stall between a gaggle of poorly parked Subarus, , Hyundais, Mazdas, and other overpriced badly designed foreign vehicles, I began to make my short walk into Starbucks. Then.....the unthinkable happened!! A group of middle aged women dressed in their Sunday’s finest rushed past me making a mad sprint towards the front doors. They clawed and scraped at each other like wolverines in a gruesome fight over who would get to enter the hallowed ground first. However, they were suddenly beaten back by the appearance of a business man dressed in a suit, who wielded his briefcase like a machete in the Amazon forest. The women, battered and bruised, had to settle for standing in line behind him, and (much to my chagrin) in front of me. Well, at least I made it inside of the building in one piece.

Upon entry, I immediately became aware of the 3 kinds of people who populate Starbucks at any given time:

1. The Middle-aged Mother:

These creatures are often in casual dress clothes, and can be heard gossiping snootily about their ugly children, expensive clothes/houses, and the OMG moment they saw on last week’s episode of ‘Desperate Housewives’ or ‘Oprah’.  Despite the last decade’s feminist movement and the push to get women employed, these ladies inexplicably do not have jobs and spend their free time sucking down fattening latte’s rather than looking after their children. Shame on them.

2. The Amoeba Hipstermaniac:

I will not go into detail about the Hipster’s in this rant (another time trust me), however I will just say that you will see at LEAST one of these inside of a Starbucks. Not only does the hipster look give them away, but they have annexed 2 or more tables all to themselves, and have spread out a million papers and books over the tables to look like they are studying. Lost in their own little Ipod world of listening to obscure hipster music, they actually are not studying (devilish fiends) but are playing with their Ipad, Kindle, and Iphone while drinking their ill-gotten coffee. They are sluggish, slow, and tend to stay for long periods of time—just like an amoeba.

3. The ‘Business’ People

These are men/women who are having ‘business meetings’ or ‘coffee breaks’. Strangely these last for up to 3 hours, and I have a sneaking suspicion they wear suits just to go to Starbucks so people think they're cool.

You will notice (as I have) that there are almost NO blue collar workers who go to Starbucks. That’s because of the prices and the fact that they elicit dagger-stares from those who work in a sheltered environment. Poor plumbers :(

Well anyways,  I was super excited to use my gift card and was next in line (behind the group of Desperate Housewives). I listened closely to what the lady in front of me ordered..........A grande, extra hot, double-cupped, no foam, low fat, soy milk, sugar free, ¼ cream, 1 shot hazelnut, vanilla bean latte.

$*&^*#(*&^%)$.......Really?!!??!!

See now at Starbucks, it’s NOT about drinking coffee. If that was the case you would pay $1.50 and be in and out quickly. At Starbucks it’s REALLY about ordering the most ridiculous thing you can think of so you can hear the sound of your own voice announcing to the world how awesome you are. For this, you pay the fine price of $4.00 and get to glance around nonchalantly to make sure you are equally as cool (if not cooler) then everyone else. This lends proof that Darwin should have written "The Origin of Starbuck Species: And the preservation of the favoured coffee drinkers".
Well......the rest of the ladies then made similar orders.

I resisted the urge to take off my shoe and bludgeon them all to death on the ground.

"Desperate Housewives THAT ladies."

Ugh.

Anyways, I ordered a plain hot chocolate. The barista looked at me as if I had 3 heads, and the ladies (and everyone else) gave me looks of disapproval and ogled me with dinner-plate eyes. Who was this foolish individual who came into THEIR coffee shop and ordered a “simpleton’s drink”. I waved my gift card angrily in the air and they all began foaming at the mouth. How could I order such 'swill' when the opportunities to listen to my own voice were endless with a gift card? Oh wait, it's because I'm not a blowhard. Gee whillikers.

I won’t go into the details of Starbucks and globalization--not to mention their cult-like symbol--but just so we're all clear on some things:

-Starbucks owns Seattle’s Best Coffee (Subway and other places). The same coffee is 2 dollars cheaper

-McDonald’s also serves a variety of Starbucks coffee

And so my startling conclusion was this: 

The reason the world economy is in trouble right now is because ALL THESE PEOPLE SIT IN STARBUCKS ALL DAY CONTRIBUTING NOTHING TO SOCIETY OR WORKING LIKE USELESS POTATO SACKS.

And that dear friends.....is The Daily Ranter.