Thank you for that intro Led Zeplin. So I was sitting at work discussing blogs and I realized that it has been over a year since I have blogged. I wish I could honestly say that it was because I've been too busy and that I've not had anything to rant about but we all know that would be a big fat lie. So work was the inspiration to take the opportunity to rant and stop surfing amazing sites like www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com, www.peopleofwalmart.com, fail blog, lol cats, facebook etcetera like an OCD kid on crack. Today's topic is a generalized critique of the lazy assed modern day society.
We'll start with phones. Everything is automated now. You can't talk to a real live person on the phone anymore and in the slim instance you do they are from Mumbai. Which reminds me, a slurpee sounds AMAZING. But anyhoo. People text as opposed to talking and to prevent us from being too terribly inconvenienced we have predictive text which leads to more WTF?! than actually predicting what we want to type. For example I was texting someone the other day with the determination of letting them know they were so old and whorey their pissflaps hang down to their knees to provide a curtain for their now inside out vagina. (Love you mom!) Here's what pretext tried to type out for me: "your so older wholly your pistol handsome downers grove to curtail your innard outs vaguely." I think predictive text takes Ambien before it "intuitively knows" what you want to say. I'm all about using my fingers for manual labor at this point so I turned off predictive texting (which, by the way, took 20 minutes to figure out. convenient my ass.) and *gasp* type out every single solitary letter in my messages. I know. So archaic.
In today's busy world, who has time to cook when the drive thru is so readily available? 30 minutes for a healthy, tasty, homecooked meal oooooorrrrr 5 minutes in a drivethru for cardboard deepfried in three week old grease with a superduper large carbonated sugary drink served to you by some random dude who probably didn't wash his hands after he used the facilities and has a booger hanging out of his nose. That super secret tasty sauce? Hmmmmmm. Then about an hour after eating this crap you are firmly lodged to the toilet, laptop on your lap, surfing the net and contemplating the potential need for handle bars to be installed on the toilet before Mt. Vesuvius offically explodes. For as much as fast food doubles as a full pack of exlax taken in one shot (or a whole pot of coffee and an entire pack of smokes), you'd think we, as a society, would be getting thinner, not fatter. Shitting your brains out apparently does not make you lose weight, so guess what laxative popping bulemics: YOU WERE WROOOOOOOONG!
And since we are on the topic of toilets, let us discuss automated toilets. Now, some may argue that it's more clean to have to toilet automatically flush for you. Maybe. I think you're a bunch of juicy rationalizationers and yes I just *totally* made up that word. Seriously though, why not have levers on the toilets still and if you're so worried about touching said lever, use your shoe? There's nothing more irritating to me than moving on the toilet ever so slightly only to have the damn thing flush and my bum getting a cold piss water swirly. It's a waste of water and after that happens I feel less than fresh and want a shower which only wastes more water. I'm not convinced these contraptions are more about hygeine and less about lazy assed people leaving ginormous logs in the bowl for some poor gas station attendant to flush and then bleach out the bowl.
Which brings me to automated sinks. WTF. I prefer to wash my hands after using the porcelain throne and it pisses (*snort*) me off when I stick my hands under the sink faucet of those stupid knobless sinks only to have no water run. They run on batteries which *gasp* corrode when exposed to water. Water, in a faucet? THE HELL YOU SAY! So either they don't work at all or you have to wave your hands under the faucet like a spasmodic parkinsons patient for it to spit exactly two drops on your hand and possibly onto your pants thus making it look like you pissed yourself. Just put the levers back on the damn sink so that you can meter out the appropriate amount of hot and cold and for goddess sake turn the damn thing off when you're finished using it.
Ahh. I feel better now. I think I'm all ranted out. For now. Oh and I was totally kidding about sending that particular text to my mother. We all know she's totally pristine, virginal, intact, doesn't text and reads my blogs. ahem.
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