– 14-year-olds who dress like Nabokov’s wet-dream. Cover up, tartlet.
– People who drive a Swift slower than my Scooty. There’s a reason it’s called a ‘Swift’, you know.
– People whose idea of a conversation is a self-delivered monologue. Shut up already.
– Men who stare at me while I’m waiting for the signal to turn green. There’s plenty to look at, mister, but not for you, so move along there.
– People who fuck up spelling and grammar while writing, out of sheer carelessness. It’s the literary equivalent of showing up for a date or a meeting with your arse hanging out of your pants.
– Ppl dat use txtspk in emls n stff.
– Chicks who like, pretend to be like, dumb and stuff, when they’re like, not.
– For that matter, chicks who act like they’re smart, when they have the I.Q. of a stunned pigeon who’s gone to Happyland.
– Guys who like either kind.
This is obviously the first draft. I’ll edit it when I’m a little angrier. It’s just that I’m a little content with things right now. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m listening to some really good music today, not the usual dhoopchik dhaapchik crap these guys keep playing. HIM’s absolutely fanbloodytastic cover of Chris Issak’s ‘Wicked Game’ is playing on loop on my Walkman phone. The number is currently tied in place with Hoobastank’s ‘The Reason’ as the most fabulously, unmushy and kickass romantic number I’d listen to over and over and over.
Afterthought: Did anybody watch Twisted Sister perform ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ on The Tonight Show last night? If Cher and Marilyn Mansen ever bore offspring together, it’d look like their lead singer. That said, the cover kicked ass, head and any other body parts you’d care to name.