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Wait, Tell Me Again… Who Told You It Was Okay to Bother Me?

I don’t know what the hell’s going on around here, but lately I’ve been absolutely surrounded by people who seem to think that they have some sort of mandate to be in my fricking way.

Now, I can’t say where these putzknucklers are getting their ‘information’ from, exactly. Last time I checked, there’s nothing in the American Constitution that reads:

‘Article Six: The people have an unalienable right to swerve maniacally in front of Charlie’s car, and then drive at fourteen miles below the speed limit for the next nine miles.‘

(Of course, if it did, there’d likely be some sort of smartassed amendment in there about not using your damned turn signal when you finally do decide to crawl to a stop and get the hell out of the way.)

I’m also pretty sure that there’s nothing in the case law, or in the annals of our state’s Supreme Court, that gives the boobjobs around me carte blanche to annoy the piss out of me. I haven’t looked, but I’m fairly skeptical that verbiage like this exists in, say, the Harvard Law Library:

‘Subsection VIa, Paragraph 4: In such case where the party of the first part is Charlie (hereafter designated as the ‘annoyee’), then the party of the second part (hereafter designated as the ‘annoyer’) may have leave to stand uncomfortably close to the anoyee, and may, legally and without incurring any penalty, prolong the conversation for any length of time deemed sufficiently maddening.

Subsection VIa, Paragraph 5: The annoyer may also, prior to the actions described in Paragraph 4 of this subsection, ingest near-toxic levels of garlic, onions, fish, raw sewage, or fresh and steaming puppy flop. This action is deemed under the law as a continuation of the action described in Paragraph 4, and may thus be undertaken, without penalty, fine, or other sanction, by any member of the populace.‘

Maybe it’s there. I don’t know. It’s got to be somewhere, though, right? I mean, it can’t just be frigging coincidence. Can it? Is it more brain-boggling to believe that people are doing this shit independently, without some sort of instruction, or that there are laws and such directed specifically to me? No, really, I’m asking here.

And frankly, I’m leaning toward the ‘conspiracy’ angle — there’s just been too much of this nonsense lately. I fully expect to flip through the ‘Good Book’ one day, and find some shit like this staring me back in the face:

‘Psalms, Book 44: And yea verily, ye shall harass Charlie with all manner of inane questions when your email account succumbs to the work of Satan. And as ye ask, so shall ye re-ask, with but the smallest intervals of time between. Ye shall not listen for the answers, for clearly, Charlie knows not the reasons for your technical difficulties. But ye shall badger him anyway, until he collapses, with a great wailing and a gnashing of teeth. Ye shall not gain your answers from this rite, and yet it must be done, in my name and with the blessings of your Lord. Amen.‘

See, now, it doesn’t seem plausible that that sort of thing is going on, but I just don’t have any other explanation. I’m no religious scholar, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised at this point to see those words in ‘da Bazizzle’.

(Yes, you saw that right. I just called the Bible ‘da Bazizzle’, dammit.

See, I look at it this way — if there’s a hell out there somewhere, I’m gonna end up in it, almost certainly. So the very least I can do is to try to get into one of the funky circles of Hades. I mean, if I’m gonna be slow-broiled for all eternity like a goddamned Kenny Rogers roaster, then I might as well be partying with Rick James and George Clinton, right? Better that than stuck with people like… well, like Kenny Rogers, come to think of it. You wanna stare at that ugly mug and hear that friggin’ ‘Gambler’ song for the next few million years? Nuh-uh. Not me.)

All right, where the hell was I, anyway? Did I even have a point?

Bah. I don’t think I did. Screw it; I’m just venting tonight. I never said these posts would have a point. I’m gonna go have some dinner now. Something with lots of garlic, and maybe some onions. You gotta fight fire with fire, I always say. Next, I’m gonna practice my six-mile-a-fucking-hour freeway driving. You people aren’t the only ones who can piss people off, you know. I wanna play, too.