I often wonder think about how wonderful it must be to be obliviously ignorant. This is not to say that I am all-knowing by any stretch, but I like to think of myself on the right side of the bell curve with regards to intelligence. I think people age quicker when they’re paying attention, as i found a grey (gray?) hair right on the top of my dome the other day. Next step: arthritis and depends.

I suspect I could become a recluse, living completely off the grid in some mountain cabin somewhere. Maybe then I could re-enter society with a better overall grasp on everything. Or, instead of reaching some type of higher enlightenment a la Walden Ponds’ philosophical powers via Thoreau, i’d completely lose my already frail grip on reality and begin mailing bombs to people like Ted Kaczynski to ’start the revolution.’

Anywhere my eyes happen to settle these days I’m reminded of the pointlessness of 99.9% of the things that occur on a daily basis, and how stupid we are for analyzing the occurences–then analyzing that analysis, then arguing about the validity of the analyses. I’m waiting for some guest speaker on a late-night cable politics show to just go ‘this is fucking pointless,’ and watch Bill O’Reilly or some other idiot try and scramble to save face. Perhaps that’s why they have that fancy time-delay thingy. Weaksauce.

Perhaps people can see the disdain on my face, as they are carrying on in depth conversations about whether or not they should upsize their rims to 22’s with their stimulus check, because 20’s just aren’t cutting it anymore. Seriously? I should think with those three kids that look like you, you could find better use than putting $3500 shiny wheels on your $1500 car. Maybe you should put your kids in a better schools so they can get some attention and positive influence. I’d really hate for them little snot-nosed shits to rob me in 10 years.

You know those jeans that idiots like to wear hanging off their asses? I often see grown men waddling down 63rd street in what MUST be a huge task considering they are unable to take a full step. It must be nice to be so unconcerned with reality that you don’t even have to walk correctly or have your ass out all day and not give a shit. What a closed-end genetic cul-de-sac we humans are.

 If annoyance stinks, I’m the stinkiest asshole on the planet.

DELCAMBRE, La. - Sag your britches somewhere else, this Cajun-country town has decided. Mayor Carol Broussard said he would sign an ordinance the town council approved this week setting penalties of up to six months in jail and a $500 fine for being caught in pants that show undergarments or certain parts of the body.

Say it what ever you want, I’m ready for this dumb shit to end. At this point I’m willing to bet there’s a correlation between the degree of the sagging and the IQ level. Odds are the further your waist is from the top of your pants, the stupider you are. Why are people hanging on to fads started by prison bitches and that require them to constantly hold up their pants? If you don’t mind only having one free hand–do you mind having to duck waddle everywhere?

I blame women for dudes walking around like this. Why? All it takes is one group of cute girls in every city to start ridiculing boys waddling around like this publicly, and this will disappear faster than crystal meth around trailer trash. I could give a damn WHY you do it, just stop.

Can we PLEASE let this shit die?

 I really, really, really hate ignorance. Not ‘pet peeve’ hate. More like ‘major psychotic episode’ hate.

Academic ignorance, presidential ignorance, work ignorance, church ignorance, musical ignorance, and gender ignorance. Probably the most common type of ignorance I’ve come across in the last couple of years has been coon-related ignorance (referred to on this site as ‘coonery’). Coonery is easily spotted and identified, even by the untrained eye. You can hear loud coonspeak (essentially conversation that is 85% ‘muuhfuka’ and ‘ya knoowmsayin’ (not to be confused with regular Black people slang and dialect…huge distinction), see the puffery and smell the stifling Black and Mild aroma. Look for quadruple large white t’s and gold fronts on the dudes–and stretch marks, gold fronts, superweaves, and completely inappropriate for anything attire for the girls. These do not necessarily mark Coon from non, but let’s say theres a high probability you’re dealing with an infestation. We had yet another close encounter of the Coon kind last night at the Peanut during their weekly ‘Hiphop and Hotwings‘ deal. Besides grown-ass men break dancing like it’s ‘86(wtf?) and crowding up the dance floor, it’s usually fun.

Miles Bonny was spinning upstairs with his usual greatness and we were just relaxing. We hadn’t been there in a minute, mostly due to the fact that most adults have some sort of work-related responsibility on Mondays. This reasoning, of course, does not apply to Coons.

Much like roaches or sewer rats, Coons have come out of the woodwork and infested what used to be a pretty good weekend hangout with good music. I had inklings beforehand that this takeover was a possibility, based on the facts that the Peanut: plays Hip Hop, is well known for great chicken wings, and serves beer. All three of which provide necessary for the American Coon species to thrive, repopulate the coon ranks, stay perpetually inebriated, and continue to pull the incarceration and murder rates up–and our educational and employment achievement averages down. This is not to say, of course, that all chicken-loving, beer drinking, hip hop lovers are Coons, but they love stuff regular people love as well to try and fit in. Some actually put on a ‘coon costume’ when they go out, in hopes that that they can find a Coon of the opposite sex to get sweaty with in their parent’s house and nine months later refuse to pay child support.

Anyways, Miles started to spin some ‘tear the club up’ themed joints (a rareity..probably by request)–and the Coon reaction was almost immediate. They took over the dance floor, each vying for his or her opportunity to shuck and jive the loudest and the hardest. The Alpha drunkest Coon decided to take his shirt off and dry hump a female Coon so hard that what resembled a huge ugly titty popped out and got felt on–much to all non-Coons’ disgust. He continued to get more and more self-amped, yelling at everyone to ’suck ma dick’ and other random gems. He decided to throw his shirt randomly, which landed on our table and knocked some stuff over. After we figured out what was starting to happen, we decided to leave. By ‘we’ i mean everyone except the Coon Committee who had now hyped themselves up to ‘Boss’ status of the Peanut (i guess), and basically looking for a fight. By the way, Coons never fight by themselves. What they do is  suckerpunch, throw bottles, or they wait to jump one person by committee. They usually flee the scene hanging out of car windows, brandishing .22s in order to……exhibit…superior….something. Who knows.

The thrown shirt was picked up and carried outside (by a thankfully sober yet understandably pissed off party) where yet another fight was narrowly avoided thanks to friends and the proprietor of the Peanut.  I prefer to avoid my life becoming condensed into another 10-second news clip about someone who got shot outside a ‘hiphop club’ for nothing.  Coons can shoot each other all they want, as I’m seriously fed up with these people ruining everything they touch. Kinda like if a roach ran across a plate you were eating off of. Ewww, I’m done..thanks though.

Who the hell gave Coons permission to use the internets to find out about this?