The I Don't Give a Fuck List

I've decided, today, that there are a lot of things in life that I don't give a fuck about.

I've decided, today also, to list those things, because I am extremely pressed for time, and I am also very sorry for not having had time to post a substantive blog this morning. I don't know why I ran out of time, but I did.

I now implore your pardon with my List of Things I Don't Give a Fuck About:

1.) Kanye West

The next time you interrupt someone, I hope it's a carjacker and he shoots you in the face.

2.) Jay Leno

Your show moved to a new time slot? Go fuck yourself.

3.) Taylor Swift

Aww-- did the mean black man with crop circles in his hair hurt your wittle feelings?

4.) Joe Wilson

The next time you interrupt someone, I hope-- oh, wait...

5.) Patrick Swayze

Yeah, sorry. I just don't. And, if I hear another soundbite of "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" I'm going to break off my own left arm and stab myself in the eye with the jagged ulnar bone.

6.) Acne

I'm over it, Zit. Bring on the pus, Gus. I just don't care anymore. A regular uniform of sweatsuits can't be far behind.

7.) Whether or not the recession is "likely over."

Ben Bernanke, why don't you just shut the fuck up?

8.) Marc Jacobs

The New York Times calls him the "Now Man." Do we give a fuck about that? Highly dubious.

9.) Barack Obama's dog

Remember when we gave a fuck about that? I don't.

10.) The deplorable situation of death row prisoners in Japan.

NPR tried to entice me to give a fuck about that in a news report last week. It almost worked.

11.) Dan Brown

Why do I think that at least 85% of bloggers are better writers than Dan Brown? Including the ones who only post YouTube videos.

12.) Injured professional athletes

I'm so sorry you injured your wrist doing that touchdown dance. Maybe you can make a sling for it out of a few dozen ten thousand dollar bills.

13.) Meredith Vieira

Don't worry, honey-- I wouldn't forget about you.

14.) All of the other things I should be doing instead of blogging.

Hey, it's work-- it'll still be there tomorrow.

15.) Pop culture

Now that my former best friend who works for MTV doesn't speak to me anymore, I never have to endure another conversation about inane assholes and idiots, charlatans and harlots in the entertainment industry that I don't give a fuck about.

16.) Swine flu

If you were a real illness, you'd be called the fucking Tiger Flu or some shit, man. Come and get me, piggie sickie!

17.) The Number 17

Eat me, One-Seven!

18.) People who are related to me but aren't my immediate family.

I have no time for you, uncles and such. Sorry. Thanks for the wedding gifts, though.

19.) My clothes

I don't think I own a shirt or pair of trousers that doesn't have some kind of stain on it, or isn't wrinkled or outdated. So? You going to arrest me, Marc Jacobs?

And, finally, the thing I give a fuck about the least:

20.) People who don't like my blog.

Follower 43, I don't know who you are, or what I did or what happened, but I just don't give a fuck.

THIS JUST IN:

Kate Gosselin's new haircut-- definitely number 21 on the list.

I Want

A very bad cat inspired this particular post with a similar post a few days ago, detailing a bunch of things that she wanted that, in an ideal world, she could have.

Well, here's what I want.

I want:

* To be referred to as "The Supreme Leader."

For real-- how fucking twee would that be? I don't necessarily want to be the Supreme Leader of Iraq, and I don't want to walk around dressed in a muu-muu or have a white beard down to my nippitynoos either, but I'd like to be the Supreme Leader of... something. I don't really care what. I work at a non-profit, and I'm referred to as "Program Specialist" or "Project Manager" according to whatever task I'm working on, but neither of these titles really carry the same punch as "Supreme Leader." I would like that to be on my door at work. I would like it to be in the signature line of my emails. I would like to appear in peoples' cell phone contact lists as "Supreme Leader." And the people who have voice-activated dialing would sound so fucking cool as they hold their cellphone to their lips and command it to, "Call Supreme Leader." And the automatic voice of the cellphone would be all like, "Call Stevie Beater?"

* To learn a 6th chord for the banjo.

I'm kind of stymied. You know? I've got G, D7, C, E, D and that's really kind of about it. With some prodding from Mrs. Apron, I can sometimes figure out A, but it's never very comfortable. I've had the thing since Thanksgiving and in that time I've taught myself that much, and I can play a handful of folk songs that only require three chords. I can't figure out if that's laudable or pathetic.

* Lots of cars.

I fucking love cars. From the time I was sixteen to today, I owned lots of cars. Here's a list:

1966 Volkswagen Beetle

1990 Ford Crown Victoria

1989 Volvo 240 DL

1994 Ford Taurus

1997 Ford Crown Victoria

2001 Chevrolet Impala

2001 Volkswagen New Beetle

2005 Ford Focus

When my wife acquires her Honda Fit, I will become the owner of my 9th car, her 2001 Chrysler PT Cruiser.

And I ain't anywhere near done yet either. I want lots more cars. Give them to me. Give me your fucking car. Whatever it is, I want it. Unless it's a Pontiac.

* To feel better.

Right now, my throat is sore, I have a fever, there's gunk in my chest and I have post-nasal drip and I feel like I've felt pretty much this way for the last three months. I just want a stretch of, say, seven weeks or so where I feel fine-- where I can breathe correctly and not have a mixture of sponge and lead in my sinuses. Is that too much to ask? No, I don't think so.

* To go gray quickly.

I have probably close to twenty gray hairs in my head-- maybe more, maybe fewer, I don't really know. But I'm growing very weary of the maple-syrup-like pacing of this particular aging component. Can we just get it the fuck over with please? I'd love it if I woke up tomorrow morning and I looked like Steve Martin. That would really be just fine with me. Watching yourself age slowly is unpleasant. You're never sure if it's really happening or not. I'd like to be sure.

* A fucking maid.

Our house is a goddamn mess. Will you please clean it up for us? I promise not to sexually harrass you. I'll just stare at you a lot.

* To be fluent in another language.

I love talking shit about people, but I often am not as careful about it as I should be. Fluency in a foreign language would be just what I need to cloak my venomous barbs. Of course, I would need a select group of other people to also be fluent in whatever language this might be, so they could understand my jests and respond with the appropriate laughter. This would have to be a different language, of course, from whatever the maid speaks. I wouldn't want her to be able to hear me joke about her teeth and tits.

* To eat bad things and never have to worry about it.

If I wasn't so scared of premature demise, I would eat bacon, eggs, sausage & hash browns for breakfast every single morning, a corned beef special every single day for lunch, and some sort of marinated meat dish every single night at dinner. I haven't gained a single pound in a decade, so weight's not my concern. Yet. It's my arteries, and I would like to keep them at least semi-elastic for as long as possible.

* To be able to understand others who are fluent in other languages.

A few days ago, there were these two Russian bitches in back of me at the supermarket and I just know they were talking shit about me...

Things I Don't "Do"

You know the housekeeper (or wife) who is fond of saying,

"I don't "do" windows?"

Yeah, well, in honor of her (get out that Windex, bitch), here's a list of things that I don't "do."

* Breakfast Burritos

Sorry, Ron McDon, but, from one clown to another: Homie don't play. I'm suspicious of the contents of your hamburgers, so why would I open myself up to a potential world of pain by sinking my teeth into a completely disguised breakfast conglroption? I very much doubt that anybody really knows what the fuck is actually in there and, if there are people out there who do, they should be ashamed of themselves. I know I make some questionable comestible decisions in my daily life (see post regarding semen-coated processed ham) but I will not engage in the food fiesta known as the Breakfast Burrito. I'm sorry, those are two words that were never meant to be put together, despite the seductive nature of the alliteration.

* Confrontation

If you were six foot and 136 pounds (fully clothed, with oversized wallet and keys in pocket) you wouldn't "do" confrontation either. As you know from reading this blog, I have a big fucking mouth. I'm a 20-something blogger ("The bloggers with the most to say!") and I can be one irate sonofafuck-- but that's online. It should come as no shock to you that someone who has a penchant for written bellicosity online would be meek and almost mute in real life. I'm very reluctant to go toe-to-toe with anybody, much more preferring to make peace and mediate the disputes of others. Even though there are some people I would like to massacre with the tines of a fork.

Yesterday, for example, I was getting my car's oil changed. I was chit-chatting with Jack, the baby-faced, genteel Chinese mechanic when the brutish thug who owns the gas station stormed into the garage, cut in front of me while I was talking and yelled, "JACK, GET ME AN ALLEN KEY!" Jack immediately stopped talking to me and meekly retrieved the Allen key, just like the model minority that he is. I quietly stewed in my rage until the bastard left the garage area, and then I made fun of him with Jack. But, in my fantasy, this is what happend:

Asshole: JACK! GET ME AN ALLEN KEY!

Fantasy Me: HEY! How about, "Excuse me, Jack-- could you please get me an Allen key?"

Asshole: Who the fuck are you?

Fantasy Me: Who the fuck am I? I'm your Daddy, bitch. And you're about to get spanked.

* Small Talk

I can't fake my way though it. I can't pretend I like it. I can't chit-chat with the woman on the corner who has two dachsunds barking miserably in the background without a pained wince bubbling to the surface. Everytime someone mentions the weather to me, I cringe. The weather? Seriously? Do you really have that little to say to me? Then how about just saying nothing? I was once criticized by a former employer for "not making more of an effort at small-talk."

"But, I'm working," I lied. I was online most of the time looking for other jobs.

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to ask how my weekend was or something like that."

I stared at her in disbelief. I was laid off a month later.

This was the same woman who, by the way, criticized my supervisor, during an actual end-of-year evaluation, for not acknowledging her birthday.

* Facebook quizzes

Yeah, we've been over this before, but I feel it bears repeating. If you think that knowing the answer to such mind-deadening questions as "Which Sopranos character are you?" or "Which swimming event is your speciality?" or "Which handheld bluetooth activated cellular device are you?" is going to bring us closer, than you're obviously Facefucked.

* iPods

This little piece of technology has somehow passed me by. I like to think that I'm pretty with it. I have a handheld bluetooth activated cellular device (and it poings when I get an email!), I have a GPS unit for the car, we have a flat screen TV AND computer monitor, I watch shit on Hulu and I consider myself a pioneer consumer of online streaming pornography-- but I don't go to iTunes and download iSongs to fill an iPod that I then strap onto my iShoulder to go iJogging in iPublic. In fact, I don't "do" anything that begins with a small letter "i" followed immediately by a capital letter with no space iN between.

I'll never have an iPhone, either. I love real buttons far too much.

* Infidelity

Sorry, ladies, but I think you basically have to be the scum of the earth or worse to make a lifelong committment to another person and then go dick-dipping. If things are really lousy, that's why normal people can get divorced (sorry, Catholics, you're weird) but there is no justification, ever, for cheating on your spouse. Period. I'd rather insert my cock into a jar of acid than let it touch another woman. People tend to forget that they have self-control and that, just because there are hot women out there, some of whom might actually might want to sleep with or otherwise seduce you, you actually have something called impulse control. Use it.

* Shorts

I absolutely do not "do" shorts. I mean, I wear them, but I do not "do" them. There's a difference. I wear shorts begrudingly. I'm never happy about it. I look like a chicken wearing a very strategically-placed cotton ball. I got from 2nd grade through 9th grade without ever wearing shorts, except maybe for gym, but I didn't like it. Fortunately, from the second half of 10th grade through 12th grade, I took ballroom dancing instead of normal gym. No shorts required.

* Any activity that follows the word "Extreme"

Yeah... in first grade, I broke my right foot in music class. I think that pretty much explains this one.