Dumb-arses I have been thinking of lately:
1. The narrator of the Lesley Gore song 'It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To): I actually like the late Ms Gore's delivery of this. I like her delivery in most of the stuff by her I've heard. But I listen to this, and hear this milquetoast bleating, 'Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone, but Judy left the same time. Why was he holding her hand, when he's supposed to be mine?' Cue the eye-roll. My dear girl, why do you THINK he is holding her hand? What do you THINK is going on? The situation is mostly likely this: Judy puts out.
2. The parents of the feral adolescents at the trivia last Wednesday. The kids were runners-up in the dumb-arse stakes. At first the three kids, boys apparently aged between eight and fifteen, were not that annoying. They were skylarking a little bit, but not enough to cause concern to other patrons trying to listen to the host, and work out brow-furrowing stuff like the capital city of Lithuania. I don't furrow my brow over this one because I happen to know it's Vilnius. The kids piled $2.00 coin after $2.00 coin into the claw machine in a valiant attempt to win toy footballs representing every team in the NRL. I will take this opportunity to point out the balls could have just as easily been purchased for about $1.00 at the local Reject Shop. Eventually, their pocket money was fed into the snack vending machine, which sits on a tiled strip of floor in very close proximity to where my team sit. It would seem the machine neglected to dispense a packet of Nobby's Nuts. The boys started to shake it. And I mean shake it with the vigour and abandon of a bunch of drunken yobs trying to tip over a Port-a-Loo at a Day on the Green concert. The noise coming from the machine as its base bashed against the tiles was at first disconcerting. As the boys became more determined to dislodge that packet of peanuts, the noise became downright un-fucking-bearable. One of my team mates pointed out to me the likelihood of the tiles chipping from this unholy activity. I glared at the boys, who were too stupid to realise those peanuts were going nowhere, and shot a positively evil look at the parents, who were the very embodiment of nonchalance, sipping their chardonnay or VB, and probably trying to figure out how to spell 'cat' when answering 'What type of creatures is the Warner Brothers cartoon character Sylvester?' As the vending maching continued to be banged, causing a cacophonous racket that would make the noise of an MRI machine sound like a recording of whales in nature, I became more and more angry. Finally, I stormed over and snapped at the little trolls, 'For the love of Christ, will you speak to the staff here about unlocking that machine, and stop rocking it!' The kids, thereto unaware what obnoxious little fucks they actually were, looked at me and pleaded that they HAD spoken to the staff, and the staff had said to give the machine a shake. A shake to dislodge a packet of Nobby's Nuts is one thing. Rocking the thing with the force of a 7.1 Richter scale earthquake and risking breaking the floor tiles, all the while pissing off other patrons is another thing altogether. And all this for a 50g packet of nuts! This talk of nuts gives me the opportunity to segue to an idea I had, which was to feed the nuts of those three little monsters into a paper shredder, and prevent them breeding. And parents of these kids, can you please try and, you know, tell your spawn to stop acting like flogs next time?
3. Adrian Knuth of Katter's Australian Party. You know, it's funny, but whenever a political party is named for its founder, that party seems to be stocked full of twits. I just read a Buzzfeed interview with Mr Knuth, whose party voted against the introduction of same sex age of consent laws relating to anal sex in Queensland the other night. It's his stance the consenting age should not have been reduced to sixteen years of age. I cannot understand why politicians - or anybody else for that matter - tries to legislate against people of legal age making their own informed decisions regarding their bodies in their own bedrooms (or in the kitchen, or in the dining room etc). What's got me rolling my eyes is his assertion lowering the age of consent to sixteen 'will give more of a possible predatory approach to the younger generation'. Ades, listen to me. If some sick fuck is going to make predatory overtures to young people, the legal age of consent will make no difference and will not deter them. The predators are going to attempt to do what they do regardless of age of consent laws. They are not going to say, 'I won't try to groom that kid because he's three years under the age of consent.' I'm pretty sure their twisted minds don't work that way. What made me spit my coffee across the room was when I read his response, 'No, I'm just... We don't support anal sex full stop.' Ades, shouldn't that be 'We don't support anal sex colon?' Bahbahahahahaaaa! I slay even myself sometimes. But seriously, why don't people just - ahem! - butt out of what people are doing in privacy? There are people who are into all sorts of what could be described as kinks or fetishes. There are people who love the smell of freshly baked bread to the point of sexual arousal. If they are keeping it out of view of the general public and thus not frightening children on their tricycles, why does it matter?
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