old new guestbook dland GLINT



Since it is my burpday today, and I’ve notched another year on the old crotchety, I’d like to talk about kids. No, not the roly-poly, super-intelligent, spoiled cherubs some of your stupid friends may be starting to have. I’m talking kids who are, like, 23-years old. There are many annoying qualities to this age group, the worst being the incessant drive to discuss drug use—its trials and tribulations, the highs and lows, the good times, oh the good times. Who cares? Right, not me.

I was standing and chatting with some young folk the other night, and this feller joins the group. He opens with, “Man, I know that kid; what a robohead.” Another really annoying trait that a lot of kids have (esp. the loser kids that I tend to meet) is a penchant for calling other kids “kid.” Anyway, back to the comment, to which my response was, “Whaaa?” Apparently, as the kids told me, a “robohead” is someone who drinks Robotussin and thinks they are really hot shit or something. I don’t know. Hasn’t all that already been done? Cough syrup, for crying out loud?

But really. I should say to myself, “Self, aren’t these the same kids that I hung out with when I was a kid who picked morning-glory seeds and boiled them in tea?” I mean, what’s this high-and-mighty attitude all about anyway?

I don’t really want to complain about kids after all. Sigh.

What I would like to complain about is the stupid lady that came out of the bathroom here at work a short while ago and said to me, “Boy, it really stinks in there.” Here are some of the points I am forced to consider:

a) Was she, in fact, the source of said unpleasant odor and trying to pass it off as someone else’s dirty work?

b) Who cares????????!? Look, you stupid, stupid lady: It’s the baaaathrooom for cripe’s sake. What is it supposed to smell like, a flower shoppe? Oh, I’m so sorry, stupid lady, you must be mistaking this for the room where we all go and crap out a bouquet of violets. That room is down the hall marked “Stupid Ladies Room.”

c) Yeesh.

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