Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
THE DAMNATION LOG OF PUBLIC ANNOYANCE: Tim Horton's is my Hell
Here is a log of my experiences while visiting Tim Horton’s on the night of Nov. 10, 2010. The following is based on a true story...
8:00 – A mom walks in with three screaming byproducts of ejaculation. “I WANT CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! I WANT CHOCOLATE MOM! MOM! MOM!” You get the idea.
8:10 – A guy walks in. He has a newspaper under his arm. He lines his chair with the newspaper. He sits on the newspaper. He drinks coffee while sitting on the newspaper. I simply stare.
8:12 – “YEAH, SO BOYD AND ME WERE GOING DOWN TO THE HALL AND THIS SUM BITCH SAYS TA ME…” No, this isn’t a screaming child from before, this is a 60, 65-year-old man AND HE IS TALKING REALLY LOUD. Too goddamn loud for his own good (and mine). “YEAH, HE GAVE ME A ROLEX LAST YEAR!” “THAT RIGHT?!” That’s his friend. They're both loud talkers. I hate them. Seriously... listening to these two old schmucks... It's like listening to two old douche bags trying to out-douche the other.
8:14 – Meanwhile… “MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!”
8:16 – Mom and screaming pieces of crotch fruit finally leave. Man who looks like Rob Halford wearing slacks enters. He’s quiet. He's calm. I like this man.
8:17 - Newspaper-sitting-fucker starts tapping his foot. For no reason other to annoy the piss out of me, I suspect.
8:19 – Asinine old men finally leave. I love the film “Soylent Green”, have I ever told you that? “Logan’s Run” kicks ass too.
8:29 – Newspaper guy decides to start taking his empty coffee cups and DOES A GODDAMN DRUM SOLO ON THEM WITH PENCILS AND HIGHLIGHTERS. No, as a matter of fact, he is not a good drummer and John Bonham should come back to life and hold him down and shit in his mouth.
8:33 - NOW THE FUCKER IS SINGING TO HIMSELF!!! YES! SINGING! SING......ING! I think he’s trying to sing “Carol of the Bells” maybe. I’m pro-choice, by the way.
8:39 – Now apparently, Newspaper Fuck’s “drum kit” is now a castle. God help me.
8:40 – Rob Halford leaves. I will miss him.
8:41 – Newspaper asshole decides to take a napkin and tries to make a tent out of it on his table. Yes... a tent... If he tries to crawl inside it and sleep I’m going to murder him.
8:45 – A gaggle of squawking teenage girls come in and the sound is something like this: “AOFNDDCOJNDCOINSIOJNNKJWNCIWJVNWIJNCWIJNCWIJCNWIJCNWIJNCWICJNWICNWI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” spiced up with 10,000 likes, ya knows, and ums, ands, OHMYGAWDS!!!! I weep for the future. Actually... No. No I don't. The future might turn into a rabid wasteland, in which case most of these assholes would be blown to oblivion and the thought of that makes me happy.
8:51 – I realize that I would definitely stay away from booze if it wasn’t for all of the other people on Earth. My liver hates you, people of Earth. This is all your fault. Not mine.
8:56 – Gaggle of obnoxious teens leave. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Time to check in with Newspaper Napkin Tent Twat.
8:57 – He’s staring at the goddamn ceiling... Jesus Tap Dancing Christ... If he starts trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue I’m going to cry.
9:05 – He hasn’t. All is well.
9:09 – WHY DO CAPPUCCINO MACHINES HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING LOUD!!??!?
9:13 – Newspaper Obnoxious Ass hasn’t done anything in the last couple of minutes. He just keeps staring at his phone. This is not like him. I’m nervous.
9:18 – He still hasn’t moved.
9:27 – HE KEEPS STAYING QUIET!! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM!!! Do something, damn it! Drum! Sing! Crawl into your tent! Something!
9:29 – Ray Bradbury’s doppelganger and an Ann Ramsey look-a-like (the chick from “Throw Mama from the Train”) come in. They’re getting ice cream.
9:31 – Ann has the grossest cough I’ve ever heard. Imagine the Sarlacc Pit dying of bronchitis. It’s like that.
9:33 – I think I might actually throw up and cry at the same time. By Allah's beard! Who leaves the house in that condition!? Seriously... it's like your grandfather gargling a mouthful of cream of wheat whilst in the throws of his death rattle! Why doesn’t Newspaper Douche Nozzle do something to offset the sickness I’m feeling? Please, Jesus, let Newstwat do something to…. HE’S SINGING AGAIN!!!! YES!!!! Oh, fuck! Now he's DANCING to the trash bin to throw away his stuff! ATTA BOY, YOU DANCING FOOL! Let me focus on you to get the dying Sarlacc out of my mind!
9:34 – ALRIGHT, KNOCK IT OFF! God, I hate this fucking guy.
9:35 – Ray and the Sarlacc are leaving. And so am I. I can’t stand this Newsinging Drum Douche any longer. Especially since he's now TALKING TO HIMSELF! Things are going to get weird I fear. He has that look on his face that Nicholson had right before he chopped the door down in "The Shining". I'm fuckin' splittin'.
9:36 – As I walk out, I faintly hear Christmas music drip out of the overhead speakers like the body snot the creature secreted in “Alien”. I realize it’s going to be a long holiday season – the average month in reality; the above-average bullshit subjectively. I leave and aim my car toward traffic and darkness and stoplights and annoyances elsewhere.
8:00 – A mom walks in with three screaming byproducts of ejaculation. “I WANT CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE! CHOCOLATE MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM! I WANT CHOCOLATE MOM! MOM! MOM!” You get the idea.
8:10 – A guy walks in. He has a newspaper under his arm. He lines his chair with the newspaper. He sits on the newspaper. He drinks coffee while sitting on the newspaper. I simply stare.
8:12 – “YEAH, SO BOYD AND ME WERE GOING DOWN TO THE HALL AND THIS SUM BITCH SAYS TA ME…” No, this isn’t a screaming child from before, this is a 60, 65-year-old man AND HE IS TALKING REALLY LOUD. Too goddamn loud for his own good (and mine). “YEAH, HE GAVE ME A ROLEX LAST YEAR!” “THAT RIGHT?!” That’s his friend. They're both loud talkers. I hate them. Seriously... listening to these two old schmucks... It's like listening to two old douche bags trying to out-douche the other.
8:14 – Meanwhile… “MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!MOM!”
8:16 – Mom and screaming pieces of crotch fruit finally leave. Man who looks like Rob Halford wearing slacks enters. He’s quiet. He's calm. I like this man.
8:17 - Newspaper-sitting-fucker starts tapping his foot. For no reason other to annoy the piss out of me, I suspect.
8:19 – Asinine old men finally leave. I love the film “Soylent Green”, have I ever told you that? “Logan’s Run” kicks ass too.
8:29 – Newspaper guy decides to start taking his empty coffee cups and DOES A GODDAMN DRUM SOLO ON THEM WITH PENCILS AND HIGHLIGHTERS. No, as a matter of fact, he is not a good drummer and John Bonham should come back to life and hold him down and shit in his mouth.
8:33 - NOW THE FUCKER IS SINGING TO HIMSELF!!! YES! SINGING! SING......ING! I think he’s trying to sing “Carol of the Bells” maybe. I’m pro-choice, by the way.
8:39 – Now apparently, Newspaper Fuck’s “drum kit” is now a castle. God help me.
8:40 – Rob Halford leaves. I will miss him.
8:41 – Newspaper asshole decides to take a napkin and tries to make a tent out of it on his table. Yes... a tent... If he tries to crawl inside it and sleep I’m going to murder him.
8:45 – A gaggle of squawking teenage girls come in and the sound is something like this: “AOFNDDCOJNDCOINSIOJNNKJWNCIWJVNWIJNCWIJNCWIJCNWIJCNWIJNCWICJNWICNWI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” spiced up with 10,000 likes, ya knows, and ums, ands, OHMYGAWDS!!!! I weep for the future. Actually... No. No I don't. The future might turn into a rabid wasteland, in which case most of these assholes would be blown to oblivion and the thought of that makes me happy.
8:51 – I realize that I would definitely stay away from booze if it wasn’t for all of the other people on Earth. My liver hates you, people of Earth. This is all your fault. Not mine.
8:56 – Gaggle of obnoxious teens leave. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Time to check in with Newspaper Napkin Tent Twat.
8:57 – He’s staring at the goddamn ceiling... Jesus Tap Dancing Christ... If he starts trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue I’m going to cry.
9:05 – He hasn’t. All is well.
9:09 – WHY DO CAPPUCCINO MACHINES HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING LOUD!!??!?
9:13 – Newspaper Obnoxious Ass hasn’t done anything in the last couple of minutes. He just keeps staring at his phone. This is not like him. I’m nervous.
9:18 – He still hasn’t moved.
9:27 – HE KEEPS STAYING QUIET!! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM!!! Do something, damn it! Drum! Sing! Crawl into your tent! Something!
9:29 – Ray Bradbury’s doppelganger and an Ann Ramsey look-a-like (the chick from “Throw Mama from the Train”) come in. They’re getting ice cream.
9:31 – Ann has the grossest cough I’ve ever heard. Imagine the Sarlacc Pit dying of bronchitis. It’s like that.
9:33 – I think I might actually throw up and cry at the same time. By Allah's beard! Who leaves the house in that condition!? Seriously... it's like your grandfather gargling a mouthful of cream of wheat whilst in the throws of his death rattle! Why doesn’t Newspaper Douche Nozzle do something to offset the sickness I’m feeling? Please, Jesus, let Newstwat do something to…. HE’S SINGING AGAIN!!!! YES!!!! Oh, fuck! Now he's DANCING to the trash bin to throw away his stuff! ATTA BOY, YOU DANCING FOOL! Let me focus on you to get the dying Sarlacc out of my mind!
9:34 – ALRIGHT, KNOCK IT OFF! God, I hate this fucking guy.
9:35 – Ray and the Sarlacc are leaving. And so am I. I can’t stand this Newsinging Drum Douche any longer. Especially since he's now TALKING TO HIMSELF! Things are going to get weird I fear. He has that look on his face that Nicholson had right before he chopped the door down in "The Shining". I'm fuckin' splittin'.
9:36 – As I walk out, I faintly hear Christmas music drip out of the overhead speakers like the body snot the creature secreted in “Alien”. I realize it’s going to be a long holiday season – the average month in reality; the above-average bullshit subjectively. I leave and aim my car toward traffic and darkness and stoplights and annoyances elsewhere.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)