No matter how you try to work around it, there can be no denying that people suck.  How can I make such a broad generalization?  Well, setting aside the fact that I do that on an almost hourly basis, it also happens to be true.  At first I thought I was just a cynical bastard with a heart of ice, but steady research has actually proven that everyone really does suck.  Of course, this same research has also shown that I am in fact a cynical bastard with a heart of ice, so we know that at least part of it is flawed.  The other major flaw in the research is that none was actually conducted.

Nevertheless, think about how much more enjoyable your day would be if you didn't have to encounter other people and their annoying, blood pressure raising ways.  It seems no matter what you do there's always some jerk-off there to pester you to the point of homicidal tendencies, forcing you to go home and drink heavily while watching reruns of Bosom Buddies until your heart returns from beating at the rate of a hummingbird, which I think might be fast if I actually knew or gave a rat's ass about stupid birds that suck.  Let's take a little look-see at some of the people who have pissed me off just in the last few hours.

I've mentioned before about my total confusion regarding people and doors, but I managed to forget this one, probably because by that time I could feel the stroke setting in.  We've got a revolving door here at work, and apparently they forgot to post the instructions or some damn thing since no one can figure out how to use the stupid shit.  Every day I whip around in the thing as I exit at warp speed to get the hell out of this dump and sure as shitfire, on the other side is some prick waiting for me to leave.  I guess the notion of the revolving door, its basic concept, is lost on most people.  No one can seem to understand that its whole purpose is to allow more than one person to use it at a time.  Sometimes I go extra slowly or make two turns around before leaving just to watch them get mad because I'm taking so long.  Then I crack their heads in with a lamp (which I carry at all times) for not understanding something as simple as how a door works.

I can't stand going anywhere I will have to walk among people.  This is not laziness, it's really just because nobody seems to understand the simple fucking concept of how to move their PizzleWigdamn feet in order to get where they're going.  Nowhere is this more evident than at the store.  It doesn't have to be any specific kind of store, the people are all the fucking same.  You've got your Slow Wanderers who walk at a pace that truly defies all known logic.  You would have to put a conscious effort into walking that fucking slow.  It probably burns more energy to restrain your flabby ass body to walk that fucking slow than just to walk at a normal, human being pace.  The Slow Wanderers also have an uncanny sense of proximity, not unlike a Spider Sense of sorts.  Whenever you go to pass them, they sort of gradually drift right into your path.  Sometimes there'll be more than one, and instead of the casual drift they just do the ever-so-considerate "spread ourselves out completely across the aisle so that no one can get past us because we're all a bunch of disgusting shit suckers who should be kicked in the fucking face until our ass bleeds."  You've also got your Quick Halters who see absolutely nothing wrong with stopping directly in front of you with absolutely no warning.  I especially love the ones who have mastered the "quick turn of the cart into the aisle as I stop short like a rude fuckface" maneuver.  I used to be polite and walk around them when they did this, but no more.  I actually just barrel directly into them now and keep going.  No apology, no "excuse me," no nothing.  Maybe next time you'll learn your lesson, shitbag.  Finally, moving amongst the crowd is the Rolling Maniac.  This is the one who suddenly and without warning whips her (it's always a woman) cart around and heads back up the aisle, or who--despite the fact that she just took forty minutes to walk down the 30 foot aisle--decides that she needs to up the speed of her cart to roughly 70,000 miles an hour (or liters per gram if you're one of them metric using people) when she reaches the main aisle.  These maneuvers are done without ever looking or taking into consideration the fact that, in a strange moneymaking scheme on the part of the store, there might be other people in there at the same time.

And let's not forget the fun of checkout time.  The Lonely Hermit uses this chance to tell the cashier every possible detail about every single item, especially if it's a gift.  "Oh, this is for my niece.  She's 9 and she loves those crazy Powderpuff Girls and all of their silly antics involving hula hoops and french fried potatoes."  Because they have a captive audience, Lonely Hermits love to talk because they know it's the only time anyone would listen to them without drawing a firearm.  Just once I'd like to see the cashier wrap a plastic bag over these people's heads until they suffocate, but it has yet to happen.  The Last Minute Champion always remembers one final item while in line.  Rather than getting out of line to get it though, they just leave their shit on the belt and head over to pick up their ass cream or whatever the shit it is.  I've taken to knocking all their crap out of the way and going in front of them.  Of course, when they return I get the dirty look like I'm the fucking bad guy.  My personal favorite is the Price Checker.  This is always, always a fat ugly bitch who must question every single item as it's scanned, often claiming to have seen a sign that either wasn't there or is clearly marked as being for another product.  There ought to be some kind of "challenge rule" like in football where if you contest a price the scanner comes up with and are wrong, you lose a time out.  No wait, you get charged double.  Or perhaps you just get beaten ferociously with a garden hose, that's work too.

I can't stand meetings.  There has never, in the history of the known universe, been a meeting that has accomplished anything other than to waste everyone's time.  To make matters worse, you have that one guy in every meeting who was probably also that one guy in every class you ever took who would just plain never shut up.  This is the guy who can't quite piece together the principle that if there are no questions, the meeting (or class) is adjourned.  I'm not sure if these numb nuts think that they're impressing anyone or what, but every meeting's got one and every class has one.  Every time they speak, there's a dull grumbling in the room that they never seem to notice.  Also, they never seem to notice that whatever the hell it is that they're yammering on about has no bearing on anyone else in the room and could--and should--just as easily have been brought up in private rather than with everyone else there.  It should be standing policy that if anyone ever voluntarily speaks in a meeting (other than to tell hilarious jokes that my coworkers are all too dumb to get because they involve big words like "pirate"), they should be fired on the spot.  Or flunked out if it's in a school setting.  I can't count all the times even the teacher showed visible annoyance with a person holding up class to ask stupid questions that had nothing to do with anything.  I could tell they, like everyone else, wanted to say "while that's an excellent question, it's also important to keep in mind that you're an ass kissing wiener who should jump through a closed window into a trash compactor."  Sadly, this never happens.

This Fucking Guy, or Anyone Who Looks Anything Like Him:  "Hello, even though you probably stumbled on my picture by complete accident and have no idea who I am, just by looking at me you can see that I'm a complete assfuck who you would like to punch repeatedly in the nose.  I wear my baseball cap to the side which, just like people who wear it backwards, defeats the entire purpose of wearing a baseball cap in the first place and makes me look like I don't know how to dress myself because I have my head up my ass.  I also refer to it as a 'hat' instead of a 'cap' because it makes me sound cooler.  I like to wear ridiculously flashy yet remarkably cheap looking costume jewelry and pullover shirts emblazoned with idiotic brand names on them when I drive around town, slumped down in the seat of my piece of shit Honda or Chevy on my way to the movies where I'll almost assuredly talk on my cell phone because it is so impressive!  I probably enjoyed American Pie or any of the other clones of that pile of crap starring any member of its cast.  The only way I could look more like a shriveled nutsack would be if I had a goatee.  If I were a woman I'd have a necklace with a license plate sized charm of either my name or the name 'Angel.'  Since I am obviously such a gigantic, disgusting puddle of penguin snot please feel free to whack me in the rib cage with a claw hammer until my lungs are external."

Danimal the Ultimate Male:  "OK."

Well, the pounding pulse and flush feeling in my face means I'm having another coronary and that can only mean it's time to bring another fun filled What's My Beef to a close.  As always, feel free to send me any comments on what kinds of people make you mad so we can fume together, it's always a good time.

- Danimal