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Once again, I have nothing good to say about anyone. This is because I was born with curly red hair and didn’t get enough hugs. Plus, I haven’t been laid in like, 6 months. Well I threw a dart at the list on my wall, and it fell comically to the floor, so I guess the target today is … everyone. That suits me just fine.
I give you, the Top 10 most annoying sorts of people. Note: While I understand that there are far more varieties of obnoxious, foul-smelling peons in the world, I had to keep this somewhat reasonably sized because we’re pressed for space until we find a way to deal with the tag monster problem. Apparently fire doesn’t get rid of everything.
10. Australians
G’die, Mite! Aussies managed to come in as the least annoying of the 10 that came to mind, because while nearly every Australian I’ve met is an easily angered, argumentative twatdangle, this happens to work in their favor as well; they like to pick fights, I like to pick fights. The only differences here are, I don’t live in a cat box and my accent is typically not the subject of ridicule. Australians sound like retarded British people, and the fact is, if you tell them this, they probably won’t laugh it off. They’ll just adjust their ‘wit’ accordingly, then call you what amounts to ‘stupid asshole’ anyway, only it will sound far more idiotic and is quite likely to simply cause laughter and requests of more funny Aussie slang. The sad thing is, if you look up Aussie slang, the primary Google result as of this writing is a page that remarks:
Well, when you think of Australia, chances are you think of Desert, Kangaroos and Paul Hogan. And when you think of the way we speak, you probably think of “g’day”, “mate”, and the phrase popularised by Paul Hogan, “Throw another shrimp on the barbie!”
It’s not all I think of. I also think of the huge flies that buzz around you constantly no matter where the fuck you are, the ungodly heat, and this one Jackie Chan movie that took place in Australia because American actors were too expensive to hire.
If all of this sounds a little ethnocentric, bear it in mind that I happen to think my own country is full of clueless, shallow fuckheads obsessed with war (in fact, Americans rank higher up in the list). At least Aussies don’t have that. They just like to call you names you have to look up when you get home.
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This site, well, doesn’t get many comments. Page views seem fairly high though, and I suppose that tells me that at least someone is reading this nonsense, and that’s really good enough for me. As Huxley states every now and then in the rotating quotes on the right, obscurity can only be cultivated in the dark. Or at least something to that effect.
When I first created this site, it was much like… say, a rebound relationship. My last website broke my heart, cut me to the bone, and made me want to pick up an acoustic guitar and write the world’s billionth love song. So this was the first thing I made. At first I wanted to name it Platitudes.com, for the precise reason that, unless I’m being extremely lazy in my writing, I sort of go out of my way to avoid platitudes. You could even say that it was intended to be ironic which would have been sure to tickle the funny bones of any Gen-Xer that happened to be reading this. As a side note to that, I once cracked wise that the best way to get money out of those idiots is to just call things what they are, they seem to think saying something is what it is in a really droll voice makes it cutting and clever. Ironic. My brilliant idea was to make Gen-X clothing. Hats that said, in small text ‘hat.’ Shoes that were in fact labeled ‘Shoe Brand Shoes.’ Expensive t-shirts that said ‘T-Shirt.’ You get the idea. Of course, I couldn’t get the website name I wanted which sort of irritated me, so I got the Warden on Ventrilo along with another friend of mine in an attempt to coax a new name out of them since my first choice was taken.
Being the super useful Co-Admin he is the Warden cracked wise that Platitudes sounded a lot like, Platypuses. You know, the ugly poisonous duckbeasts from that wasteland of humanity known as Australia, where everything is poisonous and will kill your ass. Especially the music, Jet sucks. So, the suggestion was to name the site, I shit you not… PlatitudePlatypus.com. While not only is this a stupid suggestion, against my better judgment I said, ‘dude, who would think of something like that?’ Little did I realize that this is the damn internet. It’s not a matter of who would think of something like that, it’s a matter of when. So I did a google search for ‘platitude.’ This lead me to an article on uncyclopedia. What’s that you see in the right hand corner upon viewing the page? A FUCKING PLATYPUS SPEAKING PLATITUDES!
Click to continue reading “The Joy of Statistics, Logistics and … Platypi”
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No one can deny that one of the greatest, if not THE greatest double-edged sword of the glorious series of tubes you’re reading this on right now, is that while you may meet some awesome people that change your life for the better, help you score, help you level, and help answer tough, but random questions like “What was the cat’s name in A.L.F., you will no doubt (whatsoever) also come across nitwits, fuckheads, dumbasses and drama queens the likes of which only real life can hope to mimic (ie: the theory is that they’re probably the same offline too).
So what’s the problem if it’s not much different than everyday life, you ask? Well it’s actually more tolerable in some ways, less in others. For instance, in the physical world, you can’t just shut a window or press a button and suddenly, miraculously, not have to hear from your mother in law until you remove her from your block list. It’s just not going to happen, because in real life, she’ll just come over to your house and start pissing and moaning, and your wife will probably take her side on top of it.
Though these are all harsh truths, to try and disguise this article as anything other than a pinpointed rant about one miserable cunt in particular that I’ve had the massive displeasure of dealing with, would be somewhat disingenuous. So let’s get right to it.
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3
Wayward Son
Dudelicious looked over the ship’s command room, truly impressive. Sexy women handling all the flight controls and armed guards at all the doors. A wide window panned around the room in a large circle. He was standing on the command deck with Rockbring. Rocker 69 was on his way to the infirmary, so he was not present. Rock Whore had already began to undress Nurse Kiki and continued to … do things… to her on the ship’s command console.
“So youse wanted to lay some info-mation on me?”
Rockbring pressed a button on the command console that was right next to Rock Whore’s CENSORED. An image came up, of one of them tentacles and all. “Dudelicious, we’ve been looking for you for some time. It seems you’ve attracted their attention. You’ve done smuggling jobs for a lot of my men and agents, and your combat prowess is impressive. You see the band is both a front and our focus. We pull jobs all across the galaxy in order to find the great rift.”
“The great rift doesn’t exist, ya dig. I’ve been chasin’ that wild goose fo the past five years o my life. I’m tellin’ you, there’s no hint not even a rumor of where it could be. If that’s your goal then youse is jus’ wastin’ my time.”
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