Top 5 – People Who Are “Into” Things Make Me Sick

Maybe it’s because I’m old but I’m pretty sure I’ve held this belief as long as I can remember, I can’t stand people who are “into” things. Like so into things that it’s all-consuming and it’s all they talk about. I’m not bothered by a person’s nonchalant or cursory interest in a hobby or in a particular interest but when it borders on an all-consuming obsession, I boil inside. I’m willing to allow some grace here in a couple circumstances, one, my granddaughter has what one would describe as an obsession with Pete the Cat but she’s two years old and besides, Pete is pretty freaking cool. Even in spite of her fixation with Pete, she is still able to mix in a few other hobbies like making Play-Doh jewelry and crapping her pants. Two, I am willing to give some leeway like if you’re autistic and you get off on your fascination with plate spinning. Basically, in my mind, obsessing is okay if you’re a child or if you happen to be mentally challenged.

Lord knows that my house is full of equipment I bought in anticipation of my new hobby. Home improvement tools, exercise doodads and low fat cookbooks to name a few. My saving grace is that I had the sense to wise up. Yes, I made a mistake and got all caught up in something for a few days but I quickly came back to my senses and all it cost me was a few dollars. The people who go into something full bore, hold onto it and act like total d-bags with their stories of running fifty miles over the weekend have lost much more than money. They have also lost their dignity and probably all of their friends.

I’ve made a quick list of the things people obsess about that make me the sickest. These are, by no means, the only ones but simply the ones that will make me avoid you like the plague. “Who am I to say these things?” was a comment I’ve heard quite a bit since I started floating this idea out there. I’ve also been told, “Who the fuck are you to be bothered by anyone? You’re one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met,” was another observation made by others. The answer is, I’m me. Most things irritate me and this is my forum for venting. By the way, most of the people who made disparaging comments about my subject matter are the very people I loathe so it only stands to reason.

Yoga –

I see some of my people posting pictures of themselves doing(?), practicing(?) yoga and I think, “Okay, fine, so you do yoga or whatever you call writhing around on the floor carefully balancing on your earlobe. Big fucking deal. Whoopee, so what if you can blow yourself. I don’t care. Do I take pictures of myself sitting in a chair watching television which happens to be my form of recreation? What the hell does Namaste mean anyway?

Are you aware that yoga pants can cost up to 150 dollars? What kind of a mindless and pretentious d-bag pays this much for stretch pants that in all actuality are the equivalent of a couple of pairs of nylons piled on top of each other? Don’t get me wrong. I am totally in favor of women walking around in these things but I have a notion that most people are wearing them as a piece of fashion and are skipping out on the intended yoga session.

Very often you’ll find that your hardcore practitioners of yoga are also into eating gross things like lentils and wheat germ. Not only are they annoying about their Indian exercise fixation but they also smell like a hippie food co-op. This odor does not make them more appealing and frequently only adds to their annoying nature as they won’t shut-up about how I’m killing myself with beef or pork.

I went to a yoga class a few years ago at my wife’s insistence. It wasn’t so much that she demanded that I go, she gave up on the hope of commanding me to do anything years ago, but more wouldn’t stop talking about how great it made her feel. Knowing full well that nothing makes me feel great with the exception of complaining and lethargy and in order to make her stop bringing it up, I went to a class. Everyone in the class was a fucking flower-child weirdo and reeked of cumin. What was worse was the constant stream of farting that ensued once the class began. These freaks had been ingesting beans and hummus all day and were probably already on the verge of crapping themselves then thought it a good idea to sit on the floor and stretch the shit out of themselves. Charming. I don’t think I need to mention that I never went back and blame my wife for scarring me permanently to this day.

Bicyclists –

Of all the people who annoy me, bicyclists are the worst. It’s not that I hate cycling, I really couldn’t care less about any aerobic activity. What bothers me are the get-ups these people think they have to wear in order to properly operate the bike. Why do these people think that in order to be a true cyclist that they have to wear tight fitting spandex clothes slathered in French and Italian words, stupid clunky shoes and those ridiculous elongated helmets? Whatever happened to just riding your bike in regular clothes?

When I was a kid, in order to keep my father from going into a tirade about how he had better things to do than to dig my jeans out of the gears of my bike, my mother would give me a rubber band to wrap around the ankle of my pants. This is the only accessory you need to ride a bike. If you’re tooling leisurely around the neighborhood for a little exercise, you don’t need a 200 dollar featherweight, polycarbonate air-cooled helmet. You look ridiculous trying to be aerodynamic at 4 miles per hour. We didn’t even wear helmets, in my day. If you fell and got hurt, you were an idiot. We laughed at you and you got back on and rode some more. When did people start smashing their heads on the ground?

And what’s with all the Italian writing on the shirts? I’m pretty sure that some of those words translated mean “douche bag” and “pretentious snot rag.”

I drive home from work thru a national park and it doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, the roads are full of these people. “It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon and you’re riding your bike? You must have jobs or you wouldn’t be able to afford that expensive bike costume you’re wearing so I’ll just assume that you are so much cooler than I am and run you off the road into a ditch.”

Religious zealots –

I don’t expect that I will have to go too far here to make my point as you can turn on the news at any given moment and some ass wipe is blowing up a street full of innocent people who are just living their lives, not interested in being killed for God. We all despise those people, it’s a no-brainer. Why do people find it necessary to post chain letters for Jesus on Facebook? “Repost this if you love Jesus. Ignore it at your own peril.” What? Now I feel pressure to pass this on to my friends to avoid terminal damnation? What’s worse, hell or being blocked as a friend?

My loathing does not only apply only to the devout. Atheists have a belief system that is as much a religion as any, no matter what they may say. They, just as often as the fundamentalists, try to cram their side of the debate down our non-soliciting throats and it’s equally irritating. Why can’t people just believe what they want, no matter how stupid it is, and just shut the fuck up about it? You believe that Grimace from McDonalds is the New Age Messiah? Cool. I don’t care. Just leave me out of the proselytizing.

Meanwhile Pearl Jam and others are cancelling tour events in North Carolina because the people there voted to keep their public restrooms gender specific. Why does it seem that this debate is really about religion? Your hardcore fundies and God, apparently, don’t like women peeing in the men’s room. Frankly, having been in many a men’s rooms myself, I would rather use the chick bathroom. Women seem cleaner and they sit down to pee which eliminates sloshing through the soup of every man’s pee pooling around the base of the urinal station. You ladies need to be careful of which side you take in the transgender bathroom debate. All of the politics and the humanity of the whole thing aside, I’m pretty sure that a man who opts to wear women’s clothing and use the ladies room is still a man and will still pee all over the seat.

Women have nice public restrooms. If I happen to be walking by at the right time at just the right angle I often see a furnished and carpeted lounge area. Why do women have couches in their bathrooms? I make an effort to spend as little time as possible in a public men’s room and women have furniture? I don’t see the need to take a breather on the couch wallowing in the odor of someone else’s fresh dump but women maybe don’t mind so much. Men don’t have any entitlements in our cold tiled men’s rooms. Once in a while, if you’re lucky, you’ll have that jar with the metal lid, filled with some mysterious blue juice and cheap black combs. Like, yeah, why shouldn’t I feel safe combing my hair with those vermin infested things?

You can recognize one of these people who refuse to welcome urine on what was their once untarnished toilet seat by a number of traits, snake handling, blowing up of perceived infidels, rolling on the floor speaking in tongues, protesting soldier’s funerals and / or rallying support at a Trump demonstration. They would also be the ones punching black people for having a differing opinion, sporting a cheap baseball style hat proclaiming the benefits of one of the many truck manufacturers or that they are “retired and have gone fishing.”

Sports fans –

I love sports. I can give you a baseball player’s lifetime batting average from any age of the game within 5 points of the actual. Yet and still, I have never painted my face and refuse to wear a team jersey until somebody pays me for the advertising.

I’ve been an Indians fan my entire life. I don’t know how to root for another team. I have friends who were born and raised in Cleveland and are Yankee fans. I don’t understand that but what I hate more are the people who are so wrapped up in sports that they decorate the entirety of their home in Dallas Cowboy colors or morph their car to look like a Browns helmet.

Hipsters –

Everybody has problems with Hipsters. My particular beef with them revolves around them thinking they discovered every damn thing when, really, they’re just going back and grabbing things from the past, my past mostly.

Take this obsession they have with music, specifically how they listen to their music. Vinyl, as they call them, are really called, records. I grew up with vinyl records so I know. Hipsters are, for the most part, under the age of thirty and don’t remember how shitty records were. They scratched easy, got stuck and we large, heavy and cumbersome. When CD’s came out, the first thing I did was either sell or throw my records away. You know why I did this? Because they sucked. The sound of CD’s blew vinyl out of the water. I couldn’t even listen to records anymore because all I heard were irritating scratchy background sounds. CD’s ruined vinyl and justifiably so. Hipsters act like they discovered this vinyl shit when in reality all they did was just dig through my garbage.

I hate the term “craft beer.” Hipsters drink that shit. Where I come from, one doesn’t pay 15 dollars for a beer. My age group would call you a jackass for doing that but the hipster set thinks it’s cool to piss away money, literally. If you see the words “artisan” or “artesian” before any product get ready to be ripped off and / or stampeded by a group of Hipsters thinking they’ve found the next best thing to prop up their uncertain self-esteem in partaking.

I like to think that this whole Hipster craze is based in being anti-establishment. I get that if that’s the case, and applaud it. But going against the grain set by “the man” does not mean to be a giant sucker buying things that are inferior or pay 12 dollars for a jar of pickles that are holistically bottled by a guy with a beard and a criminal record because it make you look cool.


Top 5 Words No One Says Anymore


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Top 5 Words No One Says Anymore

I recently put together a little piece about the Top 5 Words You CAN’T SAY Anymore which bears a striking difference in content but not in name to this particular gem of literary masturbation. There is a big difference between words you can’t say and words that have simply lost their luster and gone out of style. For instance, I would still love to be able to drop the occasional “what are you some kind of an effing retard?” on someone who has merited the distinction. However, society has chosen to make that term objectionable, no matter how impactful it may have been, leaving me, the bad guy, sounding like an unfeeling asshole. But uttering the now unfashionable 60’s term “groovy,” which I still use extensively, just makes me sound like a dork. Go figure.

This time I want to address specific words that no one seems to use anymore or have simply fallen out of favor. Per usual, there are rules to qualify for mention and inclusion in this list. There will be no pining for the loss of words used by the gigantic losers who roam the medieval fairs such as forsooth, doth, or any regular words where they just added a ”ith” on the end of it.

I struggled at first to come up with five but then they suddenly started to spill out of me to the point of actually having to break the list down into categories. I don’t feel like I have violated the sacred nature of the Top 5 List but if I have offended, I apologize.

Top 5 Words No One Says Anymore

Household words

Personal Items


Body Parts


Household items –

Davenport, rubbish, parlor, icebox, rummage sale, milkman

So apparently, a Davenport is another term for a couch. A little research showed that Davenport was actually a company who made couches. Sort of like how we call a tissue a Kleenex, I guess. In any case, it sounds stupid. When you invent another term for an already established word, it should be shorter and easier to say. Couch is a five letter, single syllable word. You simply don’t move from that to a nine letter, polysyllabic term where when you say it, no one has a fucking clue of what you’re talking about. “Hey, will you go grab my coat, I left it on the Davenport?” What? Where the hell is that? What are you talking about?

No one says rubbish anymore. I feel like garbage and rubbish used to run neck and neck in usage volume but somehow rubbish lost its way. I don’t know, maybe rubbish still has some legs in say the south or something but up here in Ohio, it’s dead. Maybe the ease with which the word “bullshit” falls off ones lips helped ruin rubbish. People used to say, “that’s rubbish,” but now they say, “that’s bullshit.”

Does one go to a garage sale or a rummage sale? Rummage to me sounds like rubbish and rummage sales are really an adventure in digging into another person’s garbage so I opt for garage sale. It lets me know ahead of time that I will not be allowed to actually enter their dwelling. Like I’ll happily sell you my trash but please don’t think about going in my home. Estate sales are always held in the house though and usually after someone has died. The kids selling off their parent’s stuff to collect every last penny possible, Garage sales are basically a way to clean out the old shit so there’s room for new shit.

I went to a garage sale probably in the thirty years ago realm. This creepy old lady who lived a few doors down, we called her Madam Piss because she reeked of a loamy human urine smell, was clearing out some obsolete items, items that no one in their right mind would ever want. I remember that she had up for sale an old afghan throw blanket that, if it were possible, smelled even more of human piss than she did. But the thing of most interest was her son, who had to be retarded at least in an emotionally developmental kind of way and whom we referred to as Prince Pee, was selling sculptures he created out of dried up used condoms, ribbed for our pleasure, of course. Now let me be clear here, Prince Pee was not getting laid and, if he was, it certainly was not at the kind of volume that would provide him enough used prophylactics to go into the art business. If you ever get the chance to see a mini-sculpture of Mickey Mouse formed from used condoms, it will be forever burned into your brain. Prince had set up shop in the back corner of the dark garage and once I saw what he was purveying I had visions of the garage door slowly closing. With my next lucid thought coming when I woke up in their basement sucking my thumb with my pants down around my ankles. I quickly exited.

Madam Piss, who was officially named Rose, was a cat lady before we had the term cat lady but I don’t think she had any cats to speak of. I’m pretty sure that being a cat lady is a modern emotional disorder. I feel like we didn’t really care that much about animals fifty years ago to have dozens of them in the house peeing and shitting all over the place. PETA wasn’t around and we didn’t have sappy commercials begging for money to the tunes of Sarah McLachlan. I feel like I will start giving money to starving cats and dogs when all of the people are fed first. Kinda feel like humans are a bit more of a priority at this point in our evolution.

Old people don’t seem to smell like pee as much as they used to. When was the advent of the adult diaper? Before, did old people just change their underwear a lot? I guess old women could sport a maxi-pad, like one of those super pads but what did men do? Isn’t it bad enough that I’m peeing all over myself but now you want me to wear a feminine product? Remind me again why I want to continue to live.

Anyway, back to the word study, there are, of course, other out of date words that are beyond the time frame I’m talking about here like parlor, milkman and icebox. I’m, as always, most concerned with the time frame that is JP Shaver.

Personal items –

Pocketbook, dungarees, slacks, girdle

I could be wrong on this, because I’m not a girl, but I swear the last time I heard the term pocketbook used was at one of my grandmother’s friend’s funerals. It’s a dumb term and it need to be pushed to the wayside. Where is the “wayside” anyway? I have never used the word in any other context outside of, “pushed to the wayside.” It’s a purse. It is neither a pocket nor a book. Was purse always a word that you could use instead of pocketbook? If so, then why did people still opt for the longer, less descriptive word?

Body parts –

Bosom, gams, buttocks

Bosom is a horrible word. My grandmother had bosoms. The word itself is the most sexual deflating of all time. Ladies, if you’re looking to fend off your husbands amorous intentions, just ask him to play with your bosoms, problem solved. No one ever uses the word bosom in porno movies. Not that I watch porn. I’ve just heard that from people who do.

Gams may be a bit out of my time wheelhouse but I really like it. I’d like to hear people start using it again. Nice gams! It has a Humphrey Bogart kind of air to it.

No one says buttocks. Forrest Gump tried to resurrect it when he got shot there but it didn’t stick. It’s too clinical and we have become too desensitized to use such words. Now we just come out and say things like ass or in the case of bosoms, tits.

Food –

Pimento / olive loaf, oleo, supper, Jell-O, Black licorice, the black Chuckle

I think you can still get olive loaf at the deli but I can’t say that I have ever seen someone order it. If they did actually order up some olive loaf, I suspect that they would be over the age of eighty. Those of you with kids, can you imagine their reaction to being served a couple of slices of this stuff?

My grandmother used to call margarine “oleo.” I had to look that one up and found that it is a colloquial term for oils used commonly to make margarine. It’s also a type of shock absorber used in aircraft landing gear.

How many different terms are there for the various meals we eat every day? Breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, supper. What is the difference between supper and dinner? Are they the same thing or am I missing out on another potential meal here? Supper seems to have been phased out though and replaced solely by dinner. While you can sup and dine, I prefer to not think of myself as supping. It sounds gross and is unappetizing.

Does anyone eat Jell-O anymore? I don’t mean as an alcohol delivery system but as an actual side dish to their dinner. We had it almost every night when I was a kid. My mom put fruit and shit in it to dress it up but I always dug it. I think it’s downfall started when we all found out that gelatin is made from things like horse hooves. That doesn’t really bother me that much I’m more interested in how they figured out that Jell-O needed horse hooves in it in the first place. “Something is missing here. It’s just not Jello-O-ey enough for me. You know what we need? Horse hooves!”

Miscellaneous –

Pound sign, Goodies headache powder, Doan’s Pills, mongoloid

Do they still make Doan’s Pills? You couldn’t be on a game show in the seventies and not, at least, come away with a consolation prize of a year-long supply of these mysterious pills that seems to know exactly how to target pain specific to your lower back. How is that possible? Like they were some early version of nanobots created by this mad scientist, Dr. Doan and were available for virtually nothing at your local drug store. Little known fact, Dr. Doan was killed in a freakish car accident back in the early eighties under very suspicious circumstances. That’s not true. I don’t even know if there ever was a Dr. Doan. I just thought it sounded cool to say.

Goodies Headache Power is another one of these freak remedies that can target specific pain. I never saw the stuff sold up here, only in the South, but I do know they sponsor a NASCAR race so maybe they and their magic elixir are still around. I don’t know, I barely leave the house let along go south for headache medicine.

Was mongoloid a term ever used as a derogatory slur? Like clearly dropping an N bomb on someone can only be construed as horrible but I think we’re still allowed to say Mongoloid? Are people from Mongolia known as mongoloids? Oh, wait, no that’s Mongolian.

I blame the people at Twitter for killing the term, pound sign. Why couldn’t they just stick with that? Why hashtag? You have to be a pretty big deal to just go in and rename something. Like I would like to rename the prostate gland to the bifarcal valve but I don’t carry enough weight to pull it off. Maybe if I can get somebody who wields some real power to start telling men over the age of fifty to have their bifarcal valve checked. Wilfred Brimley may be able to pull that off. He already sells diabetes supplies on television so what’s the harm in mentioning at the close of the commercial, “and don’t forget men over fifty, have your doctor, on your next visit, shove their finger up your poop-hole and get that bifarcal valve checked. You wont be sorry.”

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JP Shaver Says… Bang Your Head Here

JP Shaver Says…Bang Your Head Here…Some More

Top 5 Things Vikki Said…

My Top 5 Things Vikki Says, aka, Vikki-isms

My friend Vikki is moving to Nashville. I have known her for more than ten years and she and her husband Dan have become two of our closest friends, I will miss her more than she realizes. (I’ll miss Dan too but this is about Vikki.) Vikki mentored me when I started working in her department a decade ago. She didn’t have to, but she took the time to teach me everything she knew about our chosen field of work. I will never forget that nor will I ever be able to repay her.

Vikki is from the Philippines and these one-liners will seem a lot funnier, if you don’t know Vikki, said with a nasally Pilipino accent . She has lived in the United States for well over twenty years and has an amazing grasp of the English language for someone who didn’t grow up here but she struggles with similes. In her defense, as if it isn’t hard enough to learn a foreign language, how does one pick up on and understand the connotation of things like, “built like a brick shit house,” when you’re just trying to remember how to count to ten? Obviously a person isn’t put together like an outhouse built from bricks but how the hell is a newbie to English supposed to know that? For that matter, where did this phrase come from anyway? “She’s built like a brick shit house?” I blame the Commodores for this one (their popular song, She’s a Brick House) though someone added the shit house part later on and that kind of ruined it for me. I personally, don’t like to think of women having to expel waste. I choose to think that they exude a flower scented air thru the pores of their skin.

Or how about, “Colder than a witches tit?” What the hell does that mean anyway? I don’t know any witches and therefor have no inner knowledge of what their breasts feel like but I don’t fathom them being any colder than any other women’s. When I was a kid people thought it funny to start reeling off this stupid poem that started with, “There once was a man from Nantucket…” They always stopped there. I don’t know anything else about this Nantucket guy but I always assumed that they stopped there because of the implication of Nantucket rhyming with “fuck it.” Stupid. Old humor is stupid.

My point here is that learning a new language is hard enough without having to figure the “behind the scenes” meanings of our American colloquialisms. Vikki is no worse than anyone else, her downfall is that she had the distinct misfortune of sitting next to me for the last ten years and I have kept a detailed Word document detailing her more hilarious attempts at using these phrases to her advantage. Not one of these on the list was ever intended to sound filthy or sexual, it just came out that way when mixed with my dirty mind.

So as an homage to my friend, who I will miss very much, I present the Top 5 Things Vikki Said:

Top 5 Things Vikki Said

“This bonus money is really burning in my hole…”

“I can’t cram anymore in my box, it’s pretty full…”

“I like the smell of Ryan’s taco…”

“It’s so long and thick, all the way to the tip…”

Anything that has to do with her calling somebody named Dick or Peter

“This bonus money is really burning in my hole…”

Back when we first started working together, Vikki and I would get a quarterly bonus check based on how well we performed. That perk has since been phased out probably because we were making too much money. Can’t have that kind of bullshit going on. Anyway, after receiving a particularly large check, the kind of check that goes beyond paying bills with and requires the purchase of something rather extravagant, Vikki blurts out at the top of her lungs, “this bonus money is really burning in my hole.” To this day, I have no idea exactly where Vikki was storing that check.

“I can’t cram anymore in my box, it’s pretty full…”

I realize that this isn’t really an attempt at a simile but, seriously, how can this not be on the list? I think that my adding commentary to this can only lessen the effect so I will just leave it at that.

“I like the smell of Ryan’s taco…”

Vikki and I, with our friend and co-worker Ryan were sitting in the Tequileria in the Cleveland airport waiting for a flight to take us to a trade show in Vegas. I feel compelled to reiterate that The Tequileria is a Mexican restaurant and it’s in an airport. It’s gross but they make a strong taco.

Ryan, having arrived early, ordered a big plate of airport Mexican and was elbow deep when Vikki and I got there. Vikki fought the urge at first but finally succumbed to the enticing aroma of re-heated swill and said, “I like the smell of Ryan’s taco!!” For those unfamiliar with the slang definition of the word “taco” let me quote directly from the Urban Dictionary:


I especially like how Urban Dictionary tells us how to use the word in a sentence, how handy, right? How was poor Vikki to know that saying that she liked the smell of Ryan’s taco would be taken to mean that she delighted in the smell of his supposed privates? I mean, if, in fact, Ryan happened to be a chick.

“It’s so long and thick, all the way to the tip…”

I would also include here, “My God! It’s so black!” Not necessarily because they just seem to go together but also because they were spoken within minutes of each other. Frankly, I have waited my whole life to have a women speak these words to me, I guess not the black part as I’m as white as a sheet, but alas it isn’t to be. Getting back on track, years ago Vikki and I went out for a rushed smoke ahead of a pending late winter storm. These two comments stemmed from a giant icicle hanging from the building and the approaching dark clouds. Totally inert until thrown into the mind of a pervert.

Anything that has to do with her calling and asking for somebody named Dick or Peter

When one has the sense of humor of a 12 year old there is nothing funnier than fart and dick jokes and Vikki has always offered up a never ending supply of them although always inadvertently.

“No, no, no, I want Dick,” an instant classic. I never really understood why a grown man would choose to be referred to as “Dick” when there are other less hilarious options like Rich or Richard. I realize that “dick” may have been just a guy’s name fifty years ago but it’s a whole new ballgame now.

Others in the same vein, “Harry, I’m looking for Dick” or “Hi, is Peter in?” I will always hold this one in high regard, “Hang in there Dick!” “Good afternoon, is Peter in?” I’m not really sure how you’re supposed to get Peter to the phone without asking for him but it’s still hilarious.

“I work well with Peter”

“I work with Rod a lot”

“Hey is Dick around today?” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard a women say this, I would have – nothing

There are literally 6 pages in Word form, amassed over the years, of these classic one-liners, way too many to go into here but maybe someday I will just list them all out.

I will miss collecting your gold, kid, but I will miss you way more.