Learn Some Fucking Manners!

I would like to tell you all a little story about my bus ride home the other night. I climbed aboard my usual bus, and sat in my usual spot. Along the way, the bus stopped and picked up a man who clearly was suffering from a mental disorder, most likely schizophrenia, as he was rambling and ranting and raving out loud. Still, he possessed enough of his facilities to get on the bus to go somewhere—I would presume home, much like myself. He sat in the back of the bus, I suspect to reduce people’s exposure to his loud conversation with nobody in particular.

A few stops along the way, a woman boarded the bus, and expressed concern. She spoke to the driver. We’re held up. Apparently, this woman has taken issue with the man in the back of the bus. Sensing a problem, the man disembarked. Meanwhile, we’re still held up. The woman, relieved that the man has left, expresses her relief out loud, claiming “[T]hat’s how people get killed.” The bus is still held up, however, as the driver has summoned the police to address the woman’s complaint. At this point, I express my frustration, and get off the bus, vowing to walk home. Besides, I had to piss like a racehorse, anyway.

Who has caused the problem here: The schizophrenic man, or the consternated woman? Write your answer down on a slip of paper, and fold it in half.

If you said the schizophrenic man, please take that paper, light it on fire, and apply the fire to your external genitalia, and fuck yourself hard enough to travel through time.

Mental illness exists, and it’s a fucking problem, but no matter how much of a fucking problem it is for you to deal with the mentally ill, the mentally ill have a bigger fucking problem dealing with themselves. What pissed me off most about the bus situation, aside from being held up from getting home so that the fucking police could come to the bus when they have better things to do, is that the woman bitching about the schizophrenic guy was a nurse—well, she at least had scrubs on. I sure hope she never has to work in the psych ward, and I would pity the patients if she did.

The idea that schizophrenics are violent is for the most part a fucking myth. In fact, according to studies, people with schizophrenia are 14 times more fucking likely to be a victim of violence, rather than the other way around.. The poor, rambling man on the bus, loud as he is, is not a threat to your well-being, so let him the fuck alone. I know it can be pretty hard to share a bus with someone who rants, yells, and raves to nobody but himself, but it’s way fucking harder to be the guy who rants, yells, and raves to nobody but himself. You only have to put up with it for a little while—he has to live with it all the fucking time.

Do a little research, grow the fuck up, and learn to deal with people who have problems. If you really want to complain about the prevalence of the mentally ill in society, why not bitch about how the infrastructure to support the mentally ill was pretty much fucking gutted in the 1970s and 1980s—no small thanks to Mr. Ronald Fucking Reagan. It’s a fucked up, sad situation, and idiots who don’t understand mental illness ain’t making it any fucking easier for those who have it.

In Internet years, I’m a fucking geezer. I’ve been busting my ass on the web since the fucking mid-90’s. Sure, there were plenty of people out there before me, but compared to some of the fucking retarded wastes of carbon that have access to the internet now, I’m older than fucking dirt. Let me tell you something about the olden days of the Internet: if we wanted to piss someone off, we fucking put some effort into it. We fucking build up fucking layer upon layer upon layer of abuse. It was direct, and it was personalized. Trolling someone took some motherfucking work, and the payoff was beautiful. Watching someone freak out in plaintext in an IRC channel could easily be the highlight of a day.

Yes, this is shallow. I was a fucking teenager with no social life. Fuck you.

Now-a-days, when I go about my routine on the web, and someone tries to fuck with me, it just reeks of a lack of effort. Instead, it’s a shitload of meme-spouting, energyless, lazy morons who don’t have the patience or the braincells to actually, properly troll someone. This is probably best exemplified by that wonderful little distillation of the Internet: ChatRoulette. (I’m not linking it. You probably already know it.) First time I logged onto that site, some guy took a look at me, called me a faggot, and flipped me off. Then, he vanished.

You call that trolling? I call that failing. The fact that I’m ranting about this might be indication of success, but what pisses me off is not being called a faggot, or flipped off. I’ve had both done, in real life, by far better. What pisses me off is the idea that someone can fucking get on a site, hold up their middle finger, and think they’re pissing people off, or being a troll. You’re not. You are to a proper troll what a fucking turd is to the fucking statue of David. Actually, I take that back, you’re what a turd is to Serrano’s Piss Christ. A turd can offend a lot of people, but a fucking turd only offends for so long. Once the initial shock value dies down, everyone just gets bored. “Oh, it’s a piece of shit. Yes. Fine. Can we move on?” A troll, a genuine fucking troll, starts small and builds. The abuse starts simple and grows, slowly, delicately, like a flower. You don’t just start by calling them a faggot. Christ, that ceased being a decent insult after Kindergarten, these days.

If you want to troll someone, you have to make them question the very essence of the self. Find their weakness, learn what will piss them off, slowly infuriate them, and then go for the fucking kill. Shit like this is hard to do when they have an easy method of escape, like on the aforementioned ChatRoulette, so you need to keep them interested in hearing what you have to say. Give them a chance to respond. The victim wants to win, but their parries just give you the chance to twist the knife in deeper. You need to really offend them, not just make gestures and use words your mom would (hopefully) bitchslap you for saying.

Fucking Christ. Just fucking try, will you? I’ve got far more respect for someone who knows how to piss me off on purpose than those who piss me off by sheer luck.

Tl;DR — TRY HARDER.

What the fuck is this shit?!

There’s lots of fucking hate on hipsters, and not all of it is justified. Oh, please don’t think I’m trying to defend those shallow, poorly dressed, socially retarded wastes of someone else’s trust fund. However, this shit, this fucking shit, just takes the fucking cake. It’s the fucking Census, not a fucking prelude to martial fucking law. You fill out a fucking form. Not even a fucking hard one, either.

See this? Does this look fucking complex? Jesus wept, you fuckshits filled out harder forms to rent your goddamn apartments, assuming Mommy and Daddy didn’t do it for you. Hardest part is just putting your fucking name in the blocks. I filled mine out the day I got it—took three minutes, and the first minute was just finding a fucking pen.

The reasoning behind this is absolute retarded bullshit. How do these people fucking breathe?

Ms. JAMIE LILLY: You know, on a personal note, maybe some people, they figure what’s the point to be counted if you dont count for much anyway? If we dont count, why be counted?

Yeah, the fucking government doesn’t need to know how many fucking people are in your neighborhood. It doesn’t matter if there aren’t enough funds to go to your local schools or hospitals. You don’t count, huh? Stupid little fucking bitch, if I ever meet you, I will fucking cunt-punt you so hard that your uterus will pop out of your skull. You’re so fucking anti-establishment, aren’t you? Fuck off and die. It’s a fucking census you twat. It affects you, and you count.

Here’s another fucking genius:

Mr. STARK: I mean people would do if they got like five bucks.

You want five bucks to fill out a census form? How about a blowjob and a pony, too? It’s a fucking simple task. Hardest thing is walking it to the fucking mailbox, you twat. You shouldn’t be given a fucking reward for filling out your census form. Fuck me, did your mom give you five bucks every time you fucking put your underpants on properly in the morning? That’s what this shit should be like: putting your fucking underpants on. It’s a simple, basic thing. The only difference is that you (I hope) wear underpants every day, but you only have to do the census every ten fucking years.

Stupid fucking hipsters. Someone needs to fucking nuke Williamsburg. At least the Hasidic Jew guy handled the interviewer properly: he kept his fucking mouth shut.

Okay, this shit has less to do with manners, and more about just fucking living. Few things piss me off more than people who don’t fucking read. Why? People who don’t read shit tend to be the dumbest, most arrogant (and I know arrogance), rudest, ignorant, and obnoxious pieces of shit that I ever have to deal with each day. Their brains are so atrophied and knowledge-starved, that they start to consume themselves, like a starving child’s stomach starts digesting its own body. You can’t fucking deal with people like this.

Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what you read. Read the fucking newspaper, fucking tabloids, fucking US Magazine or fucking People, fucking Twilight or Chicken Soup for the Soul or whatever mindless shit they put on paper and sell. As long as you’re actually putting shit into your brain, even if the shit is more-or-less actual shit, you’ll still be higher on the totem pole of human waste than those who don’t read. Seriously, this shit needs to fucking stop now. Find the nearest person who doesn’t read, and beat them over the fucking head with a book until they decide to read or, until they die. Whichever comes first. Either way, it’s a win for the human species.