The purpose of grammar is to clarify your meaning. Why does that matter? Are you that scared about someone misinterpreting your point? So what? If they have a problem, beat the shit out of them. Darwin wrote about this kind of thing. Those that can't understand get naturally selected for your fist. Make their nose evolve into a flat strip of flesh.
Use a Turn Signal
You're in 2,000lb of solid steel, and you still worry about others? For the first time in your life you aren't a walking collection of accidental bruises and fractures. You can actually hit things without flailing backwards and tearing up, and yet you sacrifice this power for etiquette? Are we in the 1800's? Do you bow and let female drivers pass you on the road? Do you take the top off your convertible whenever you enter a tunnel because you were taught to not wear hats indoors?
And what if they hit you? Are you scared of getting a booboo? Will your coexist bumper sticker not survive a collision? Who cares? Next time you're driving down the road, hit pause on your Bare Naked Ladies (you call BNL (wouldn't want to offend anyone!)), and think about this: Every driver is forced by law to have insurance in these situations. They've spent a ton of money to be prepared incase of an accident, so why not collect a little? Hopefully that concept will sink in and you'll stop driving like you live-- pathetically.
Possible Solution: Gather all your Alanius Morset, Decemberists, and Belle and Sebastion CDs, your iPod, your iBook, and all your flannel shirts and set them on your passenger seat. Start the car. Rip off turn signal with a hammer or find a man who can (your nephew?) Set the severed knob on the passenger seat. Hold down the accelerator until your Prius hits 88mph (might have to be going down hill.) Crash into a wall. (Optional: jump out at the last second.)
Do you get a say in when you die? Can you choose what happens when you're confronted with a Grizzly? No. And yet, here you are waiting in line to vote for your county coroner. To vote shows that you're ruled. It also shows that you're dumb enough to think it matters. If you were a real man, then you'd know the only real choice you have is how many of these assholes are you're taking down with you.
Brush Your Teeth
In your life, you make very little. Whether we're talking about the arts or money, you produce nothing across the board, and yet the one thing you make with great efficiency--plaque--gets thrown out every night (and in some cases, multiple times a day.) Are you scared of gingervitis? Will little wee-baby germs take over your mouth? calm down, it's all in your imagination.
Another thing you're making up is that somehow your teeth will help you pick up women. As if, for some reason, you think your smile is the breaking point. Buddy, your breaking point snapped in half years ago. Now, as you floss and brush and gargle, you're just like a high schooler buying a fin for his Civic. Why worry about the superficial pieces when your core is garbage?
Possible Solution: Scrape all plaque off with a steak knife and collect it in empty baby-food jars. Every year, on your birthday, admire all you have accomplished.
Without a doubt, the most cowardly thing in the world. You could be doing anything, but instead you decide to stare at something. And, worse yet, the thing you're staring at isn't even interesting. It's just a shit load of words. What the hell is wrong with you?
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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