- The teenage comb-over. When the Ramones were rocking the bowl cut, they did it well and they did it properly and it looked like it was supposed to look: tough and ugly. This parted-someplace-near-the-back-and-off-to-the-side-with-swoopy-bitch-bangs bullshit just makes you look stupid. No one would ever be afraid of Justin Beiber, but when the Clash first met the Ramones, Joe Strummer was afraid they might beat him up…because they looked like BAD-ASSES, not jackasses.
- The fro-hawk and the new urban-punkness. Now, while I also hate all of the bad stereotypes that the "standard" "urban" "fashion" perpetuates (the saggy pants belted below the ass with the athletic shorts AND boxers hanging out the top, the 3XL white undershirt-as-outshirt—even though you weigh 87 pounds, the Timberlands in the summertime, the oversized baseball caps at jaunty angles, the bandanas, the bling…) I really feel the need to knock out the new black teenagers and their fro-hawks, too-tight purple/pink/yellow/etc. jeans, horrible multi-neon-colored Nike high-tops, and other various things I was wearing 25 years ago that looked brutally awful then. And I did not list this as a racial thing...It's just that when the African-American set does it, I kinda want to punch them in the face. When white kids do it…I actually want to run them over with my car. Repeatedly. (And if I ever see a white kid with a fro-hawk, I just might).
- Juxtapoz and high-fructose "art" magazines and their multi-year-long obsessions with stylized,wide-eyed lady paintings and "realistic" kooky-monster paintings. I'm over it. Sas Christian and Lori Earley can suck my fist. I am not impressed with your ability to "realistically" paint wacky little monsters, people. Wacky little monsters don't exist. No one can tell you you're doing it wrong and therefore you don't actually have to have any goddamned talent! Can we please get back to something interesting?
- Smart cars. They're fucking stupid. They look stupid. The price is stupid. The not-that-much-environmentally-soundness is stupid. The lack-of-safety is stupid. Stupid cars.
- Ground-control-to-major-nerd bluetooth earpieces. Seriously, fat, sloppy, clearly unemployed trashpile-in-the-discount-grocery-store-in-the-middle-of-the-workday? Seriously? You're really THAT busy makin' deals that you need your fucking dork-ass earpiece in while you shop for store-brand baby food and Ho-Hos? Go get a job.
- Skinny jeans tucked into tall boots. Way to accentuate your ass and make it look huge even if it's not. Good job, whore. Honestly, I love skinny jeans. I think flares might actually be the MOST unflattering type of lower-wear. I grew up a punk kid. I have always been down with the skinny jean. But god damn, when you yank your skanky Uggs or moccasins or hooker boots or whatever the hell up OVER those things, it just makes your knees look knocked and your ass look like a planet.
- People who think that they can touch you or talk to you because you have tattoos. Motherfucker, get your hand off my arm—my tattoos are not 3D. and don't say "tat" or "ink" to me. You WILL get knocked out. Yes, I have tattoos. No, I do not know (or care) how many. No, you cannot see them. No, there is no deep fucking Miami/LA Ink storyline to go with them all. and most importantly... NO! I do not want to see, nor do I have even the remotest interest whatsoever in, your Taz/blown-out green tiger/kid's name on your neck/butterfly on your shoulder/tribal tramp stamp/grim reaper/eagle wearing an indian head dress/whatever the fuck. Keep that shit to yourself, get your hands off me, and leave me alone!
- Pregnant women and women who breastfeed in public, or even in a private home but in front of the whole family. If you are pregnant, I'm sorry. I know you're on your way to never again having a life of your own, but I don't want to talk about your pre-natal vitamins, your name ideas, your cravings. And if you've already popped that shit out, cover your own saggy shit up. If my sister-in-law's withered tit makes one more appearance at a family function, I'm going to take my own top off.
- Melt Bar and Grilled, in Cleveland, Ohio. Theme restaurants can eat a dick. Fancy grilled cheese really is not that interesting, and it's certainly not worth around fifteen bucks. Nor do I have one to two hours the surly host informed me I'll have to wait until I can sit down to order said overpriced grilled cheese. Or the additional hour it will take once I sit down to GET it. If you're going to have a stupid-ass restaurant based around the theme of turning a simple, everyday food into something "gourmet," at least have the fucking kitchen size and cook staff to pull it off. One little griddle ain't cuttin' it.
- Soul patches [Editor's note: TIWTPITF covered flavor savers last June], goatees, and other various should-have-left-them-in-the-90s-where-they-belong facial hair decisions. While the hipster beard and the ironic 'stache also infuriate me, these busted old styles make me feel like i'm stuck in an East Coast film school circa 1994 and that is NOT where I want to be. Yuck. Go shave that shit, you stupid pile of douche.
Thank you. I feel so much better now.