Old guy facelifts

It’s hard to watch any of the Kardashian divorce coverage. It’s not because Kim’s stunt disgusts me or that I think there’s no there there. It’s because of Bruce Jenner. 

I remember the ’76 Olympics. I remember Jenner taking a victory lap after winning the decathalon, fitting during a Bicentennial Year. Proud to be an American, I ate a lot of Wheaties with Jenner on the box.

Now, I sort of want to throw up my breakfast when I see Jenner doddering around the Kardashian klan. He looks like the grim reaper, the skin of his face pulled tightly over cheekbones and implants. And he’s not alone. Michael Douglas, Paul McCartney, and Steven Tyler are also part of the cryptkeeper club, not content to leave well enough alone and age gracefully, let alone move their face. These dudes are starting to look like ladies, and not in a good way. I’d punch them in the face, but I might shatter them.

(photo: celebritysmackblog.com)

Grocery go-carts

The grocery store is not an amusement park, nor is it a raceway. What it is, rather, is a clusterfuck, clogged with baby buggy bumper cars, grocery carts tricked out with a plastic toy car for your little one to lounge in while being chauffeured down the cereal aisle.
 

Excuse me, but while you're drivin' Miss Lazy, I’m trying to get to my Cocoa Puffs. Your bulbous pace car is cock-blocking my sugar addiction. This will not stand. Steer your fender extender to a less-trafficked aisle before I commit a moving violation of my own.
 

(Photo: raisingmaine.mainetoday.com)

White chocolate

Creamy? Yes.
Sugary? Yes.
Waste of space? Hell, yes.
Chocolate? Uh…..

I tend to be irritated by things I don’t understand. Quantum physics, Ulysses, the popularity of Snooki…

So you can imagine my apoplexy when I encounter white chocolate.

Apparently, it’s got cocoa butter in it. Big whoop. So does my body lotion, but I’m not going to snack on that, either. What it lacks is cocoa paste, liquor or power, not to mention flavor. White chocolate is the confectionery equivalent of The Hills. Pointless, flavorless, and mad white.


White chocolate isn't chocolate; it's a crime.

(photo: infobarrel.com)

Oatmeal raisin cookies

Mmm, a delicious golden-brown cookie, studded with scrumptuous bits and pieces. Just what the sweet tooth ordered. I reach for the treat, sink my teeth into its chewy goodness, and FREAK MY SHIT OUT.

Goddamn raisins.

As far as I’m concerned, a raisin is a poor man’s chocolate chip when it comes to an oatmeal cookie (and maybe everything else). I grew up eating my grandma’s cowboy cookie recipe, which my mother invariably burnt every time. However, dunked in ice-cold 2-percent, crispy chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies became sublimely soggy and the Hershey’s bittersweet chips made my little heart beat a little faster.

I have since perfected the recipe and it’s pretty much the only cookie I make. When I’m at a café or friend’s house, I am drawn to the plate of oatmeal cookies. Obviously, those little brown specs are chocolate chips. Why would you use anything else? More often than I’d like to admit, I feel betrayed by the baker, tricked by the bait-and-switch.

Chocolate always bests raisins in the Rochambeau of baked goods.

(photo: levainbakery.com)

Caricatures

Where do I even start?

First of all, a giant bobblehead on a tiny, wizened body is never a good look (just ask Lara Flynn Boyle). Our least-favorite features are blown up like a bad allergic reaction to shellfish, and the person sketching you is often wearing suspenders. Don’t let the sugar rush from the cotton candy cloud your judgment when you are walking down the midway. Your money would be better spent on Whac-a-mole. Do I have to draw you a picture? The only thing that looks worse than your caricature is your caricature after I punch it in its bulbous, pen-and-ink face.

(artwork: created by someone named Emet during lunch when I was an intern in Washington, DC. Clearly, I was bitchy even in 1988.)

White man’s overbite

Along with Baby Fish Mouth, this term was immortalized in the classic rom-com, When Harry Met Sally, more than 20 years ago. You’d think that we whities would have learned by now not to bite our lip in an attempt to look cool while boogie-ing to "I'm Too Sexy." Because there is no way to look cool while doing the sprinkler or the lawn mower while mouthing “I"m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt.”

I’m all for unself-conscious dancing—there’s far too much attention to cool these days—but white man’s overbite is not an uninhibited maneuver. It’s studied and contrived and about as sexy as Jon Heder and Will Ferrell in Blades of Glory.

(photo: msjamiekeiles.tumblr.com)

People who don't scoop their poop

Unless you’re some fancy-pants lord who has traveled through time with your German Shorthair Pointer and can’t wrap your 19th-century mind around the idea of picking up after your pooch, you’d best find something with which to clean the sidewalk or I’m going to mop the floor with you. Caught unawares? Find a big leaf, trash, your hat, something.

For the love of all that’s good and holy (i.e. my shoes), at least pull your pooch off the sidewalk so a hapless passerby doesn’t step in your shit. It’s as though you are giving a giant steaming fecal finger to the rest of us, which not only merits a punch in your thoughtless face, but a flaming bag of Great Dane scat on your doorstep as well.

(photo: yourdailythread.com)