Speak now or forever hold your punch

It's the Punch Bowl deadline today and I've received some really fabulous posts for next week. Some are short, a couple are long, and some folks have anger that can't be contained by a silly word count. And I thought I had issues…

It's not too late for YOU to punch something in the face. I don't give a rat's ass what you pick to pick on. Just promise me that you won't hold back.

Send Punch Bowl entries to me (subject line: Punch Bowl) by the end of the day. The best smackdowns will be showcased all next week.

(And I know; you sort of want to punch the boxing glove art in the face, don't you?)

Camille's list

To get your juices flowing for your Punch Bowl entry (due tomorrow!), I thought I'd share a list of things my friend Camille wants to punch in the puss. After a "craft night" at my place (which basically translates into lots of wine and reruns of What Not to Wear) where we brainstormed TIWTPITF ideas, she sent me an e-mail the following morning. This is her unedited list that I suspect was fueled by ire and caffeine. As you can see, punch-worthy items are all around us. By the way, I love Camille.

• Dumb-ass kid shows like Thomas the Stupid-Fucking Train
• People who don't call you back
• Proprietors who ignore you when you go into their store, like they're doing you a favor
• Government bureaucracy
• Being on hold for 15 minutes then having the phone tree hang up on you
• Paying bills
• People who park too close to my door so I can't open the goddamn door
• The fucking gray Seattle winters
• Running out of material while I'm in the middle of a craft project (no wire, no metal)
• Paying taxes
• People who let you know how smart they are
• Ivy league graduates because they usually tell you that they went to Stanford, Harvard, Yale, etc.
• Rich people who complain about having to go to Aspen, or some other hoitie toitie expensive place that normal people can't afford
• Rich people in general
• Inconsiderate people
• Vegetarians who look down their noses at us meat-atarians
• Stupid ass mothers who potty train at 2 years by using some new age bullshit called Elimination Communication—yeah right!
• Same stupid-ass mothers who then brag about using Elimination Communication
• New agey parents
• Political correctness
• NIMBY-ism
• Anti-growth advocates (excuse me, cities are meant to grow and become dense with population, that's why it's a city, dumb ass)
• Nosy, creepy neighbors
• Prices continue to rise and/or stay high while the economy tanks, come on—give us a good sale
• 400-dollar sunglasses
• Snotty Sephora makeup girls
• People who don't swear
• Happy people (there's something seriously wrong with these types of people)
• People who dis coffee (coffee is my God and I worship my God daily)
• Heavy doors that you have to push with all your strength to open
• Bottled water (what the hell ever happened to water fountains? I never thought I'd pay for water)
• Oxygen bars
• People who don't take the Lord's name in vain
• Losing a sock
• People who don't like bacon
• Seattleites in general who harbor some passive aggressive "I'm cool because I recycle/don't smoke/do yoga/hike" resentment towards normal people
• Discrimination against smokers (let them ruin their lungs and skin in peace for God's sakes)

Comfort shoes

We’ve put a man on the moon, created fabrics with UV protection. We’ve cloned a camel, for crying out loud. So I’m frankly puzzled as to why cushioned and supportive shoes invariably give you Frankenfeet. Bouncing along in personal flotation devices, you might feel fantastic but you look like you’ve been in a car accident, what with those casts encasing your hooves and all.

Dansko, Birkenstock, Clarks, Easy Spirit, earth shoes, and, ugh, Crocs—y’all are the red-headed stepchildren in my shoe wardrobe. You’re part of the foot family but should remain out of sight if you know what’s good for you. Soles are bulbous, footbeds stanky, and uppers rounded, wide, and clunky. Sensible with a side of suck, these travesties manage to look like clown shoes while simultaneously announcing that you’ve just given up.

If your designers can’t cook up a sleek approach to comfort and cushioning soon, I’m going to dig out my red Dansko clogs and inflict a bit of blunt force trauma. Did I just put my foot in your mouth?

(photo: thefashionpolice.net/shoes/)

Punch Bowl entries due Friday!

There are only days left to tell me who or what you want to punch the crap out of. Write up your post and send me your entry by May 29 (that's this Friday, yo!). Whether you loathe a song lyric (Michaela, I'm talking to you), a redonculous commercial (Kevin?), or want to get all up in television's grill (Jess), write a post and send it to me.

Then, next week, from June 1–5, I will post the best TIWTPITF guest posts. Don't worry about photos; I'll find the images for your post. In addition, I'll link to you and whatever site or blog you indicate. Or you can be all mysterious and shit and go anonymous.

Send Punch Bowl entries to me (subject line: Punch Bowl) by May 29.

Coffee snobs

I’m a coffee pussy, I'm the first to admit. But when I’m forking over good coin for my grande decaf Americano (with room, if you please), I’d really like it if the barista didn’t coat me with disdain. I once ordered a nonfat decaf latte, and the baristickupherassta snidely informed me that this particular drink is called a “why bother.” As I added my three packets of raw sugar, I thought that maybe I should have bothered to jump behind the counter and whack her upside the head with my metal thermos.

It’s not just espresso-stand employees who give me guff. I also take shit from my more cultured friends who seek out beans picked by virgins in the most remote mountain regions of Central and South America and then home roast them, pulling them out at exactly the right moment after the second crack.

Dude, you have your form of crack and I have mine. You’re addicted to caffeinated coffee that costs $20 a pound. I’m addicted to MAC Viva Glam V Lipglass. Potayto, potahto.

If you insist on giving me the java jeer, I’ll have no choice but to give in and order up a cup of black coffee. After a horrifying sip, I decide you’ll enjoy this a whole lot more than me so I’m going to throw it in your jittery Starfucks face.

Just say espressno.

(photo: bloglines.com/blog/lizfender/2007_11)

Tennis bracelets

Forgive my lack of sophisdickation, but does anyone actually play tennis while wearing these? In my mind, jewelry + exercise = silly. Diamond bracelets shouldn’t have anything to do with tennis (Chris Evert learned this the hard way when she broke one mid-tournament and had to stop the match to retrieve her gemstones). Like chicklets in Juicy sweatsuits, gals wearing tennis bracelets are most likely not mid-exercise.

The jewelry equivalent of a French manicure, tennis bracelets are nouveau riche. As soulless as Ryan Seacrest, these bourgeoisie baubles don’t denote your status on the social ladder; they tag you as sheep. They aren’t bracelets as much as leashes. Baby, you may own a few carats of J-grade diamonds, but your ass is metaphorically owned by Kay Jewelers and the Cheesecake Factory.

Since you put the ass in class, I'm going to carve "classy" into your butt cheeks with one of your diamonds. Too harsh? Okay, fine. I'll rip that double fault of wretched excess off your tanorexic wrist and lash you with it instead. I'm just helping you leave your mark.

(photo: flickr.com/photos/rmrayner/509802076/)

Punch Bowl 2009

Punch Bowl 2009 is less than two weeks away! Entries are flowing in from all corners of the globe but I suspect that there's more that y'all want to punch. I know it's hard after a lifetime of holding back and being polite, but we won't judge you. In fact, we'll be right there with you, punching your peeve in the face.

From June 1–5, I will post the best TIWTPITF guest posts that are sent to me (along with your name and any links you want included; you can also choose to remain anonymous). Pick something super specific—like a terrible waiter named Neil at that new restaurant you just went to—or something we can all get worked up over—a horrible snackfood or band that makes us scratch our heads over its popularity, for example. I don't care. Just let it rip and make it funny.

Send Punch Bowl entries to me, your head pugilista (subject line: Punch Bowl) by May 29.