I hate… arrival and departing car horners

Car horns. An invention created to scare the shit out of cyclists and pedestrians calmly going about their daily business. If you’re lucky, and tactful, correct use of the car horn can result in the dismounting of said cyclists. Let’s face it, these cunts should be using footpaths anyway. Especially the black ones that are difficult to see at night.

I digress. The real purpose of this blog post comes from the spasticated use of them by people arriving and departing a property. Few things make less sense to me than a fucking asshole who feels the use of a corn horn to announce they’ve arrived at, or are leaving your house.

In this day and age we communicate way more than we need to. If you’re going somewhere you usually text or call the person you’re heading to, to let them know that nothing has changed and you’re still planning to show up. After leaving, you’re even likely to text them or call them again en route to give them a rough idea on when you’re arriving as you approach. Why in the mother of fuck, then, would you feel the press your fucking horn when pulling up at the property? Is your arrival meant to be so goddamn exciting and urgent that you can’t even wait the 60 seconds it would take to park the vehicle, step your fat arrogant ass outside and press the doorbell? Is your arrival so fucking legendary you have to compare it to the second coming of Christ and announce it to the world? HELLO, I’M HERE, QUICKLY COME OUTSIDE AND GREET ME SO EVERYONE CAN SEE THAT YOU HAVE A VISITOR AND AREN’T THE SOCIOPATHIC RECLUSE THAT EVERYONE ELSE ON THE STREET THINKS YOU ARE.

It doesn’t even make any logical sense. Who is the horn meant to be for? It has no specific recipient or focus. It’s just a noise that illustrates how big of a prick you are. The only result of using the horn is to have every nosey cunt and busybody in the immediate area peeking out of their windows to see who is making such a disruptive cunt of a noise.

Nobody, and I mean nobody, is that important that they can’t simply knock on a door or use the doorbell like every other fucking person should. I don’t care if you’re Madeleine McCann coming “back from the dead” to reunite with your parents. Pull up, exit your vehicle and use the doorbell or knock on the door like a good obedient member of polite society.

It gets worse yet, though. After this fucking asshole has arrived at your house and disappointed you with their pathetic visit, they then feel the need to confirm their departure with another press of the horn. I’m pretty fucking certain that the words “goodbye” or some variation of that would be used before this person entered their vehicle. Why the shitting fuck would you then start pulling away and use the horn again? Did the person you’re leaving have alzheimers and need to be reminded that you’re leaving? Was the mere sight of your vehicle accelerating away from them a poor indicator that you were leaving?

Of course, the finale-horn (as I’ll now refer to it) is then compounded and confused with the arrival-horn (I’ll coin this term as well). When leaving, the nosey cunts and busy-bodies are back again peeking out of their windows to see who might have arrived. Imagine their utter disappointment when they see someone leaving and not arriving. It must be similar to the feeling a father gets when he sees a black baby get shat out of his partners vagina. Perhaps that’s the purpose?

Drivers of the world, take note. Use your car horn only in the following circumstances:

  1. You see a woman with a nice ass, nice tits, nice legs or other nice appendages.
  2. You have run over and killed someone. The horn must be used post-murder and not as a pre-emptive warning for the impending result.
  3. You are Mexican and have just gotten married.
  4. You have been involved in a fatal traffic accident and are dead. Your resulting corpse is draped over the steering wheel and inadvertently depressing the horn.
  5. You work in a garage and are testing the horn.

All other uses of horns are unacceptable and will brand you the label of cunt.

I hate… Chavs and Townies

This is a Chav, otherwise known as a Townie, or a cunt. As you can see, these pieces of shit enjoy hanging around the places you generally wouldn’t tell anyone you were hanging around – most noteably childrens playgrounds (can anyone say “Pedo in training”?) and outside the front of convenience stores, begging people to buy them cigarettes and alcohol. Key Chav trademarks are the burberry colours in their cap, t-shirt and tracksuit bottomed uniform, and the excessive display of cheap jewellery from places such as Elizabeth Duke in Argos. These fuckers are high class, obviously.
Chavs seem to have a very limited vocabulary. Common statements will include;
“What you fucking looking at?”
“Givvus a fag.”
“I’ll ‘ave you, you cunt.”
“Come on then!”

What are these even meant to mean? “What you fucking looking at?” I’m sorry, but if i’m looking right at you, what the hell do you think I’m looking at? Do you want to know which part of your face it is I’m looking at? Do you have a complex about your nose, or your eyes, or something? Is that why merely glancing at you is considered a declaration of war? Is your self-esteem really that fucking low you’d want to “Kick my head in” for using my gift of sight? That makes sense. Perhaps if you didn’t look like such a cunt in your burberry, I wouldn’t feel the need to look at you whilst mocking you in the back of my mind.
“Givvus a fag” – Is that a question or a threat? If I bought cigarettes with my own money, why the fuck would I want to share them with you? Sure, I’ll give you a cigarette if you dance for me, bitch. What’s the alternative to not giving you one, you beat me up and take my cigarettes and wallet anyway? If you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna do it, what difference does it make? Either beat me up or fuck off, thanks.
“I’ll ‘ave you, you cunt” – This is my favourite. Roughly translated, this means the little chav believes he can beat you up before you can beat him up. The literal real world translation of this, however, is much different. If chav attacks you, his 6 mates will immediately join in. Unless you’re some kind of Bruce Lee motherfucker, you never really stood a chance. Despite the gang-beating you just received, El Chav will still think that he and he alone kicked your ass. Makes sense. On the opposite side of the spectrum I can pretty much guarantee you that if El Chav was on his own, he wouldn’t say a fucking word to you.
“Come on then!” Come on what? You wanna go see a movie, play water polo? What? Is everything in your shitty little life determined by how many fights you can get into? Do you have quotas you have to fill before you can upgrade your burberry stripes or something?
When I was a teenager, I actually had fun and enjoyable things to do. I didn’t stand outside a fucking shop smoking like a chimney and hoping to “finger” the wookie-hole of the new chav bitch who just moved into the area last week. Do kids these days really have such a lack of options, that this one seems the most appealing? I have no problem with some piece of shit having nothing to do, and standing around just waiting for something to happen, but the moment you directly affect my life is when we have big problems. If I have to go to the shop late at night and deal with 8 chav cunts asking me to buy them booze, and getting pissed off when I say no, then I have to step in and say something. The outcome will, one day, inevitably be that I get hospitalised or even killed (w00t!) by a group of these fucks because I refuse to service their chav needs.
So what can we do about them? I have a couple of thoughts on this…
1. Use them for advertising space. These fuckers are just standing around doing nothing as it is, why not put adverts on them? Shops could easily promote their latest special offers by intelligently utilising the ample advertising space outside. Of course, the best advertisement here would be for condoms, or another form of contraception.
2. Develop and supply them with sterilising cigarettes. Next time they ask you for “a spare fag”, you can hapilly and with a large smile on your face, pull out a spare packet of “Fuck-Your-Uterus” or “Fuck-Your-Balls” and allow them to smoke themselves sterile. Over time the chav population will decrease and the world will become a better place.
3. Next time a male chav tries to start some shit with you, pull his trousers down. The shock of having his spiderman underwear exposed to his chav friends will undoubtedly cause him to run home crying like a bitch. The other chavs will be completely distracted (and amused) by this and will forget what they were going to do to you in the first place.
4. Buy several pineapples and spear them onto the end of large sticks. Apply a burberry cap and some fake jewellery created from string and tinfoil, add some cranberry juice or other red and wet material, and leave the sticks outside their usual “hanging around” place. They will be so concerned with this act of insanity they will fuck off and never return.

I hate…Lindsay Lohan

I hate Lindsay Lohan. I hate Lindsay Lohan so much that if it came down to a choice between having sex with Angelina Jolie (and I would, believe me) or having Lindsay Lohan murdered… I’d go with the latter. Yes, that’s right, I’d pass up the opportunity of a lifetime to have sex with perhaps one of the kinkiest Hollywood women around… so that this miserable looking ugly ginger CUNT can go die. I love the word CUNT. There’s ugly, and there’s pig dog ugly. Lindsay Lohan is the latter. What the fuck do men see in this freckled little puke-stain? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just seriously averse to anything ginger. I think that’s it. It’s not the hair colour, it’s the fucking gazillions of freckles ALL OVER THE BODY. They can’t just be on the face, they have to be EVERYWHERE. All down the arms, the chest, the back, the face, the ass, it’s like she’s being consumed by a small freckle nation who have realised she has no talent and are trying to kill her from the inside out. Good work, my freckle midget army! On a completely unrelated note, did you know that being Ginger is actually down to a deformity of your DNA? That’s right, do some reading and you’ll see that it’s caused by a DNA mutation. You now have sufficient proof that Lindsay Lohan is a fucking mutant cunt. Let’s take the freckles away, what would you be left with? You’d still be left with a fucking skank who has zero sex appeal. She literally looks like some chick you would hook up with at a party, because you’d drunk a bottle of scotch and you want to fall asleep with your dick in something. You then wake the following morning and have to carefully sneak out before being seen in case she asks for your number. There’s no “choice” here, merely a lack of options in an alcohol fueled sex romp. I’d rather go home and jerk off. This broad has ZERO talent. She can’t even act worth a damn. You only need to look at her IMDB page to see the list of amazingly intellectual films she’s been involved with. The only movie I liked out of that list was “Chapter 27″, and she was the worst actor/actress in the entire thing. Thank God she got less than 5 minutes screentime. Cunt. Just because you hang around with Paris Hilton does NOT make you cool. It doesn’t make people want you. It just makes you another in the long line of skank whores that Paris has taken under her wing to destroy your reputation and image. Not that you had any of those to begin with. If you want cheap or free coke, hang around with Paris. If you have no career and want to ensure that it remains that way, hang around with Paris. There really isn’t anything else to say except that I hate you, Lindsay Lohan, please die.

I hate… Retards and Autistic Children

Observe, ye fellow readers, a rare specimen indeed. With its screwed up face and child-like mannerisms, this breed are not to be confused with many TalkFreelance forum users. What we have here is commonly referred to as a “retard”, and I fucking hate them.

“Why do you hate the special people?” I hear you ask. Well, fortunately it’s a very simple question to answer, albeit with a question in return: What do you do when you meet a retard? Think about that for a second. It’s a very difficult question to answer, isn’t it? Are you sympathetic to the retards needs? Do you pull your underwear over your head and run around making retard-like noises in a bid to entertain it, only to be chastised by the retards handler? Yes, I just used the word handler. Like Dog handler, Horse handler, Toilet handler. What is the official “title” for the person who supervises the retards in their day to day lives? Superviser? Carer? Masochist? Post me your thoughts.

So, if you don’t decide to pull your underpants over your head, do you shake their hand? Do you REALLY want to shake hands with someone whose idea of fun is to play with their own shit? Someone whose hand is likely to be so disgustingly dirty and sticky that you genuinely feel the need to either cut yours off afterwards, or dunk it in a vat of sulphuric acid. That’s not my idea of fun.

So, I have difficulty meeting retards. That sounded like I put out advertisements to specifically meet them, didn’t it? No comment. It seems that however I meet and respond to retards is always wrong. If I try to talk to them like a normal person, they have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about and their handlers give me a look of disgust, as if i should know better than to try and converse intellectually with a retard. If I try and talk about the shapes and sizes of poop and how when I was 3 years old, I tried to make a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my own shit, I get chastised for talking to them in a demeaning manner, regardless of how much the retard finds it amusing and claps their hands like a fucking circus seal.
Sometimes I’ve met retards, and have referred to them as previous retards I’ve already met, simply because they all look the fucking same. Honestly, how was I meant to know that we suddenly had an influx of retards in the area? Maybe that retard actually went home believing his name was “Dave” that day, who knows? Do they even have names? Is there any point?

I once worked part-time in a supermarket as a “General Assistant”. This involved both cashier work, and stock work (ie putting shit on shelves). I remember one busy Saturday morning a retard came in to buy some sugar. He was a regular retard, and a serious fucking annoyance, because he’d hold the line up for about 10 minutes whilst he attempted to count the correct money up for whatever he’s buying. Yes, this is a retard of limited intelligence, attempting to mathematically calculate how many pennies he should give me for this bag of sugar. If I tried to take the money out of his hand, he’d think I was trying to rob him and get extremely upset. If I tried to help him, he wouldn’t listen to me anyway because it’s obvious it took every single fucking braincell he had to try and work out this extremely complex puzzle, and it’d just disrupt his concentration. Eventually, he managed to give me somewhere in the region of the correct change (not that I bothered to check anyway) and went on his way.
Approximately 1 hour later, a woman came into the shop, followed by this retard, carrying a packet of sweets. She explained to me that he came in earlier to buy the sugar, and he’d accidentally put the sweets in his pocket without paying for them. She’d merely brought him in to return them. As I took the bag of sweets from the retard, telling him that it wasn’t a problem and I don’t give a shit because it’s not my shop anyway, he proceeded to cry. He cried as if I’d just raped him and stolen all of his pennies at the same time. It took every ounce of my being to not laugh in his retarded little face. Have you ever seen a retard cry? You’ll know what I mean.

And then it got me thinking. He accidentally put the sweets in his pocket? Give me a break. I guarantee you there are armies of these shoplifting retards all around the world, conveniently forgetting to pay for items. I bet there are handlers who take their leads off, and push them into a shop, waiting to see what they’ll come out with next. Let’s face it, if you catch a retard stealing, you’re not going to call the police are you? It’s the perfect fucking excuse! They probably even have a website somewhere where you can find a shoplifting retard in your area, and e-mail them a shopping list to fill. Just imagine it, millions of these retarded fucks all over the world, stealing everything from us and laughing at us when we’re not looking, in some super-complex retarded language that we don’t understand, consisting of grunts, farts, and slapping each other. Perhaps it’s us who are the retarded ones, and they’re simply on a level of intelligence that we’re not ready to comprehend? Yeah, OK, as if.
Another story for you…

In the local pub (yes, “pub” you Americans) I used to drink in, there was this semi-retarded guy who also used to drink there. He was never accompanied by a handler, or any friends or family, he was always on his own. For some bizarre reason the owners allowed this retardio to buy and drink alcohol. Randomly, he would stand up and walk over to a window, where he would begin combing his hair. A mirror would clearly be too easy to use, but a window… aha, pure genius. Reflections are better aren’t they.
Usually after his second or third drink, El Retardio would begin going from person to person in the pub, asking them if they had a “spare cigarette” that he could have. Typical retard, attempting to win the sympathy vote and getting free shit off people. My usual response was to look him dead in the eye and say, quite sternly, “No you can’t.” One day I got up to take a piss, so went to the toilet. Unbeknownst to me, El Retardio had followed me out to also take a leak. He decided to stand at the urinal right next to mine, and proceeded to spend his entire time there staring at my dick. I was heavily confused about how to deal with this situation. If I punched him, I can almost guarantee you I’d have an entire local lynch mob after my blood for attacking a retarded person. If I let it slide then the retard doesn’t learn anything either. Despite the fact this guy was staring at my dick, which is considered “not acceptable” in the male community, I cannot punish nor educate the guy on the situation. I cannot provide retribution because it would be me who’s considered the bad guy, not El Retardio for his poor toilet etiquette.
Is there a point to this, or the previous story? Yes, there is. Being retarded is the perfect excuse for everything.

If you’re a woman and you’re out alone one night, and a group of guys try to rape you – just pretend you’re retarded. Start spitting on yourself and making retarded noises – see if they continue. Of course, you could very well be the unfortunate person who receives the rapist who’s into retarded people. That would be seriously fucking unfortunate for you, and I’d suggest killing yourself that evening. Either that or buying a lottery ticket that night. One way or another the odds are either for or against you.

So, I hate retards because they can shoplift and get away with it. I hate retards because whatever I seem to do, I upset them and/or their handlers. I hate retards because they all look the same, and it’s really confusing for us. I hate retards because they can get away with murder… probably quite literally.

Editors note: I apologise for the lack of potentially amusing material, recently. Some of the subject matter has been serious enough that it pisses me off and I don’t find it amusing. Rest assured, we shall now resume with our scheduled programming of (I hope) amusing depraved satire.

Admin Edit: The posting of comments is now DISABLED. I honestly don’t give a fuck about any of you whiney, pussy retards or retard loving motherfuckers. I don’t care that your “child has autism” or any of that bullshit. Here’s the bottom line, folks: NOBODY CARES. You’re living under the presumption that people care about your problems. You’re living under the presumption that you can somehow tell me your heart-felt tale and I’ll miraculously become a sensitive and caring person, and change my mind about the satirical blog post I’d written. You. Are. Living. In. Fucking. Delusion. Quite frankly you can all choke on a retard cock.