Archive for Manners

Winter – A Time To Share Sickness.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

So this is winter. Winter started two days ago and already it feels like there has never been anything else. Miserable bastard cold that soaks into your bones but that you feel guilty whinging about unless you’ve never been to a country where they have a real winter. Melbourne winter sucks, but if you were English and looked at the technical specifications you’d think of it as a rather mild summer. Of course, if you were Canadian you’d just laugh in my face or beat me with an ice hockey stick for even suggesting that we have a winter.

Aside from the bed-inertia that comes over me in winter, I don’t mind it. Except for sickness. Naturally, I don’t like getting sick myself, but other people’s sickness is what is truly detestable, and the beginning of the season it seems everyone gets something. Public transport becomes a disease swap-meet – sniffles, sneezes and coughs all on offer, the freshest and latest bacterial and viral concoctions, some oldies and some newies so resistant to modern treatments you’ll get comments back from the pathology lab doing your blood tests, or maybe even a personal letter from Kofi Annan suggesting you let weapons inspectors into your lungs.

Seriously, what the biologically-terrorising fuck is wrong with people? On the train this morning most of the diseased commuters were politely mopping their sniffles with tissues or covering their mouths to cough, except the middle-aged gentleman opposite me. Sitting there reading a book, not attempting to cover the occasional coughs that burst from him. The first cough surprised me and I realised I was in some danger of infection, but it was just one cough and, hell, maybe it crept up on him, maybe he was just too embarrassed to apologise for it. No. A few minutes later a little double cough, again no reaction. The fucker was doing it deliberately. He just didn’t give a fuck about anyone else. He could turn the pages of his book OK, so his fucking arms worked fine, maybe he was just so pissed of about being ill that he thought he’d take it out on the rest of the train. Maybe his head was so far up his own arse that the idea of other people hadn’t occurred to him at all. It was at this point I realised my circulation was fine, all of a sudden I was warm, even starting to sweat a little.

The third cough came. Again, this selfish fucker did nothing to cover his filthy diseased mouth. Excuse me, I said, would you cover your mouth when you cough please? He stared blankly at me. Did he not understand? You were coughing. Could you cover your mouth when you cough?, I restated. I was pretty happy with my composure, I was Mr Calmly-Assertive and I felt the few commuters aware of our interaction were probably understanding where I was coming from. Still, he met me with a blank stare and then went back to reading.

OK, don’t lose your mind. Maybe he’s got the message. Maybe he feels humiliated to be coached on cold etiquette on public transport and at his age. Let it go.

Again! He fucking coughed again! Didn’t cover it – cunt! HEY!!!, Now I had his attention, and pretty much everyone in the carriage had turned to see what was going on, but there was no way of bringing my tone down to a more intimate level. If you’ve got to cough, cover your fuckin’ mouth! Do you understand me? I’ve asked you nicely, now stop coughing in my fucking face. He was just staring at me. He went to return to his book again. HEY! I’m fucking talking to you! You’re sick. I don’t want your cold, so cover your mouth. Do you fucking understand? DON’T COUGH IN MY FACE! He was well aware that he was in trouble, he knew the game was up, but a nervous cough escaped him and he didn’t raise a hand. That was when I lost my mind. I leapt forward and placing one hand behind him onto the back of his head, I clamped my other hand over his mouth and screamed into his eyes: COVER YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, YOU DISEASED CUNT! PEOPLE HAVE TO LIVE AND WORK, THEY DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING SICKNESS. COVER YOUR SHITTY MOUTH WHEN YOU COUGH OR STAY THE FUCK HOME! I SEE YOU NOT COVER YOUR MOUTH AGAIN, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!

I had been shaking his head on every syllable. In his eyes was sheer mortal terror. I let him go. Everyone was looking at the madman. That was me. Ooh. I had just threatened a man’s life. On a packed train. Step away from the scared man. Nothing to see here. The train pulled into a station, not mine, I got off anyway. I waited for the next train.

I feel extremely stupid and ashamed, and I’m jumping at every little sound because I’m expecting it to be the police come to cart me away. I’m not a violent person, I’m not a crazed, militant, vigilante type, and I didn’t hurt the man. Despite what you may think from what you read here, I don’t put my hands on people, I’m all talk. I just hate bad manners and I really hope if I ever see the coughing man again that he just doesn’t cough in my face. I don’t think I’d go well in prison.

Whose Grass Are You Really Cutting?

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 6, 2008 by Buck Frain

I worked late last night. Thankfully, I don’t work 9-5 all the time. I sometimes think the one thing that saves my sanity is that I don’t have a strict routine. Last night I finished up around midnight, got home by 1am. Of course, getting home at that time you don’t want to go to bed straight away, so I sat up and had a glass of wine and watched some TV, knowing I didn’t have to get up too early – all very civilised. 

My bedroom is being torn apart. Jesus, mother and fuck, wha…? I roll over too abrubtly and crack my eyebrow into the corner of the bedside table. ARSE!!! I’m awake. 

Still squinting one eye beneath a hot, smarting brow, I reach for my mobile to check the time. 8:30am? My middle aged neighbour is mowing his lawn, or more specifically the nature strip outside my fence AT 8:30am! BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD!!! Between him and me there’s a wooden fence and a glass sliding door – he might as well be mowing my fucking doona! What the fuck sort of person does this? Who the fuck are these people who have nothing better to do at 8:30am than mow their cunting lawn? This fucker is constantly mowing his lawn. He must have fucking mowed it twice a week every week since I moved in, it’s a miracle there’s any fucking grass left. I’m serious, the mad bastard’s out there every three or four days mowing! What the shitting pissflaps drives a person to obsess like this over a fucking shitty piece of lawn? 

It’s not a golf green. It’s a pissy triangle of lawn on a corner block and a nature strip outside his fence. With water restrictions he hasn’t been allowed to water the shit for years, but arse-rape me with a bag of carrots if the old ballbag’s not out there twice a fucking week trimming the cunting Jesus out of it. I think he must be retired, he’s always at home and only other thing he does is have screaming matches with his wife through the kitchen window. Now, that’s just fucking weird, and that always happens first thing in the morning too. It’s always the fucking same – with him in the garden and her indoors screaming at each other through the closed kitchen window – at least no-one gets hit. They’re Greek so I don’t understand a fucking word of it but I think that may be a blessing. Who the hell wants to know what two people, who’ve been married way too long, scream at each other about? But I do think about it – well, it’s not like I’ve got any choice when it wakes me up and sounds like they’re actually in my house. Part of me really wants to know what they scream about. Maybe I could help. 

Today it came to me. The lawn. It’s a metaphor. They’re an older couple and things have cooled down. She must have a big-ol’-retro-bush, she wants action, but he wants some new-school-pruned-punani. The manic mowing and the frustrated screaming – it’s all part of the same problem. What a thoroughly disgusting revelation – fuck you, brain! But, fuck, that’s what it is, I’m certain of it. The real question is whether they’re actually talking about it. Are they actually yelling at each other about it or do they shout about petty domestic trivialities unaware that the whole problem is a difference of aesthetic tastes in personal grooming and an inability to be sexually open with each other? That’d be a fucking tragedy, an ugly tragedy… but a tragedy nonetheless. If I could solve this I’d be able to get some fuckin’ sleep. But what the fuck could I realistically do? Leave subtle presents in their letter-box? Razors, wax strips, hair removal cream? That’s pretty fuckin’ scary. I’m so fucked off from sleep-deprivation I just want to run out into my yard and shriek at the top of my lungs: For fuck’s sake, SHAVE YOUR FUCKIN’ PUSSY AND LET ME GET SOME SLEEP!!!

Yeah…that could work. It could… On the other hand it could just get me murdered, there’s no explaining that shit away. BASTARD! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKIN MOW AFTER 10???

Self-absorbedness & The Illusion Of Public Solitude.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2008 by Buck Frain

Congratulations, you have a mobile phone! Ooh, it’s exciting, it takes photos and plays .mp3s, you must be really proud.

I understand that new technology is exciting. I too have a great love of toys and gadgets. But, I do not try out all of my 57 new ringtones in public. I don’t play music out of my phone on its piss-weak speaker at its tinny top volume in the middle of a crowded tram. I don’t do this because I recognise that I live in a society with a bunch of other people, some of whom may not share my taste in complete banality. I don’t do it because I’m not a complete fuck-waste. I mean really, you fucking bogan, put the fucking phone away. I don’t want to hear your shit music. I especially don’t want to hear it on public transport through a pissy phone that was never designed to be used as a public address system. Who the fuck are these people? This genetic underclass, they are who I picture when Marx (no, not Richard, cunt!) describes the lumpenproletariat, they are social scum. Fuck me, it’s Deliverance in a tracksuit and with an ice habit! Did you actually originate from a sexual act or did your obese, inbred mum pick you up from a deranged alcoholic’s wank-splatter on a public toilet seat? I just want to grab their fucking phones and hurl them out the tram window. Fuck it, why stop with the phone? GORMLESS CUNTS!

Slightly above these fuckers on the genetic inferiority scale are the shitbirds who have really loud phone conversations on public transport. These people can look quite normal, even respectable but because they can’t hear the person they’re talking to very well, they assume that they also can’t be heard, so on a quiet train carriage, they yell their conversation so everyone onboard hears it whether they want to or not. It could be business or the most personal shit in the world but they’ll just crap on like they’re alone. I fucking hate it. It really fucks with me, I don’t want that kind of intimate knowledge of a stranger’s life. It’s like some an unsolicited spiritual fingering, it’s fucking disgusting, mind-raping bastards! The only retaliation I have found is to offer the offender my opinion on their conversation after it’s over. Now that really fucks with them, they get really shitty. You know, it could be Hep C, was Sharon in jail? Or: He’s fucking you, man, if you pay more than $1500 you’re totally getting done! It’s amazing how they suddenly think I’m the bad guy. The whole carriage may be trying not to laugh because they all got the same shit as me, but no, to the freak, I’m the evil eaves-dropper. IT’S A TRAIN, YOU FUCKHEAD – YOU’RE NOT ALONE!!!

Of course, you don’t have to use a mobile phone to be an obnoxious PT passenger. There are plenty of fuckstains who can’t help projecting their conversation to the entire carriage when the other person’s sitting next to them. Are they drunk? Are they deaf? Are they actors? Are they just teenagers who haven’t been sufficiently beaten-down so they realise they’re not alone on the planet? Could be any or all, one thing’s for sure: They’re annoying bastards and fuck me dead if I don’t want to hack off their heads with a ripped-open Coke can.

In conclusion, if like me you use public transport, please: read a book, listen to your iPod, even have a quiet chat, but for fuck’s sake remember there are people around you. People who tolerate your presence only because you respect theirs and because they don’t want to go to prison for silencing you with a pen Joe-Pesci-style. Just because you have your head up your arse doesn’t mean the rest of the world ceases to exist, you’re not invisible! There is no “privacy” in public and just because you don’t care about other people doesn’t mean you can’t piss us off. If you push us too hard, if you play your shit music, if you shout to your mum about your herpes, one day… we’ll crack and we’ll choose prison. Why? Because it’s QUIETER!!! Ask yourself whether that Gwen Stefani track is really worth bleeding to death in a tram for!

Smile – it’s not that bad :)

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 27, 2008 by Buck Frain

I’m not an unhappy person. Despite what you might think of me, I am happy and I enjoy life a fair bit of the time. One problem I do seem to have though, is that I’m not a naturally smiley person. I’m just not like that. I don’t think I walk around looking particularly gloomy but maybe my face doesn’t naturally hang in a smiley place. Maybe random, unjustified glee is just not my normal state. Whatever the reason, it seems to be a bit of a bug-bear for occasional random people. Enough of a problem that total strangers seem to think it’s OK to give me emotional coaching out-of-the-blue. Just for free.

Has this happened to you? You’ll be working, or reading, or doing something that requires your concentration, when some random fuck walks up and says something vacuous like, Hey, smile, it’s not that bad. Not that bad? What the cunt would you know? Or: Oh, cheer up! Who the fuck are these people? What the shit-spread-toast is their problem? Whoa, who died? Smile, man! I wish these smug, shit-sucking bastards would just go and hang themselves. There is nothing guaranteed to shit me off faster than some piece of patronising banal social instruction from a complete fucktard. NOTHING pisses me off quicker than being instructed to display the external signals of an emotion just for someone else’s visual pleasure.

Why should I smile, you cunts? WHY? What are you so cuntingly happy about? Really, I want to know! What is it that has you pissing yourself with joy 24 hours a day? Is it Prozac? Are you on a bi-polar manic high? Or do you just do it to fuck with people? Is it some fucking sadistic fetish because you know how much it gives people the cunt? Fuck you! Fucking DIE!

You know what I think? I think you’re in denial. I think it’s YOU that doesn’t get it. So here’s a dose of reality for you: There is a plague of over 6 billion people on Earth. As a species we are consuming the planet’s resources at an unsustainable rate and poisoning our the environment to a point where it will become uninhabitable by humans within 100 years. We are hurling ourselves towards the apocalypse and our governments are helping make it happen. All the pissy little things you think are reasons-to-be-happy are distractions put there to protect what’s left of society from the anarchy that would reign if everyone woke up to the truth of our impending extintion. Our grandchildren may well be the last generation of  human beings ever, and yet when they ask us what we were doing about it, we’ll have to tell them we were busy smiling and watching The Biggest Loser.

So smile it up all you want. Be cheery, buy a happy meal, go to a laughter-therapy class. I don’t bug you, I don’t point out all the things you should feel shit about, do I? Eh? NO! So fuck off! Leave me be and don’t try to convert me to be a part of your cult of denial. If you choose to interrupt me just to tell me that you want me to smile, I’ll cut your cunting head off and shove it up your stupid arse where you can grin to your heart’s content without annoying me.  Ah, smile, it’s not that bad! No, it’s a fuckload worse, you deranged freak!