It’s election time, and that means I have…what, another 6 months to watch my mind slowly spiral into madness from all the commercials, sound bytes, and all that.
I hate political rhetoric.
I hate that I am this, or that, or the other because I don’t agree with you.
Look between these parentheses ( ). See that? That’s how many craps I give about who you vote for.
Please extend me the same courtesy without branding me a racist, ageist, sexist, meat-loving (Meat has a FACE!), right-wing elitist.
And also, I eat meat. I don’t intend to take pictures of it and show it to you. Look here ( ). That’s right. That’s how many craps I give about how many garbanzo beans and kale chips you stuff in your cake-hole. I don’t need photographic evidence.
You know what vegans love more than being vegan? Telling people they’re vegan.
And you! Person who drives 50 on I-95 and then speeds up to 85 when you get to the passing lane. And then slows back to 50 on the other side. Why? What’s the matter with you?
Or you! You know who you are. You spend more time in the opposing traffic lane passing people than you do in your own darn lane. What’s that movie called? Oh, right. Death Race. You’re gonna win it someday.
Don’t think I forgot about you–person who doesn’t know how to use a debit card. Write a check, Mrs. Robinson. Or take some ones out of your cookie jar. It’s a card reader, not a robot.
And young lady, the stall door was open behind you in your bathroom selfie. Someone was taking their morning constitutional. Good thing your cell phone was IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE, or someone might recognize you.
Yes, your kids are cute. Mine are, too. We can leave that alone.
You. Bird. Poop on my windshield while I’m driving again. See what happens.
Meme abuser. Just stop it.
I don’t want to play that game. I’m not going to send you a life.
Lastly, for now, STAY OFF MY LAWN.