As heard (sort of) on the Howard Stern Show this morning:

Howard: “Mike from Long Island, whattaya got?”
Mike: “Howard?”
Howard: “Yeah. I don’t got alotta time. Whattaya wanna say?”
Mike: “I can’t believe I finally got through. I’ve been trying for months.”
Howard: “Get to the point.”
Mike: “Oh. Right. So, anyway, I don’t know if you was watchin’ the E! show last night, but Ozzy was walkin in his backyard talkin’ to Vince Neil and they were havin’ some beers–”
Howard: “I don’t got alotta time.”
Mike: “So, anyway, they was talkin’ and then…well, long story short, he says he had one of these popsicle sticks and there was like all these ants on it and he snorted ‘em up his nose. Is that true?”
Ozzy: “That’s true.”
Howard: “David from Manhattan, you’re on.”

Torture. Pure torture. I don’t know how Howard puts up with these idiots. Perhaps the multimillion dollar salary helps. In any case, long story short, Radio Talk Show Callers suck.

A favorite of the fairer sex, the exclamation point is a punctuation mark so often misused. You’ll find them springing up at the end of the most mundane words and phrases: “Ten CDs For One Dollar!” “Hi!” “Help, I’m on fire!” Okay, maybe that last one is a bad example. But, really, what’s so hard to understand? The exclamation point (not “explanation point,” by the way) is designed to express excitement or extreme emotion. So, yes, my use of the exclamation point in my last rant after the word “fuck” is just fine.

What could be worse than adding a “!” where it doesn’t belong? Adding two or three of them. Or ten! Did you see how I did that? Do you see how much more emphasis is put on a word when you use the exclamation point sparingly? Okay, fine, if you have to use the exclamation point after every sentence, do it. Use as many as you want. But for godsakes, please, I beg of you, do not finish it off with a fucking heart or a damn happy face. Exclamation Points really suck.

Motherfucking…Goddammit….Son of a…FUCK! Who the hell came up with with this fucking idea? Not only is the goddam DVD case shrinkwrapped, it’s got TWO fucking plastic seals on it that are almost impossible to remove without fucking up the DVD case. This is just fucking bullshit. The seals on the CDs are the worst. It’s almost impossible to get these things off in one piece.You’re left with these sticky threads of plastic that are even more impossible to get off your fingers than a freshly picked booger. I apologize for that visual. CD and DVD Seals suck.

Frank Sinatra and Elvis singing on the basketball court. Fred Astaire dancing with a fucking vacuum cleaner. What the hell is the world coming to? Not only is this kind of advertising incredibly stupid, it’s downright creepy. Yes, with computers these days you can do just about anything. But how ’bout letting these guys rest in peace already? I’m starting to feel some deja vu here. Have I hit this topic before? Ah, fuck it. Post-mortem Pitchmen suck.

I hate having to wait. There’s nothing you can do. It’s out of your control. You are completely reliant on one person to deliver what you need. If you could, you’d get it yourself. But you can’t. So you wait. And it sucks.

If this whole karma concept has any truth to it, I must have done something terribly wrong. I came home last night (after watching my sister’s dog for the weekend) to find the most horrific demonstration of the domino theory I’ve ever seen: One of my CD towers had tipped over into my cherrywood speaker, which tipped over on its stand into my other CD tower, which tipped over right into the side of my brand new 34″ widescreen TV. The finish on my speaker was scratched. One of my CDs was broken in two and many of the jewel cases were crushed or cracked. The back of my TV was also scratched. Fortunately, the speaker and the TV seem to be working okay. But still, Destroying Your Prized Possessions sucks.

I haven’t been without work for more than three or four months, yet because I’m not employed full-time by a large company, I can’t get insurance to save my life. Literally. Every time I apply, I get rejected. Mind you, I do have a history of stomach problems, but I take good care of myself. I don’t smoke. I drink alcohol about once a month. And I have a pretty good diet. But, apparenlty, that’s just not enough.

I think the problem is I’m just too damn honest about my medical history. Past problems with anxiety? Yes. Intestinal compications? Yes. BZZZZ. The little trap door opens up, and the next think I know, I’m slipping down a rusty slide and getting dumped out into the alley. Fuck. The last time I applied I even tried to lie. Didn’t work. They tracked down my last doctor and got the scoop: Rejected.

I even decided to look into getting insurance through my alumni association. But that isn’t working out so well. I requested information over a week ago. How long does it take to mail a fucking pamphlet? Apparently, a very long time.

And so I remain uninsured. Which means, when one of these psycho freaks who doesn’t agree with what I write about tracks me down and tries to disembowel me with a hunting knife, I’ll just have to lay there in the parking lot and bleed to death. Thanks a lot, Blue Cross. Not Having Insurance sucks.

Yeah, I knew I was pushing it by using the terms “racial” and “black” in my last rant. So what. I was trying to make a point. People are people. We don’t need ethnically targeted advertising to sell products to other races. So now I’m a fascist, or at least in some people’s eyes. The fact is, I’ve got some strong opinions. Sometimes people agree with me. Sometimes they don’t. I still think the people at Pontiac are morons for running that “holler back” ad. It’s a disgrace to advertising and the African American community. It’s not that I don’t think that people should be allowed to advertise as they please. I just think they should know better. Easily Offended People suck.

What’s really starting to piss me off are these ads targeted at the black community. It’s so obvious they were written by some 43-year-old white guy. The marketing term for this category of advertising is “urban youth.”

Pontiac has a billboard now for one of their “sporty” cars which features a hip-looking black guy and a headline reading (and I kid you not) “Fifth Gear Is Calling. Holler Back.” Are you fucking kidding me?

And what about these ads last month that Nissan was running about the great achievements of African Americans? You’re a fucking car company! Quit spouting the philosophy and tell me about how great your cars are, or how much fun they are to drive.

And finally, as if this Verizon “can you hear me now?” jackass wasn’t annoying enough, they’re now running a spot where these black hip-looking young adults are all hanging out on the steps of a brownstone in New York singing (which, I guess is a quite common site in NY). So when the idiot says “Can you hear me now?” the woman sings, “Yes, I can hear you calling.” It is so fucking annoying. Please, make it go away. Racially Targeted Advertising isn’t just incredibly stupid. It sucks.

You’ve spent the afternoon skiing (or snowboarding, if you’re really hip). You’re cold, tired and in need of something hot to warm you up. A nice steamy cup of hot cocoa sounds like a great idea. You bring the cup to your lips, looking forward to that sweet, comforting flavor. Instead, your mouth is attacked by what seems like chocolate lava. Your eyes go wide, you swallow quickly, but it’s too late. Your tongue is destroyed. Your taste buds are so numb, you could probably eat human waste if it didn’t smell so bad. That beverage you were so looking forward to is now nothing more than a tasteless hot liquid. You might as well be drinking water. Burding Yo Tug thuckth.