I’m one of these weird people who enjoys a good foreign film now and then. I’ve even gone to the theater to see a few. But what I hate is when they take a popular film (most recently, Crouching Tiger) and dub English over the original actors’ voices. This way, people who don’t like to read subtitles can still enjoy the film. Stupid idea. For one thing, the lips don’t sync up with the voices. But the worst part is the actors they use for these dub sessions sound nothing like the original actors. It’s really a disgrace to the film. I’m sorry, but if you can’t read, or your blind, you’re better off experiencing another film than suffering through crap like this. It’s bad enough that I have to rely on some unknown person to translate the dialogue for me, but at least I can hear the emotion in the people’s voices. Overdubbed foreign films suck.

It never fails. As soon as I drive out of the car wash parking lot, it’s always there: that stupid piece of fucking lint attached to my windshield wiper. It flutters in the wind as if it’s mocking me, chuckling to itself. I can’t stop looking at it. I swear to myself that as soon as I get out of the car, I’m going to rip that piece of lint off and stomp on it with my shoe. But by the time I get to my destination, I completely forget about it. And so the cycle continues. That fucking little piece of lint sucks.

So, here I am. It’s 4:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep anymore. Not like this happens all the time. It doesn’t. But lately, I’ve been under a lot of stress. Which means, fucked up dreams and little sleep. The last vision I can recall seeing before exiting my R.E.M. state and gliding into alpha mode was that of a beetle about the size of a small dog. Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up. Especially when you consider the fact that I’ve never experimented with drugs before. In any case, I’m up. And as you can see, I’m not very amusing when I haven’t had my seven hours of sleep. Let’s just hope I can write when I get into work. Otherwise, I’m going to be having a lot of free time to work on my blog. Insomnia sucks.

I’m not sure who started this stupid trend, but whoever did must be in the Guinness Book for having the largest testicles. How does this concept work? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you for making minimum wage? Or do you actually think that what you do warrants a tip? “Wow, that was exceptional change counting. I liked how you started at my total and then counted up to twenty. That must take years of practice. Here’s an extra dollar. Keep up the good work.” Yeah, right. Look, I’ve been on both sides of the register before. I know how crappy it is to deal with customers, but I would never even suggest that they offer me a little change for basically doing my fucking job. Cash Register Tip Jars suck.

You spent all week coming up with ideas that will solve your client’s problem. Your boss loves them. Your peers love them. But when you show them to the client, they’re not so well-received. Nobody wants to say what they like. They’re too afraid that their boss will like something they didn’t. So what do they do? They don’t do anything. They take the ideas you presented (at 8:30 AM, by the way) and hold onto them so they can show them to their boss. In other words, you just got up early and spent most of your morning at the corporate office for nothing. What’s the point of having this stupid corporate hierarchy when the only person who makes decisions is the top dog? Indecisive Clients suck.

No, I’m not going to write this rant in the ironic form of a haiku. Why? Because haiku sucks. The concept of jamming your thoughts into a specified form not only sounds inane, the resulting “poetry” is even worse. It wouldn’t be so bad if haiku was limited to those intelectual jackasses wearing black turtlenecks and nerdy eyeglasses. But now it’s making its way into the mainstream. The hip term for haiku these days is a “5-7-5.” But we all know what it really is: hai-fucking-ku. It doesn’t matter what you call it, or how carefully you choose your words, haiku just sucks.

I must live in one of the worst apartment complexes in Hollywood. I’m surrounded by assholes. You’ve heard of these jerks who let their dogs crap on the sidewalk without cleaning it up? Well, there’s some dickhead in my complex who lets his dog relieve its bowels in the hallway. I’ve found two different dumps on two seperate days. I don’t know how often this is happening, but it’s gotta stop. It’s disgusting. We’re not talking about the excrement of some little rat dog, either. No, a crap like this would kill a Minature Schnauzer. This has got to be from a Great Dane or something. Maybe even a horse. Come on, people. With a dog comes certain responsibilities. Picking up its shit is one of them. Which is why I don’t own a dog. Irresponsible Pet Owners suck.

I hate it when I’m in a store or online and I see the term “Special Edition” used to describe almost every DVD on the market. It used to be that these words were only reserved for DVDs with tons of extras included. The Fight Club DVD is a good example. Two DVDs packed with extras. Special packaging. The works. Then there are the other so-called “Special Edition” DVDs. The extras they include are stupid things like a scene selector, a theatrical trailer and maybe some actor bios. Not exactly stuff you’d be dying to see, but easy to throw on the disc to make the DVD more attractive. Some of them are even called Special Edition because they include a letterbox version of the film. Wow. Big deal. Let’s save the “Special Edition” label for DVDs that truly are. Because all the other DVDs suck.

Slogans. Taglines. Call them what you want. Some of them are brilliant. Others are down right inane. Arby’s Restaurant comes to mind. Their tagline says “What are you going to eat today?” or something stupid like that. The point is, it doesn’t have a point. Does it say anything about the food there? Does it make me want to eat there? No. It sounds to me like they’re just being nosey. It’s like some guy looking over your shoulder while your’e trying to enjoy your lunch: “Hey, what you got there? That looks good. Is that chicken?” Fuck you. What am I going to eat today? I’ll tell you one thing, it sure as hell isn’t going to be some fucking greasy roast beef sandwich, that’s for sure. Fuck Arby’s and their stupid Hamburger Helper talking-oven-mit rip off. Bad Ad Slogans suck.

Every fucking morning, it’s the same thing. I’m walking out of the parking structure here at work and this motherfucker in his primer-painted Ford comes ROARING in and sets off every other car alarm as he climbs level after level. A: Why the fuck does anybody need such a huge engine in a commuter car? B: Who are these fucking people who have their car alarms set to be so goddamn sensitive? Loud engines really suck.