Thanks to fashion magazines and other inane forms of media, girls today grow up believing the ideal woman should look like Pamela Anderson (post surgery).They think men only fantasize about buxom blondes. And for the most part, they’re right. So, if you want to be a stripper, work at Hooters or be a porn star, by all means, save up your cash and get that tit job. You can look forward to a life of fucking low-life rock stars and being passed around like a rusty heroin needle. Hey, who knows, you might even get lucky and become a trophy wife.

Now, me, I must be insane. I prefer the natural breasts, soft, pliable and warm to the touch. Be they small and conical or big and round, they’re almost always perfectly proportional to the woman they’re attached to, with that natural bounce that modern science just can’t seem to replicate.

Of course, there are situations where going under the knife makes perfect sense. Like when a petite flower is “over blessed” with too much up front and her spine is suffering for it. Or when a woman wins the battle with cancer but ends up losing a breast in the process. Then it makes perfect sense to consult a surgeon and see what can be done to remedy the problem. But when your health is fine, and you’re just upset because you can’t fill up a T-shirt like your girlfriends can, you don’t need a plastic surgeon, darlin’, you need a shrink. Unnecessary Implants suck.

As if the popularity of the Olive Garden wasn’t proof enough that the majority of Americans are idiots, the demand for the all-you-can-eat meal dispels any doubts. Pay just a few extra dollars and you can stuff yourself silly with soup, salad, breadsticks and more. That’s right, pound it down until it’s coming out your ass like some kind of human Play-Doh Fun Factory. Of course, most of us only have an hour for lunch. Which means, you’ve gotta eat fast. Bite and swallow. Bite and swallow. There’s no time for chewing. Just take a swig from that liter of iced tea and wash it down. More salad! More breadsticks! More soup! Goddamit, you’re not leaving until you’ve eaten your seven dollars’ worth! Yeah, right. Unless you’re morbidly obese, that’s not likely to happen. All You Can Eat sucks.

I used to think Brittany Murphy was a talented actress. I saw her in Girl Interrupted and I was really impressed with her portrayal of a psychotic woman. Until I found out something: She is a psycho. That’s not acting, people. She’s seriously deranged. Did anyone see her on the MTV Music Awards dancing in the pits to Eminem? Scary. And now she’s in just about every other movie released. How does someone like this become such a big star? I can only assume that the people who hired her were impressed with some other talent of hers. In other words, Brittany Murphy sucks.

Stated as plainly as possible, the people at BuyMusic.com are dicks. Not only is their advertising a blatant rip-off of Apple’s iTunes Music Store commercials (and a bad one at that), they now sniff for anyone trying to access their Web site via a Macintosh and redirect them to what basically amounts to a fuck-you page. It seems they don’t like us Mac addicts snooping around their Web site. They’re afraid that we might sabotage the site or something. There’s no need for that. They’ve already done it themselves.

Can you say “bait and switch”? BuyMusic.com claims to offer song downloads for $.79. But in reality, most of their songs cost $.99. According to a recent article, iTunes Music Store sells albums cheaper and is more flexible than BuyMusic.com. What’s worse, the songs you download from BuyMusic.com are Windows Media Player files. You can’t even play them on the best selling digital music player on the market: the iPod. Granted, iTunes Music Store isn’t available for PC users. Yet. But give it time. Good things come to those who wait. And apparently crappy things come to those who have no patience. BuyMusic.com sucks.

In the big city, with property values being what they are, a one-level parking lot is an enormous waste of space. That’s why someone invented the parking structure: a nice sized lot with a multitude of levels, designed to accommodate eight, ten, even twelve times as many cars. On paper, it sounds like a brilliant concept. But in reality, the parking structure is a concrete nightmare.

Sure, some structures can seem pretty straight forward: drive this way to go up, that way to go down. But even those can be tricky. Make one wrong turn, and you could find yourself on a one-way trip back out on the street.

Actually, my main complaint is directed at these cement labyrinths next to shopping malls and airports. You don’t have to worry about making a wrong turn and ending up at the exit, because the exit is next to impossible to find.

When you do find a space, you really don’t care where it is. You’re just glad to be out of your vehicle and back on your feet. You somehow find the lift (suddenly, I feel European) and make your way down to the shops and whatnot. But when the day is through, and it’s time to go home, you’ve got another dilemma to deal with: trying to figure out where you parked. Parking Structures suck.

Don’t you hate it when you’re flipping through one of these computer catalogs and you come across a high-ticket item like a DV camera and instead of listing how much it is, it just says “Call For Best Price” in big bold letters? They actually want us to believe that their price is just so fucking amazing that the manufacturer won’t allow them to display it. But maybe, just maybe, if we call and ask really nicely, they’ll whisper it to us over the phone. I used to think this was the lowest form of retail marketing out there. Then I discovered the Web version on Buy.com. Click on this link and you’ll see what I mean. Instead of having to call for the best price, you have to click on a link with “no obligation to buy.” No obligation buy? Well, they certainly pick a convenient place to show you the price: your virtual shopping cart. Motherfuckers. Call For Best Price sucks.

Many years ago, before I was a wealthy copywriter (snort) — sorry, I couldn’t say that with a straight face. Anyhow, way back when, I used to make my living as a cashier. And while I had my share of nice, friendly customers, I’m sorry to say that the majority of them were just complete assholes.

For instance, there was this old woman who purchased a small bottle of vitamins. When I asked her what kind of bag she wanted, she made a sour face and barked, “Double paper. Double plastic.” She paused, as if for dramatic effect, “I’m walking.” Oh, you’re walking! Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t want this two-ounce bottle to go ripping through the bag should you have to make a sudden stop on your leisurely stroll home. God, how I wanted to bludgeon her with that bottle of vitamins. But I didn’t.

There was one time when I did seek a little revenge. This one customer really had me on the edge of my rope. She was bitching and complaining from the moment she got in line. She had this huge order, and as I pulled her cart through to load up her groceries, I noticed her car keys at the bottom of the cart. But rather than warn her, I loaded up her cart and sent her on her way. It was pretty funny watching her storming down the aisles with the store manager in a panic.

Now that I’m the customer, I always make sure to give the cashier a friendly greeting. If it’s busy, I’ll even bag my own groceries. And I never throw an attitude. I know what it’s like to be on the other side of that counter, and it isn’t pretty. Besides, I don’t want to be the victim of any revengeful acts. Got any retail revenge stories? Post ‘em here. Because Ungrateful Customers suck.

Funny story: About five years ago, I was moving from my humble apartment in Playa del Rey to my hip bachelor pad in Hollywood, California. Of course, this is no easy task. I had to hire the movers. I had to cancel the phone service. And most importantly, I had to call up the cable company.

At the time, my cable company was called Media One. They offered good service and I was more than happy with them. So when the guy came over to pick up all the stuff, I didn’t gripe when he refused to pull the cable out from under the rug or remove the brackets from the walls. He seemed to be in a hurry and, in fact, he was. Because after he dashed out the door, I noticed he had forgotten to take the cable modem back.

Without cable Internet service, I have absolutely no use for a cable modem, but I thought about keeping it. Maybe I could sell it on eBay. But my conscience got the best of me and I decided to be a good boy and drive it over to the Media One offices only ten minutes away. I handed in the modem, the lady wrote up a receipt, and that was that.

Or so I thought.

A month later, I receive a bill from Media One. They said I still have their modem. I called them up and told them I didn’t. I found the receipt, I faxed it to them, and they said, “Okay, thank you.” Next month, another bill arrived. Now they were threatening me. I called them, explained everything, re-faxed the receipt, and they said that they wouldn’t be bothering me again. I think I went through this about four times before I stopped receiving any bills.

It was all over. My life went back to normal, and Media One became only a distant memory.

Flash forward to today. I opened a letter that was on my desk that I assumed was only junk mail. Boy, was I ever wrong. It was from a collection agency. It seems Comcast says I owe them money. That’s Comcast, formerly ATT Broadband, formerly Roadrunner, formerly–you guessed it–Media One.

So now I’m really screwed. If I could find that fucking receipt again, there’s nobody to send it to. There’s nobody to argue with. It’s a collection agency. These people are paid to collect the money. That’s all. So, yes, I’ve thrown in the towel. I’m writing a check today, and paying for a modem that I stupidly returned over five years ago. Comcast sucks.

Have you see these promotions some fast food restaurants have where you need to make an ass of yourself just to save a few lousy cents? “Say, ‘wugga wugga woo woo’ for fifty percent off!” “Snort like a pig for free fries!” You know what the worst part is? People actually do it. Which got me thinking, just how far could they go with this? “Punch yourself in the face for a an extra slice of cheese!” “Flash your tits and save a dollar!” “Wet your pants for an extra Happy Meal toy!” Look, If you don’t want to give me the fucking discount, just say so. Otherwise, give me a coupon or something, you lousy cheap-ass motherfuckers. Humiliating Discounts suck.

This week’s blog ends on a somber note: the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market tragedy. For those of you who’ve been living under a rock, George Russell Weller, a man well into his eighties, decided to run some errands Wednesday morning. His first stop was apparently the post office. The next thing on his list must have said “Take Ten Lives.” Because that’s what he did. He drove his car straight through a crowded Farmers’ Market at about seventy miles per hour, crashing through fruit stands, bodies flying and people running for their lives. When George finally did come to a stop (there was no more market left), he didn’t have a scratch on him and he showed absolutely no remorse.

If driving is a right and not a privilege, why do people like this still have a car? I’ll tell you why. Because the elderly like to vote, and those fucking politicians don’t want to piss them off.

It’s a fact that as you get older, no matter how fit you think you are, certain functions just don’t work as well as they used to. Your visions starts to go. Your reflexes aren’t quite as fast. Your joints are stiffer. Of course, not every person over seventy-five is a menace of the road. So they should be more than happy to take a driving test a few times a year to prove it. But if they do fail the test and you try to take away the keys to their big Cadillacs, it’s not gonna be easy: “Oh no you don’t! You’ve not taking away my Caddy. I’ve been driving longer than any of you!” Which is exactly my point. Stubborn Old Drivers suck.