I was thrilled when I first got the Caller I.D. service on my phone. I thought, This is gonna be great. I can finally see who’s calling and decide whether I want to answer it or not. Of course, I was wrong. Half the time, all I saw on the little display were the words ‘Out Of Area’ or ‘Private Caller.’ What the fff…?

Yeah. But what really pissed me off was when someone from a large company called and didn’t leave a message. A number appeared on the display, along with the company name. But when I tried to call back, all I got was a receptionist:

“B & S Advertising. How may I direct your call?”

“Uhhh…I dunno.”

Caller Fake I.D. sucks.

There are some pretty horrific fires happening here in Southern California. People are losing their homes. And their lives. So what does the local news do about it? They give it a clever name like “Firestorm” and sensationalize the shit out of it. Fancy animated graphics zoom in for each late breaking news segment, accompanied by an original music sound bite and dramatic sound effects. It’s like they’re more interested in winning awards than they are in providing the information we need. And that’s just fucking wrong. Disaster Hype Sucks.

Just wondering. Do they really include the last paper towel in the total sheet count? It’s hardly usable. I mean, by the time you peel the fucking thing off the cardboard tube, you’re left with about three quarters of a towel. So maybe the package should read “74 3/4 one-ply sheets.” I don’t know.

Of course, you always seem to run into this excuse-for-a-towel at the worst possible moment. Like when your grilled vegetable burrito decides to detonate in the microwave, leaving a buttload of refried-bean shrapnel in its wake. Mmmm delicioso. A mess like that is at least a three-toweler. And you’re about 2 1/4 towels shy. Quicker Picker Upper, my ass. The Last Paper Towel sucks.

I love those family sitcoms. Their wholesome brand of humor gives me a chuckle, without subjecting me to any unsavory material. What’s more, I never have to worry about missing a joke, thanks to the convenient laugh track cues. But what I enjoy most about these programs isn’t their clever dialogue or those hilarious situations, it’s the inevitable episode I like to call “The Talent Show.”

Did you know those great kids on your favorite TV shows can do a lot more than act? It’s true. They can dance. They can sing. They can do both at the same time. Wouldn’t you like to see that? Of course you would. And now you can. Thanks to…The Talent Show Episode!

Don’t worry, those clever writers will figure out a way to work it into the plot. Maybe the school is putting on a play. Or perhaps it’s to raise money for charity. Better yet, maybe it’s just a dream! It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the kids finally get a chance to show their stuff. And, boy, do they ever! Who would’ve thought that little girl could belt out a tune like that? And the dancing! Amazing. It’s as if they had a professional choreographer. But that wouldn’t make sense. I mean, they’re just supposed to be average kids, right?

Whatever the case, the Talent show is an episode I look forward to watching every year. Then again, there are some people who might disagree. They might say, “It’s just a bunch of spoiled rich kids looking to get a recording contract.” Eh, what do they know? A lot. The Talent Show sucks.

A friend of mine swears that her boyfriend doesn’t like porn. Of course he doesn’t. Neither do I. In fact, all men are disgusted by it. We just pretend to like it because we’re too damn afraid to say how we really feel.

I mean, come on. What’s so exciting about one woman taking on three guys? Nothing. It’s repulsive. And that girl-on-girl stuff? Frankly, it makes me want to puke. (Especially if they’re wearing cheerleader uniforms and sucking on lollipops.)

You know what I really fantasize about? Deep, meaningful conversation. I mean, really deep. With hard facts. Deep and hard. Talking all night long. Talking until I feel like my tongue is going to fall off. And then, just when she feels like she can’t take it anymore, driving it home with a fascinating anecdote. Ah, yeah. That’s the stuff. Porn Liars suck.

One evening, when I was working at a small health food store in Culver City, California, a guy and his friend walked up to my register to purchase an apple. Oddly, he didn’t place the fruit on the scale as most people would. He just held it in his hand, as if I was supposed to guess its weight. I informed him of his oversight and he awkwardly placed the apple on the scale. The total came to about thirty-five cents. He handed me a twenty and I turned to get his change. When I turned back, all I could see was the business end of a hand gun pointed at my face.

No, my life did not flash before my eyes. I immediately dropped my head and raised my hands. I was instructed to get down on the floor and not move. And I complied. One man came around and grabbed the drawer out of the register and accidently dropped it on my head. When he discovered how little was actually in the till, he frisked me for my wallet, which I eventually had to remove from my front pocket and hand to him. I never pleaded for my life. I only spoke when spoken to. And in less than ten minutes, they were out the door.

After it was over, I sat there on my checkout stand, sipping water from a tiny paper cup. My hands were trembling so much, it was hard to get the cup to my lips. The police arrived to fill out a report, but I gave them very little information. Not because I didn’t see anything. But because I feared retaliation. Those criminals had my drivers license. They knew where I lived. And I never wanted to see a firearm from that angle again. Staring Down The Barrel sucks.

I like squeeze bottles. They’re so convenient. No matter what your favorite condiment is, chances are, you can buy it in a squeezable container. I love topping off my veggie burger with a spiral of dijon. Or adding a few squiggles of butter to a toasted corn muffin.

What I don’t like is when the bottle is almost empty and you have to shake it to get anything to come out. You squeeeeeeeze hard and then… F-R-A-A-A-P-P-P-P! That flatulent sound comes ripping out of the hole, followed by sputters of whatever was left inside. It’s like the bottle is shitting on my food. And suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite. The Final Squeeze sucks.

Loved by the higher-ups, hated by coworkers, this brown-noser will do just about anything to make it to the next rung of the corporate ladder. He’ll lie. He’ll cheat. He’ll steal your ideas. And above all else, he’ll say anything your supervisor wants to hear:

“Nice tie, Mr. Johnson.” “Great idea, Mr. Johnson.” “Beautiful family, Mr. Johnson.”

Yeah, right. This guy has his head so far up the boss’s ass, every shirt in his wardrobe has a brown stain around the collar. But what I really hate about this suck-up isn’t all the lying he does to get ahead. It’s the fact that it actually works! Ass-Kissing Employees suck.

I love my Netflix. For a mere twenty bucks a month, I have an endless supply of DVDs arriving in my mailbox. The only problem is, some people have no respect for the Netflix. They set them on the coffee table and use them as coasters. They let their kids play Frisbee with them. And I’m convinced that some people rent them specifically for the purpose of fucking them up (probably Walmart shareholders).

Granted, these are rental DVDs. So, they’re bound to have their share of scratches and smudges. But when a DVD has been abused to the point where it’s no longer playable? Well, that just ain’t right. DVD Destroyers suck.

A while ago, I decided to purchase a copy of Microsoft Office. At over three hundred bucks, it was quite an investment. And what did I get for that investment? A CD.

Yes, on that CD were four great applications. But to learn how to use them, I needed to read the manual. And where was that manual located? On the CD.

I had a choice: Sit in front of my computer and scroll through page after page of digital text. Or drop a ream of paper into my HP Deskjet and print everything out. Needless to say, neither option sounded very appealing.

Of course, there are benefits to these PDF manuals. They lower the costs for the manufacturer. But more importantly, they make it much more convenient to bootleg the software. Rather than photocopy page after page of the manual, it’s all included right there in the installer CD. Which means, there’s absolutely no reason to purchase the software legitimately. Well, aside from a little bad karma. Digital Documentation sucks.