Daily Aggravation 50: Instagram Activists

People are close to rioting in the streets because Instagram wants to claim ownership of their photographs, and I’m having a hard time getting behind their rage. Seriously, what photos are people posting that warrant this kind of self-entitled ire? All I ever see on that website are pictures of kale salads and ugly feet at the beach.

I’ve got news for you, everyone on Instagram: nobody gives a fuck about the sunset you saw from the window of the Denny’s on the interstate, and we couldn’t care less that you tried on a zany hat that you didn’t even BUY. Also, your dog may be cute, but we don’t need real-time updates about his bathroom habits, and finally, WE GET IT, you have friends. Am I supposed to congratulate you on not being Boo Radley?

How about instead of getting so uppity about something so trivial, you delete your fucking Instagram and devote your activist energy to something that isn’t, oh, I don’t know, COMPLETELY self-serving? Kthanksbye.

To the guy in CVS with Rabbit Foot Hair:

Excuse me, guy on line in front of me at CVS: could you please explain to me why you shaved 99% of your head but left a small patch of hair intact on your crown and then dyed that hair green? Is that your good luck chunk of hair or something? Has a bird shat on that spot on your head a record-breaking number of times? I’m really at a loss here. Moreover, why green, the color of fungus, algae and rotting flesh? It’s not even a nice green – it’s more of a sickly chartreuse. Just horrible.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that your ‘cool,’ ‘subversive’ hairstyle looks like something in a movie about bullying where the popular boys glue a gangrenous rabbit’s foot to the back of a nerd’s head while he’s passed out after drinking his first beer at his first party or something. It’s bumming me out just looking at it, and I think you should shave it the fuck off immediately, if not sooner.

A Merry Belated Krampusnacht to One and All!

I was super bummed when I realized yesterday that I missed Krampusnacht this year. Now I feel like I have to pour one out for my homie, Krampus, because I didn’t get to party with him on December 5th. BOO.

For those of you who don’t know who Krampus is, he’s a fun-loving bitch who likes to do festive things around the holidays like stomp on ornaments with his one cloven hoof and stuff badly-behaved children into a burlap sack. (As an aside, I’m pretty sure this is also exactly how Swiss people sexually role play during the winter.)

The origin of Mr. Krampus dates all the way back to Pre-Christian Germanic tradition. In fact, up until relatively recently, he was still considered by those living in the Alps to be the ‘yin’ to Santa’s ‘yang.’ So what does that mean, exactly? Well, basically, where Santa’s purpose in life is to do lame shit like ‘spread joy’ and ‘give kind, thoughtful gifts to children and old people,’ the Krampus lives to get trashed, make kids cry and scare the living daylights out of anyone who sees his devil-ass-looking face. Apparently, he’s also kind of a lech, and he particularly loves the company of zaftig ladies. I’m positive that he and I would get along like a house on fire – specifically, a house that’s on fire because he’s torched it for a laugh.

So hey, even though I may have missed Krampusnacht this year, that doesn’t mean I can’t still drink a few glasses of whiskey one night and trip a pitchy caroller in honor of Krampus, the O.G. (Original Grinch). Let the belated wild Krampus begin!

Daily Aggravation 49: People Who Wear Santa Hats

What’s with people who casually wear Santa hats for the whole month of December? Unless you’re an actual elf who is employed by Santa himself, there is no reason to top off your outfit with a cheap, felt Santa hat, you festive douche. And if you are an actual elf, why the fuck are you dilly-dallying around in NYC when there are presents to be wrapped up North? I’m pretty sure you elves aren’t covered under the “Right-to-Work” law, so get the hell out of here and go do your job.

The Creepiest Sweater Ever?

This is an actual sweater for sale in a store. I don’t really know what the creature woven into the front of it is supposed to be. It looks like a bunch of different weird things, including a flasher, a cockroach, and a cockroach flasher. My boyfriend thinks it looks like an omen in a scary Japanese movie that would pop out from behind trees and shit to remind you of your mortality. Whatever it is, its red eyes and the fact that it looks like it’s fleeing from a predator seriously give me the heebie-jeebies.

Damnit, Cupid, So NOT OKAY: The OkCupid Trials, Date 2

Another guy that I met on OkCupid looked very promising from his online dating profile. It said that he was from Louisiana, he was a graphic designer, and he was tall and wore glasses. I was convinced that this was the guy for me. Then I met him.

In real life, he was gangly and awkward, like a male version of Olive Oyl, and his glasses were crooked. He was also, hands-down, the MOST BORING PERSON I’VE EVER MET. He was so boring that I briefly contemplated pretending to pass out/slide off of the banquette we were sitting on just so I could get taken away in an ambulance and not have to talk to him anymore.

Here’s a little anecdote from the hour-long date that really drives home how awful he was. At one point, over our ONE BEER, he asked me if I’d ever seen the movie “The Cove.” I hadn’t, simply because a movie about the systematic slaughter of adorable, innocent dolphins doesn’t appeal to me. I feel like I’ve seen it NOW, though, because when I told him I hadn’t seen it, he proceeded to give me a full recap of its plot that felt like it lasted roughly four times as long as the movie itself. I don’t know why he thought this was good date chat. I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a woman in the world who would find hearing about defenseless, majestic sea beasts being harpooned in the head to be a turn-on (okay, maybe Karla Homolka, but that’s it). Then again, he WAS on a dating website, so I don’t really know why I was so shocked by his social ineptitude.   

Towards the forty minute mark, I remember saying to him, “Well, I’m finished with my beer, so maybe we should wrap this up.” His response? “Well, I still have half of my beer to go.” I should’ve looked him dead in the eye right then and said, “You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met and speaking with you is less fun than having my toe chewed on by a wild rat,” but instead, I just weakly said, “Okay,” and sat there like a lump until he finally finished his beer.

After awkwardly waving goodbye to him the minute we set foot outside the bar, I speed-walked away and never looked back. He must have gotten the hint from my dead-eyed, forty-yard stare, because we never spoke again. Thankfully.

Celebrities Who Should Disappear Already, Installation 1: Rihanna

I. Cannot. Fucking. Stand. Rihanna. She’s untalented, she’s too pleased with herself, and she’s way too rich for being so untalented and pleased with herself. Also, her forehead is so huge that she looks like one of the aliens in the Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man,” but nobody talks about this uncanny resemblence, and I find that frustrating.  

Let’s add on a few more reasons why Rihanna should disappear, shall we? How about the fact that she just got a tattoo of the word ‘Breezy’ on her neck (Breezy being Chris Brown’s nickname)? For the four of you who don’t know who Chris Brown is, he’s the ex/current boyfriend of Rihanna’s who pummeled her face a couple of years ago like he was a bartender muddling fresh mint for mojitos. He’s a terrible, awful, loathesome human being, but for some reason, she keeps going back to him, and that makes me hate her more. Now, maybe it’s just me, but it seems kind of weird that a girl who could date literally anyone in the world insists on dating a guy who does things like, oh, I don’t know, smash her fucking head into the dashboard of a car. So much for the empowered woman she’s always tunelessly warbling about being, eh?

ALSO, Rihanna grabs her crotch WAY too often for me to be okay with it. After all, everyone knows there’s a three-in-a-lifetime limit to crotch-grabs. They’re like wishes from a genie, and Rihanna is making a fool of everyone who respects the rules. Plus, she’s never NOT sweating like she’s sitting in a sauna. It’s truly repellant, and it’s definitely a sign that she is engaging in some not-so-smart extracurriculars (namely, blowing rails of coke in between schmoozing with Diddy and drinking Ciroc in Paris and shit). I can’t wait for her inevitable downfall. It makes me smile just thinking about it.

So concludes the first installation of Celebrities Who Should Disappear Already. Stay tuned for the next one, in which I’ll be discussing why Kim Kardashian should be waterboarded on stage at Madison Square Garden.