Volume 1 #2 (May 13-19, 1998)
From the Editor: People who bug me
BY KEN GAILLOT
People who drive slow in the fast lane. Torture me, why dontcha? They call it the fast lane so you can drive fast in it.
People who forget to turn off their blinkers. What, you don't hear the clicking noise? Car companies should add special electronics to cars to determine if the blinker has been on more than a minute. If it's on too long, a big red light starts flashing and a computer voice drones, "Pull over and step out of the car. Let someone drive who is paying attention."
Politicians. I think it was Will Rogers who once said, "We're lucky, in that we don't get as much government as we pay for."
Freaks who pass out religious brochures in front of bars. Do I stand outside your church handing out tequila shots? "Here ya go, come by and see us some time. We'll fornicate and burn in hell for all eternity."
Dry counties. I thought we took care of that in the 1930's.
Health nazis. Healthy is good. Health is not the supreme value to which we must all bow down and sacrifice. Quit trying to "help" us by dictating what we can and can't do.
Telemarketers. How do I despise thee? Let me count the ways.
People who buy stuff from telemarketers. Why do you think telemarketers keep doing it? It's the same damn people who answer psychic hotline TV ads at two in the morning. "Are you a loser? Out of work? Can't get laid? Call our hotline now."
Car salesmen. The hyenas of the business world. Don't let them catch you with your guard down, but shine a big bright light in their face and they scurry away.
People who write radio ads for car salesmen. "Special one-time only offer that we won't repeat ever again until tomorrow!" Once, I recorded that fast quiet mumbling at the end of a car commercial, slowed it down and played it louder. It said, "Worship Satan. Buy more cars. We love Elvis." Freaked me out. I have no idea what it means.
Dentists who play easy listening music in their offices. And they all do. What's up with that? Do they enjoy causing pain? You've got a sharp instrument wedged in my gums, spit is drooling down my chin, and "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" is playing in the background. Up next, our Barry Manilow marathon. They wonder why we never go.
Editors who gripe too much in their newspapers. Hmmm, maybe I should cut everybody some slack. Except that guy ahead of me driving slow in the fast lane.