Get off my GRASS

This is the angry old bastard thread, it has a simple format.

Crime: Fat bastard standing in the middle of a long escalator causing you to be bottlenecked behind them as their knees creek.

Appropriate reaction (AR): Ask them nicely to move aside, try not to get any gravy on your shirt as you shimmy past them, try not to become too angry when you realize the 30 seconds you saved wasn’t worth the trauma of interacting and inadvertently touching the clammy landbeast.

Fantasy reaction (FR): Kick out their knees and ride them to the top like an over sized surf board. After reaching the top and executing a dismount a 13 year old Russian gymnast would envy the escalator drags your discarded blubberboard into its metal maw and conveys the slush to the local soylent green factory. These escalators also capture unwary and stupid children, thereby reintroducing Darwinian selection back into the mix.

Yeah it’s a slow day in the office and there haven’t been any fun threads on here for ages. Also this happened to me in the supermarket yesterday and shat me to tears, I’m not a patient man.

Focus: Outline a situation where political correctness or proper etiquette or common courtesy prevail. Now comment on how you really feel or what you would do given the opportunity and resources.

 

Crime: Parents bring their three-year-old child (that was the result of mom's lucid dream ritual-romp with the Antichrist in The Dakota) into a restaurant. Precious doesn't agree with something and starts screaming like it's being jabbed with a hat pin. Parents deal with the situation by pretending to be deaf. "Don't encourage him, he'll just think he's won!" they rasp at each other.

AR: The best thing to is act like it's ruining your night (not a lie) by sighing loud, staring, and other super-condescending actions that don't make a scene. You don't want to be That Guy, the one who says in that tone that could kill a lab rat in seconds "Do You MIND?" Especially if you're on a date, you want to look patient and tolerant, and hating on kids more often than not is a no-no.

FR: Take two forks, stick them in each side of the child's skull, lift him out of his high chair. Unleash a high-pitch Gaelic cry and the restaurant-turned savage brood is on them like starved jackals, tearing the three of them to pieces like a George A. Romero movie.

Thank you for the new thread. We need this.

 

As a parent who lived with that, I demand respect for the fact that I have, on multiple occasions, walked out to my car with the offending child and left everyone in the restaurant to finish their meals in peace. My son used to do that when he was around 2, and there were at least 5 times where my wife brought my (cold) dinner out to the car in a styrofoam container. No way in hell I'm letting my kid ruin everyone else's night.

Crime: It's rush hour. It's New England. Which means that some asshole is in such a hurry and is just so important that he can drive past the half mile of cars waiting patiently in line to get off the fucking highway that he can try to force his way into the exit at the last possible second instead of waiting like everyone else.

AR: Let the guy in, maybe giving him the finger, hopefully he'll learn.

FR: It's the same motherfucker as last night, and the night before. You PIT maneuver him, put him against the guard rail. You jump out of the car, as does every other driver and passenger within, oh, 500 feet. You drag him out the drivers' side window, and beat him with one of those crosses the New Englanders put up every 50' to commemorate their drunken uncle crashing his Harley, then soak him on gasoline and set him on fire.

 

Crime: You drive your best friend and her 5 year old son to Wal-Mart where she generously offers to buy him a $5 toy; and he decides he'd rather have a $75 remote controlled whatever. The child decides to announce his preference to the world by screaming, crying, and flinging shit off the nearest shelf across the store; nearly striking a cashier.

AR: You stand idly by, not entirely sure if you should attempt to calm the child, duck out the nearest entrance, or apologize profusely to the onlookers giving you angry stares.

FR: You...

A.) Blow most of your paycheck buying the goddamned $75 toy, and play with it in plain view of the child, until you get bored with it and give it to someone more deserving of it.

B.) Pull him up out of the shopping cart, holding him by his feet, and toss him across the store like a shotput.

C.) Same as above, except this time you carry the child by his feet to the nastiest toilet in the men's restroom, and give him a good 20 or 30 dunk-and-flush's.

 

I get to a crosswalk and I press the button to cross. Beep-boop. I stand there patiently, right next to the impossible-to-miss button I just pressed, clearly waiting for the lights to change.

A few seconds later, somebody else walks up who also wants to cross. He glances at me. He glances at the impossible-to-miss-button. Beep-fucking-boop.

AR: Nothing. I do nothing.

FR: "Hey pal, what does that button do that you just pressed? The one with the stick figure pedestrian and the arrow pointing in the direction that I'm trying to go? I'm a fucking retarded person, so I have no idea! I've been thinking about it for the last half hour while I've been here waiting for the light to change, BUT I'VE GOT NOTHING!! WHAT A GOD DAMN FUCKING MYSTERY THAT BUTTON IS!! IT'S BRIGHT YELLOW TOO, SO I FIGURED IT MUST BE IMPORTANT!!"

 

(Similar to, but not the same as $100T2)

Crime: Its rush hour or you're in a construction zone/near an entrance to a ramp and this offending person may or may not have their blinker on, depending upon just how cuntheaded they are. They've slowed to a pace where you know they're passively trying to get over, just waiting for someone to take time out of their own busy days, slow down, and give this other person the attention and space they so desperately crave to get over to this life or death ramp/lane. Being the good person with a strict moral code and exceptional manners, you slow your car down, create a large amount of space, and give this undeserving miscreant a warm and friendly wave to cut in front of you and join you in the correct lane. Once this sack of dog feces gets its crappy car in front of you, you look up toward their rear view mirror and wait for the wave. The wave that acknowledges your kindness and lets you know that you made the right decision- the person you let into your spot in the lane is a good and deserving person who would surely pay this good automotive deed forward in the future. Except, this wave never comes and the subhuman putzes along in their shitty little 15 year old Kia with the rusted wheel wells and dice with missing dots and piss stains hanging from the mirror.

AR: Keep driving and pay no heed to the person. Just because they have no manners and can't recognize a good deed doesn't mean you were wrong to be a nice person. You can't expect people to hold themselves to the same high standards you hold yourself to, even though showing common courtesy while driving is a good way to keep yourself from getting killed or followed home.

FR: You follow that motherfucker home. As soon as they get out of the car, you rush out from your car, machete in hand, and pin them against their rusted shitbox, spit frothing from your grimacing mouth, fire burning from within your eyes, absolutely livid that they couldn't show you the common courtesy and respect you showed them. Give them an option- either they lose their arm at the elbow so they have a reason from now on for not waving at people who show them kindness, or you take that section of arm from their child/wife/husband/parent/relative. If its a man who chooses the other person to lose their arm, you take both and teach him a lesson not only on common respect, but on having some fucking balls and taking responsibility for his own failings. If its a woman, don't take the arm, take the right leg, so she can no longer drive, as she probably didn't belong behind the wheel in the first place. If its an Asian....do the world a favor and kill them before they kill someone from behind that wheel. Take whatever appendage as a trophy and hang it from your car as a trophy, letting people know- you better wave and acknowledge my superior manners, motherfucker.

 

Crime: You're in a library to study with a lot of other people doing the same. One girl's cellphone starts to vibrate. On the table. You can hear it through the whole room. She picks up the phone, loudly announcing "I can't talk right now, I'm in the library, hang on a sec." For no good reason she then starts to sprint away from her table, each step she takes with her high heels sounding as if an elephant just dropped on the fucking floor.
When she's just around the corner she continues her call, in a normal voice and the whole room has to hear her blabber on about some unimportant subject for the next 20 minutes.

AR
Give her a dirty stare.
Or do what a buddy of mine once did.


FR
A) You shove the cell phone so far up her ass that next time she receives a call, her throat starts to vibrate, then tie her to a bookshelf and throw it out of the window.

B) Do what a buddy of mine once actually did.
"Hey, can you take it outside next time? We could all hear you talk." *she ignores him* "Bitch"
Maybe not as satisfying as option A, but she shut up for the rest of the time.

 

Crime: screaming child(ren) in a train compartment whose parents have absolutely no interest in telling them to use their indoor voice

Actual reaction: nothing. You can't say anything. So what if you paid extra for a reservation in the quiet zone? So what if you and everyone else on this train are trying to relax after a long day at work? One mustnt dare tell those children to shut their fucking yaps.

Fantasy reaction: hook up an IV line with enough gravol to make a horse start seeing unicorns to the offending monsters while telling the parents that until their children are old enough to be controllably quiet, they are to use the motherfucking car.

 

Crime: You've put in another dreary work day in soul wrenching, dreary ass London. Its summer time but you haven't seen the color of the sky for longer than you can remember. Vaguely blueish if memory serves... Its been about 2 weeks since you've seen your significant other's genitals, not for lack of desire but its all you have in you to neck down the bottle of wine it takes to get the voices in your head to stop chattering long enough to get to sleep for the privilege of doing it again. All you want to do is have a quiet train journey home crammed into a metal tube that smells of stale curry and the kind of body odor that clings to the back of your mouth after the flash point has long exited. I just want to read my book and ignore the crotch smashed into my face on this overcrowded death train that I've paid hansomely to be on. The only person on this humpty bumpty without a book decides to have an inane conversation about who is being fucked, what a slag they are and who they plan on fucking tonight.

AR: British people are in no way prepared for conflict and since you're one of them now, all 220 5'11" football player looking, black rage having transplant, you put your headphones in and say nothing along with everyone else, pretending that this isn't happening.

FR: You calmly stand up, make your way through the throng of people, wrap your meat hook around this cows throat and calmly say into the telephone: "I'm sorry" {'What's your name beautiful? "SafOel($*eklw"'} "SafOel($*eklw, can't continue this conversation. Her windpipe is broken." Place the phone carefully on the ground and smash it with the heel of your shoe. Calmly return to your seat and continue reading.

 

Crime: You're driving your 45 minute commute home on a two lane interstate doing a comfortable 85 MPH. You're cruising, when up ahead you notice two semi trucks in the right lane right behind one another. You think nothing of it until you start going up a hill and are approaching the truck in the rear when all of a sudden at the last possible second this cocksmear decides he wants to get over and pass the truck in front of him, which he does, failing to account that the two tons of shit he's hauling will only allow him to barely pass 65 in the speed lane of a fucking interstate going up-fucking-hill.

AR: Honk the horn, curse loudly and be forced to go fucking 60 for the ten minutes it takes this jagoff to pass the truck in front of him and finally get fucking back into the right lane where he belongs.

FR: You flick a switch on your console, and your headlights open up, revealing the rockets behind them. You press the button and the offending truck explodes into a greasy stain on the road. You utter a witty one liner and for spite decide to blast the second fucking truck to smithereens. Then you hit another button and your center console flips over to reveal a full stocked bar of which you partake in until you get home.

 

Crime: You stop to allow a pedestrian to cross the road in front of you when the asshole behind you decides to lay on the horn to get you to A) run over the pedestrian and B) move forward 50 feet so you can spend the next 2 minutes sitting in the line of traffic at the red light that is 200 feet in front of you . . . but at least the asshole behind you is 50 feet further along.

AR: Ignore it

FR: At the red light, get out of your car, snap the antennae off of the asshole's car and shove up their urethra.


Crime: For the third time in as many years, the phone company has connected your phone line to the pole across the street improperly. The sagging line has been torn down by a passing truck, and you have to spend an hour navigating the automated phone system to get someone to come out and reconnect it, which will, in fact take three visits, before it sinks into their heads that they do actually need a bucket truck because the ladder that is standard equipment won't reach high enough up the pole.

AR: Patiently explain, for the third time, what happened, and why they need to send someone with a bucket truck.

FR: When the next idiot shows up with only a ladder, wrap one end of the downed line around his neck, the other around the bumper of his truck, put the truck in neutral and roll it down the hill with him dragging behind.

 

Crime: You are driving through a store parking lot, when a fat woman in an SUV in front of you (it's ALWAYS a fat woman in an SUV) slams on the brakes because someone is loading two shopping carts full of items into their car. She could just move on and find another space, but no; that would require her to walk an extra 50 feet. And you can't back out because there is another car behind you.

AR: Wait patiently while glaring at her through her stick-figure-family decorated back glass. Other acceptable option: Honk to no avail.

FR: Get out of your car, break open her driver's side window with your elbow, brutally yank her from the vehicle, run over her legs repeatedly with her own SUV, then crash it into a lamp post.
When finished, tell her that now she'll never have to wait for a parking space again, because she's handicapped.

Crime: Some dipshit has driven up to your house and needs to speak with you, but they are too lazy to get out of their car and ring the doorbell/knock like a civilized person, so they honk their horn repeatedly.

AR: Go outside and politely tell them that it's rude to use a car horn as a replacement for a doorbell. Or you can do what I do, and try to ignore them until they leave (if they can't even be bothered to get out of their car, it must not be that important).

FR: Come outside with a cheerful grin, and when they roll down their window to speak to you, pull out a .44 Magnum and blast their face off. Bonus points if the person was there to see someone else.

EDIT: The only people who would be exempt from the honking punishment are mail carriers/package delivery services. I realize they have a schedule to keep.

 

Crime: Neighbours chiuwawa dog whines and yips for long hours into the night, because the assholes choose to ignore it. After a few hours they will usually capitualte and let it in, a few fucking hours! It’s favourite place to whine is of course the nearest point on their property to my bedroom window. I hate that little fucker.

AR: Ignore it, next time you see the dopy looking neighbour mention that his idiot dog's been being a “bit noisy again” he looks sheepish and apologises, this fixes the problem for about 3 weeks.

FR: Wait for the family to leave, capture fuckfacedog and place it in the largest blender you can find and sit said blender on their front porch, rig it with remote switch and set it to “liquefy”. Hang a sign above your contraption simply reading “you used to ignore the noises I made” wait for the gravity of the situation to sink in and flick that switch.

 

Crime: Sitting at a stoplight, playing crappy music with the bass turned up to the point that the 300-lb whale three cars back is doing an imitation of a cylinder of Jello with a vibrator stuffed into it.

AR: Do nothing.

FR: Calmly put your vehicle in park, walk to the offender's car, keying the go-faster stripes as you approach the driver side door. Use a tire iron to smash the window, as he steps out, momentarily channel your inner Kobe in a dribbling drill with his head. Pop the trunk, crank the sound/bass to max possible without blowing the subwoofer, and hold the prick's ear to the subwoofer until the ear produces a satisfying quantity of blood. Turn head, repeat with opposite ear. Resume dribbling practice on with head on subwoofer until one or the other can best be described with words expected to be used to describe the state of a pigeon after impact with an airplane windshield. Apologize to line of vehicles honking with more likely adoration than irritation, resume driving, receive Nobel Peace Prize. Fin.

Crime: A customer, due to either a bad mood or an inferiority complex, decides to vent their frustrations upon some sort of blameless customer service person, whether that be a cashier, a secretary, or whatever. In this case, let's go with foodservice.

AR: Sit by and try to ignore the situation while some eunuch of a manager comes over and asks the customer to kindly present their ass to be thoroughly tongued in the form of free food and a degrading lecture of the server.

FR: Follow the offending party out to the parking lot. Chloroform them. When they wake up, they will find themselves locked inside a 5-star restaurant on a Friday night. They alone are responsible for providing service to each and every table, and the expo for the night is Gordon Ramsey. In addition, every member of the full house is a Marine Corps drill instructor, each of whom has not slept or eaten in three days. Consider publishing full records and observations as part of pioneering "extreme adversion therapy".

 

Crime: Somebody in traffic that is clearly going nowhere starts laying on the horn. For minutes at a time.

AR: Do nothing and try to ignore.

FR: Drag them out of their car and shit in their stupid fucking hornblowing mouths.

 

Crime: Random walkers. Usually to be found on busy streets and tourist areas. They will happily walk along with the flow and then suddenly stop right in the middle of the fucking sidewalk to look at a map/their phone/take a picture etc completely oblivious to the fact that the other hundred sidewalk users now have to navigate around them on a packed and small sidewalk.

AR: Sigh loudly, step around them and give the stink eye (which they wont fucking notice anyway)

FR: A swift elbow to the back of the head followed by rolling their unconscious ass into the gutter.

 

Crime: So you aren't exactly like Sheldon from Big Bang Theory, but you and your roommate do have some ground rules as to bringing lady-friends (whores) over, among other things. Your Casanova friend "forgets" to tell you he's bringing some skank from the local bar home for the night, and your sleep is slowly being ruined by the sounds of a squeaky mattress, thumping wood, and the screams of whatever godawful things ejaculate from her mouth while riding him reverse-cowgirl ("Oh Johnny, fuck me with your ultra-hard cock!!!" "Please Johnny, oh please, HARDER, HARDER!!! I want to fuck so hard that I DIE!" etc.)

AR: Earplugs. Noise-canceling headphones and your favorite lullabies. The pillow. Anything to make the noise stop. What has been heard cannot be unheard.

FR: Barge in. Tie your drunk friend to his bedpost, tape his mouth, and leave him. Pick up his drunken slut, carry her to your room, and rail the shit out of her. In the morning, defenestrate her belongings, and watch the hilarity ensue.

 

Wouldn't the better Response be to jab them in the armpit with a 22 gauge syringe while they're bench pressing 250 lbs? Assuming of course you're faster and have no plans on ever returning to said gym.

Crime: you've already waited 10 minutes in line at Starbucks, and when the person right in front of you goes to place their order, they're still undecided, and after another eon, finally order a 15 word beverage.

AR: say nothing, but turn to the person behind you and roll your eyes.

Response I'd like: grab him/her by the hair, drag 'me behind the counter and stick their face under the steam valve on the espresso machine and crank it on high.

It would appear many of us lack patience.