It’s been awhile since I posted some of my thoughts on this shitty, fucking
D grade website. Sadly, I have been so busy, there have not really been any good opportunities for me to share what has been on my mind recently and it has been a serious bother. If you want the complete truth, I spent a little too much time inside of the bottle over the past couple months, and while I spent that time surrounded in a liquid haze of spirits, there was unfortunately little writing to be done in my mind.
So as I sit here in some bullshit class, meant to inform the typical undecided undergrad about the magnificent wonders of everything you and I can give two fucks about, I figured I would take the time to write. Now, getting to the point, whatever happened to the value of a person’s demeanor? The concept of manners, being mannerly and the overall aspect of what people who lived in the 20th century or prior would consider ‘politeness’, seems to be nothing more than just that of a fucking concept lost in history long ago.
I say the 20th century and prior because it is just that, no one I ever come in contact with in today’s devious society even has the slightest idea of what manners are, and if you were to talk to a person of an older generation, the idea of manners and their extinction is seemingly more evident. The simple and quick use of please, thank you, or even excuse me seems to be falling into the black hole that swallowed up the human race’s idea of what chivalry may have been.
I bet I can tell what you’re thinking too. Something along the lines of “Manners!? How ’bout you put the fucking laptop down, stop typing and pay attention to your god damn professor so you can make the most of the education you’re so desperately dying to get, you slimy, hypocritical cocksucker”, but I would have to stop you in your tracks because all accusations and assumptions should be held in your spank bank until your lazy fucking ass is finished with the reading, in turn comprehending the point I am trying to make.
Afterwards, if you still do not agree that manners are an important necessity in your social interactions that happen day to day, then I would suggest tying a cinderblock to your ankle and a plastic shopping bag around your head. Once you are able to do that, let me know, because I have set up this giant 16- foot deep pool filled with horse semen for you and your thoughts to drown in. If you think about it, it’s a sort of beastly and sensual way to go out. Filling up with a beautiful animal’s love nectar until your body cannot handle any more and you just explode with horse cum. An interesting sight that would be. Bloody, dead and full of love all because you decided to live a rude life. Turning you on, aren’t I? You sick fuck, at least leave a comment and say thank you for helping you reach that pathetic climax and let me get back to the point.
The use of manners and being polite is something I always held in high regard, long before I was even capable of considering the impact that manners have on your typical social interaction. The simple use of manners, regardless of whether that person is intellectually elite or more dense than Ron Jeremy’s inflated hard- on, says almost everything about a person and the way they hold themselves up as they role out in this show of life. I mean how hard is it to hold the door for somebody or politely say excuse me as you walk into someone’s line of direction?
With the despicable generation that I have been subject to grow up in, I have realized how sickening this world has become. The demise of manners is drastically closing in on our lives and I do not know if I can handle it. People don’t even push their chairs in anymore and for some reason, it bothers the living shit out of me. As a kid, one of the things my parents were able to actually do successfully was teach me the value of manners. Despite how much of an asshole I may be, and the filthy vocabulary that spills out of my mouth with every sentence, I do my part in fighting off the extinction of acceptable mannerisms.
For example, earlier this morning I was walking into the grocery store to buy some fireworks and anal lubricant when I noticed a much older woman, who must have been at least 60 years old, if not older. She was slowly struggling to walk out of the store with three or four bags in each hand. While she was walking out, a younger man, around the age of 24 or 25, was walking by and crossed her path. Refusing to say excuse me, this impolite twat brushed past the older woman knocking the bags of groceries she held in her left hand all to the ground right outside the store. Her carton of milk and eggs had devastatingly smashed on the pavement.
After the encounter, the man, whom we can refer to as Brock because that would most likely be the name of this macho cocksucker, looks back at the damage he caused. He made a slight smirk and kept on about his own day, failing to help her with the mess he had caused or even utter the words “I am sorry”. I was fuming, but instead of confronting him, which I will tell you about later on, I helped the poor woman pick up her bags and I offered to run in and get replacements for the eggs and milk that met their maker, but she refused and said she was able to do so herself. Before my time in this woman’s presence came to an end, she gracefully thanked me for helping her and began to express how sadly surprised she was that people were so awfully rude these days.
Once I was able to make my way into the grocery store to satisfy my weekly shopping needs, which did not usually include anal lube or fireworks, I was granted with the opportunity to let Brock know how the woman and I had felt about his actions. Now this is where the lube comes into play. He was standing in an aisle that included all necessary toiletries one would need to maintain good hygiene in this cruel judgmental reality called life. Ironically, Brock looked like he was a newcomer when it came to shopping in this aisle.
So, as I mustered up the courage to let Brock know how much I wish his body was plagued with paralysis while he was submerged in a tub of pig shit or even the pool I constructed for the people in disagreement, I caught a glimpse of a cylindrical bottle about a foot or so tall and a couple inches in diameter that had big red letters on it reading “ANAL LUBRICANT”.
Towards the bottom of the bottle, I saw a stamp that informed the consumer that it was voted number one sexual lubricant four- years running. Quickly, I thought to myself and came up with a very satisfying idea. I snatched that bottle up and loosening the cap ever so slightly, I made my way towards Brock who seemed to be genuinely mesmerized by the different flavors of cheap body spray the store held. As I got closer, I got more and more angry because this muscle- bound oaf just rubbed me the wrong way.
You know when you meet someone, or you know someone that you just cannot stand to be around because just the sound of them breathing makes you want to thrust something elegant into the back of their throat and watch them tear up? (If you remember Bowie from a fews posts back, there ya go.) That was Brock. The bridge of his nose just looked so breakable. He also had those fucking duck feet, you know, the ones where your feet point outward like a fucking duck. I just could not stand to even look at this ill- mannered and ugly motherfucker for just another second but I held out long enough to barge a lesson into his life. Whether he learned or not, that would be his own issue.
So there I was, in pursuit, lube in hand and cap loosened, I knocked into Brock and spilled the entire bottle of lube all over him. I was doing my best at making the incident look accidental. It did. He had no idea it was on purpose at first, otherwise I suppose he would have gotten a bit more hostile than he did. I kept on about my business acting like I hadn’t even came into contact with Brock. You wouldn’t believe what this ignorant, white trash, piece of shit’s response was. He taps me on the shoulder and I turned around to see a slight rage in his eyes and his mouth uttering, “Uhm, Hey man, you’re not going to say excuse me or sorry? What the fuck’s that about? You just spilled a bottle of fucking lube all over me!”
I looked him dead in the eyes while grabbing my crotch and said, “Karma is a fucking bitch, isn’t it? Maybe you should have apologized to the poor woman outside for ruining her day instead of laughing as you walked away from the devastation you caused to a dozen eggs. There would probably be a lack of lube on your person similar to the lack of genuine idiosyncrasies you hold dear, you toothless sister fucker.”
“Excuse me!,” he screamed.
“There you go. You’re starting to learn, you hillbilly son of a bitch. Excuse me is just the beginning. Pretty soon you’ll be saying please and thank you, no longer being part of the problem. Hell, you may even be able to go to school and learn something other than what it feels like to stick your penis inside of a pig. Maybe you’ll start holding the door for your sister before you fuck her too,” I angrily stated as I watched his jaw drop.
I couldn’t tell if it had dropped because of the anger and humility Brock was feeling at the moment, or the pure astonishment that I was spot on about his sexual relations with his crack head of a sister. I didn’t care to find out and he seemed to be too confused with what I had just said so I walked away while grabbing a couple roman candles that were sitting on display in the center aisle on sale, letting it all sink into that stupefied brain of his.
The roman candles were a dollar a piece so I figured they were a steal, and I wanted Brock to remember me. If I bought some fireworks on my way out of his life, I figured a lube- loosening, crotch- grabbing, roman candle loving young boy such as myself would have been engraved in the man’s brain forever and the lesson may have been learned. Despite that stupid story though, the point is Brock, if he had said excuse me, quite possibly could have avoided knocking the woman’s belongings to the ground, but he didn’t, in turn, causing a nasty chain of events that led him to being able to do a swan dive into the widest asshole he could find that day. In his mind, preferably his sister’s.
Almost 99 percent of the people I have met on my journey so far probably would have done the same thing he did, minus the smirk, and it really makes me sad to see certain values fading away as the years go on. I just hope one day the general population begins to recognize the simple power of polite mannerisms, allowing us to all get through a day at the grocery store without the smell of strawberry scented lube looming not far behind.
One thought on “Lube Your Manners”
Just a box or rain or a ribbon for your hair.