A Misanthrope by Any Other Name
by The Window Shopper
Okay so this morning as I rode the subway to work bombarded by a panhandler and this seriously unfortunate looking girl who kept assaulting me with her J.Crew lunch bag, I couldn’t help but think deeply about all of the different types of people I detest, J.Crew bag bitch totally being one of them. Now, before I tell you who made the cut, let me just say that as a species humans generally sick me the fuck out. They’re ugly, smelly, disease addled, poor– and they do terrible things to one another. It’s awful and one reason why I like to consider myself 80% siren, 20% human. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Okay, well here goes. Humanity’s worst offenders:
Real Estate Agents
No matter what you tell them in terms of price they’ll always try to get you to spend more. If I had $5,000 to spend a month on rent, don’t you think I would have fucking said so?
No matter what you tell them in terms of length they’ll always try to cut off more. If I wanted short hair, don’t you think I would have fucking said so? Not to mention their own heads, every last one of them look like they got into a wrestling match with a lawn mower who also happened to be rigged with weird purplish reddish and honey colored dye. Have you ever seen a hair cutter with great hair? Absolutely not.
I really hate them. Always have. And because I will throughout my life be forced to commune with them I probably always will.
Really Short Women
I’m no giraffe here, but I carry petite well. Okay I’m lying, if I could trade a member of my family for a few more inches I would totally fucking do so. in a heart beat. There is a serious line between really short women and petite women that when crossed goes from normal to evil Ardan creature in just fractions of an inch. More often than not these really short women, who are not “little people,” are bottom heavy and squat, or Ninja Turtley and gymnasty and also squat, they always travel in packs, cackle and have freakisly impish hands and feet. No thanks.
They’ve never been helpful and they’re like weirdly cryptic, testing you in perverse ways. One time an agent told me not to leave the building without saying goodbye– Well for 1. She should’ve come to bid me adieu, not the other way around and 2. When it was time to leave she had some menial intern thank me and say that I could totally go. So I did. And I never heard from her again. In essence I failed the cardinal test of “following directions” but excuse me if I’m a little too busy for your obtuse mind fucking.
Okay this is like a really big one for me. All mothers, regardless of their age, class, race and religion– freak me the fuck out. Inherent in them is this meglomaniacal need to control, everything, at all fucking times. They’re self righteous, super entitled and hardcore suffering from delusions of grandeur. It’s as if they cured cancer or figured out time travel, which is such fucking bullshit because all they’ve really done is bring another fucking doosh into the world; neither rare nor talented. The worst part of all is that mothers never really realize that the creature(s) they birth aren’t actually an extension of themselves– but completely separate beings with like, their own fucking lives to live. And don’t even get me started on mothers of boys. Sure, no woman is good enough for your son, just like you were never good enough for your son’s father, which is why you became sickly obsessed with your son in the first place. It’s really corrupt and I seriously hope that all of the men I fall in love with don’t have maternal issues, or moms.
At the most basic level my repugnance comes from the fact that all pregnant people become mothers. Some in a matter of months and others in a matter of 18-20 years when adoption records magically become unsealed and the abandoned babies go in search of the women who didn’t want them. Coming with all kinds of crazy questions like why? Who is my dad? Are you rich? Am I rich? Nothing but fucking problems.
I should also mention that I really dislike babies (with the exclusion of baby Harrison), bulemics, anyone over 16 who wears a backpack (with the exclusion of Jack), people who talk on their cell phones on subway steps, thespians, tanning salon employees, Zooey Deschanel and crack heads. Maybe next time I list the people I do like?
Images courtesy of Mio Energy, Awkward Family Photos,Durham County Council, Westchester View & Follow the Fashion