You Complacent Bastards

Posted on January 5, 2011


Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfils the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things. – Churchill

I remember reading once, “Ignorance is an act of will,” and I’ve agreed ever since. None of the bliss bullshit. I think ignorance is an incredibly disguised curse, masked by its banality… but “this isn’t ground-breaking stuff.”

Not all of the following suggestions are environmentally related, but they do all have one similarity. They are certain ways that people can change, minuscule considerations that can make our immediate little worlds more comfortable and agreeable–which is simply amazing considering the chaos, malignancy and depravity ravishing so many other parts of the planet.

And onto it


I don’t work for the Long Island Power Authority (LIPA) or the power grid, but I’m cognizant enough to remember electricity is a luxury that costs money.

This is the shorter way of saying that I’m almost certain my parents are cybernetic organisms sent from the future to systematically drain New York of its electricity through small appliances like the heater and the decorative candles for the windows.

Similarly, I’m also driven into a frenzy when I see water being wasted…I think this Sesame Street cartoon changed me.

Of course there are many more examples of domestic “Wastefulness” to be addressed, but I think the two above are among the simplest to remedy.


Every time I’m on a crowded train, I’ll ask any nearby ladies, if they’d like a seat.  I often get strange and incredulous looks, as if it were some audacious preposition, and the guys never turn their heads, ever, they just sit there reading or thinking about the salmon marinating back home.

Why thank you?

No hetero-normative act of chivalry is dumber than the jacket in the puddle motif. Now, if it’s not a puddle, then it can’t be a three foot stream rushing through your town, because a jacket wouldn’t really do anything. It would just give the lady a brief moment of hope before her shoes went uncomfortably wet.

I recently saw a man carry, what I’m presuming was his date, over a dirty mound of Brooklyn snow and slush, despite there being a snow-less path a few feet to the side…It goes without saying though, that a true chivalric man would pick that hot piece of ass up and ford any obstacle, no matter the circumstances.


If I could, I would find and restrain every person whose gum I’ve ever unwillingly came into contact with and set these biological monstrosities loose on them; perhaps position them so that they crawl on their faces for hours on end; perhaps as long as it takes for the miscreant to have to eat the centipedes to survive.

Do you see those pincers?

I just think the improper disposal of gum is a lazy, and cowardly thing to do, if left intentionally–something akin to not curbing one’s dog.


This is what I imagine every guy who can’t lift a toilet seat looks like–that stupid grin and stupid Halloween costume (?), getting away with nothing. Come on boys, get over the little excrement on your shoe and lift the seat.

Man’s inability to cope with the fact that his shooter doesn’t often shoot straight somehow legitimizes when a woman uses the men’s bathroom, but makes it taboo for the converse to occur. Regardless, people shouldn’t be forced to stoop down and wipe anonymous piss away.

I’ve used plenty of lady bathrooms, when I’ve needed to or didn’t feel like waiting, and every time a lady caught me, it was as if I had offended her somehow, even if I left that seat pristine.


A smoker is almost always on the defensive about their habit, even if they know it’s killing them, making them broke, whatever. It’s the littering that gets me.

I know smokers will roll their eyes at this, but why is it so difficult to toss it in the garbage? Of course they’re filthy to keep around and they dirty no less than they do internally.

I’ve asked a few smokers this question and most of them told me: “I’m afraid it’ll start a fire.” When I process this statement through my BULLSHIT filter, this statement really means: “I don’t want to bend down and touch the butt I just stomped into the ground” OR “I like flicking them because it makes me feel cool in that carefree way and because I’m a lazy, irresponsible asshole that can’t be bothered with.”

It’s one of the most unfortunate mysteries to me.

As far as I’m concerned, the only person who ever had the right to flick their butt was Jim Carrey, or more appropriately, Stanley Ipkiss in The Mask during the dream sequence when Cameron Diaz romances him in a striped and skin-tight dress.

Mr. DenDekker, an assemblyman with a dumb name, suggested a cigarette butt recycling program seven months ago and although the bill is still in its infancy, it shows promise. According to his office, approximately 176 million pounds of cigarette butts are discarded each year in this country.


If  the driver in the front of the line doesn’t immediately hit the gas as soon as the light turns green…I’ll honk after three seconds. That’s my personal rule, three Mississippi’s. If the person can’t figure it out by then, well shit, they’re getting rear-ended.


This is it. We are here, at the forefront of communicative capability–except we need these little keyboards to do it, and those little chimes and buzzes to know when to.

The average age of texting inception

People tell me texting is simpler because of the brevity and immediacy of it all, but I know that’s not true. It has made people dumber, lazier, and much more unappreciative of the instantaneous message.

Just take a look at this contrived group

Children are being powerfully affected by texting. Look at the girl on the right, look at her face, crumbling under the societal pressures her younger peers have imposed upon her, a fish-bowl of letters.

And that boy, a true impostor of the texting world; I like to think myself as him, but not as hideous or amused by the typing conversationalists.

It has become more of a wrong than strange culture, and because of this, I’m continually blown away by the ease and diversity at which texting lingo manifests itself.

I’d like to pretend that this is all banter, but a Facebook update by one of my 16 year old pizzeria co-workers from this past summer solidified the reality of it all for me:

There is this such amazin guy out there right now tht i rlli like nd injoy spendin time with. Nd its amazin how much we can have so much in common. He just makes me laugh & have such a great time when im with him. When he smiles i smile bck. I can be myself around him. im not shy with him Theres just so much i can say nd feel with him.. I REALLY LIKE HIM! ♥

After I let her know that her writing made me lose, literally, all hope for her in life, (meaning either her career, relationships, or her chances of survival) she insisted that she didn’t care. Needless to say, this boy broke her heart two weeks later.

Asides from all the meandering, my only suggestion, since humans are coded to strive in communication, is that if someone tries to initiate a full conversation with you, be the better person and call them. Or don’t, I don’t care. Because you’ll suck if you don’t.

Update: Amber Case’s TED presentation titled “We are all cyborgs”…it’s relevant.


I don’t really care for grammar.

Scrabble is a meh.

I’m terrible at crossword puzzles.

I don’t pounce at the opportunity to correct someone’s expressions, and yes, even my fingers get a little lazy sumtimes, u kno? Cause im nt going to spell evrytin out wen i can jsut type like dis.

You can even mistake “there” for “their” for all I care, but this “your” NONSENSE has to stop; and “ur” is not a substitute, it was an ancient city-state in Sumer.

“Your” implies ownership of a trait or given object, such as “your terrible grammar offends me every time you use it.”

Just ignore all this writing and use this t-shirt as your reference

And “You’re” is a contraction for, “You are,” such as in, “You’re truly an idiot if you can’t take two seconds to add an apostrophe and one more letter to your unimportant message.”

In truth, I have no faith in this lesson being learned. The Oatmeal voices a similar frustration in the article “10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling,” but I honestly think it’s asking for too much since it would very easily overload the majority of today’s youth, as well as many hopeless adults.

And don’t give me the “Auto-correct” excuse. How about everyone actually reads what they write before pressing “Send”? What an incredible idea. Thank you, myself.

Since I can’t really do ANYTHING about this, I’ll end with a POEM.


My welcome

Is ten feet long

Purple and oblong

It weighs fifteen pounds

When filled with clowns

And runs on sugar water

My welcome

Will never be

Your welcome

If I could show you how ardent I am about everything I’ve written above, it would probably look something like this.