HELL…IS OTHER PEOPLE.
As I get older and even more curmudgeonly, I’m starting to think that my fantasy is to live in a small house up north in the middle of nowhere with a food garden, a Weber grill, a tiny backyard patio with a cooler, and just podcasting every day to send my rants of anger out into the world. In the meantime, I’m content to spew my thunderous internal venom upon the public from the bowels of my humble home in the midwest region of America.
The COVID-19 lockdown hasn’t really affected my day-to-day lifestyle too much since Stretchin’ Titmer opened up her fishy pissflaps and became the tyrannical schoolmarm for everyone in Michigan. I don’t like crowds, I hate large gatherings, and I’ve come to dislike parties. When all of the music nerds on Facebook ( this is before I finally got off of that loser platform ) started complaining that they ” needed live music ” to survive, I chuckled to myself knowing that I could give two shits whether or not I ever see some dumb-ass band play on stage ever again. Years ago, during a Melvins / Napalm Death / Melt-Banana show at The Majestic Theatre in Detroit, I made a life-changing decision while getting my eardrums raped, my legs going numb from standing, and looking at the back of everyone’s heads that I DON’T ENJOY LIVE MUSIC ANYMORE. I only went back a couple of times, and they were both on the balcony in each venue…so I could actually see the fucking band. Other than that, DONE. I’d rather watch a concert DVD.
I can’t stand fuckers. I hate the way they drive, I hate looking at them walking, I hate their stupid faces, I hate the way they smell, I hate their dumb kids, I hate their opinions, I hate their voices, and I hate the way they breathe MY air. I resent having to share my space with so many other beings, and because they’ve extended unemployment for all of the lazy pieces of shit out there, I can’t get my Naked Chicken Chalupa without waiting an hour in mile-long line – and that’s IF I get one at all!
Why do I have to know anyone’s pronouns? I’m a guy, you’re a girl. IT is singular, THEY is plural. If you have tits and you bleed once a month, you’re a chick. I got a beautiful cock and a prostate, so I’m a dude. My pronouns are simple : KING / FUCKOFF. Your pronouns are simple : RETARD / SHITHEAD.
I just gotta figure out how to pay my rent spreading hatred so I can live in a remote location and not be bothered by the great unwashed masses. I’m sure I would require the best internet connection known to man, and a store with liquor and meat within an hour drive. Hunter S. Thompson had the right idea – live on a secluded compound away from the hustle and bustle of a city, but be surrounded with all of your goodies, your work, your play, and someone warm to bed down with. That’s my idea of Heaven on Earth. But Hell? Burning for eternity, writhing in pain, screaming for mercy forever and ever and ever? Nah. Nope, Hell…..Hell is OTHER PEOPLE.
Now, you might be reading this and thinking to yourself, ” jesus christ – how in the fuck can it be everyone else? Maybe you’re the problem….maybe YOU’RE the asshole…maybe it’s JUST YOU. ”
Well, it IS. After all, I AM THE AMERICAN CURMUDGEON.
American Curmudgeon is published here every Friday morning at 9am, and a video podcast every Monday evening at 5:30pm. The American Curmudgeon podcast is hosted at the KMBP Podcast channel on YouTube here :