Happy Yuckgiving.........

The clock ticks, the calendar page turns, the weather turns from "take a dip" to "Turn the damn heat up Ernest."

The candy gets stale, WalMart has an entire room setup with Christmas junk.

Thanksgiving is around the corner.

But Hark. In this day and age of divisiveness, I ain't quite ready to carve the turkey. Rather than customarily sharpening the pencil to address "Reasons to give thanks", I vote, damnit, sometimes life is simply poopy, time to share "Yuckgiving", you know, talk about all the crap in life.

Sides. Life is now all about sides. Soon, the Thanksgiving side, today, the Yuckgiving side.

FOUR TIMES in the last week, I've been out and about and I had to pee... I had to pee...DREADFULLY soon. I did the pee pee walk (where one scurries and the inner thighs are pressed together, chaffing, steps are abbreviated, but hurried, all the way to the restroom sign.) One enters through a super thick bathroom door - and I gotta tellya, there's got to be some dude in the door design room of The Anderson Corp in Bayport, Minnesota laughing his ass off as he watches me HURRY into the bathroom, open the door, and then it takes an act of Congress (or, nowadays, mebbe an Executive Order) to get the damn door shut. You PUSH and you PUSH, and it's molasses. Slow. You can't supply enough pressure. You're bursting at the zipper. Whilst one pushes to get the damn thing shut, ya peek to check for leak. Yuck. I'm giving Yuck to the folks that invented the impossible to close fast bathroom door. Funny ha ha, not.

The aisleblocker, Yuck. WallyWorld. With the list in one hand, and it's even written out in order of "whereinthehell it is in the store" - ya go, ya roll. In the aisle, wide enough for an elephant and a sumo wrestler to fit thru at the same time, there she (sorry) and her cart sits.. the aisleblocker. There ain't enough room on the right. There ain't enough room on the left. You sit. You fume. You cough. You jingle your keys. There's no stealing their damn attention from whatever it is they're looking at. Unless it gets really extended, I ain't of the "Excuse me" ilk... besides, I kinda enjoy waiting until they actually comprende' whatinthehell has unfolded to see if they eventually say "Oh, I'm sorry", or, if they are instead a rudeassaisleblocker, thumb their nose at you and begrudgingly move on/over.

Workout singers, yuck. Most of 'em have headphones on, so they receive only a 'partial yuck', but yesterday, I hopped on the treadmill, some old dude was three treadmills away (Victor? You're an old dude.?..... yes, but... there are people still older, and this dude was older, by at least ten years.}... My heartbeat was up to about 92 when I hear "Everybody..listen to me.. and return me, my ship.. I'm your captain, I'm your captain, though I'm feeling, mighty sick." Well no shit Sherlock, and so was everybody else within a half mile of you. He was: LOUD. OFFBEAT. HORRIBLE. OFF KEY. And sadly, he knew the song's lyrics. ALL OF THEM. YUCK. By the time he was done, my heartbeat was somewhere around 132.

Barbara Streisand has probably retired, but if she ain't, she oughta come out with a new version of her song "People." It could go like this: "People...people who hate people.. are the suckiest people...full or anger and worse.. but first, you're a person who hates people." Ya know what I mean? There are real 'friends' out there, who, when ya sit across from 'em, beside 'em, in the car with 'em.. you wonder in advance "HOW MANY PEOPLE WILL HE/SHE DISS?" Ahm, Victor? Yes? Isn't that what you're doing here? DISSING PEOPLE? Uh huh, frogbreath it is, BUT, it's allowed, this is my ONCE A YEAR "Yuckgiving" blog.. so wart off brother.... I NO LIKEY WHEN PEOPLE PUT OTHER PEOPLE DOWN, IT MAKEY ME THINK, "WHAT DO THEY SAY ABOUT ME WHEN I AIN'T AROUND?".. ok, heartbeat back to 92 now, no more ALL CAPS, sorry. Kinda.

BACKPATTING (sorry, SLIPPED). Usually in sporting events (but sometimes in political rallies, and in addresses to the nation, oops, sorry, slipped again.) It might be, your team is down 42 to 7, but you intercept a pass, and you can't resist the urge to audition for Dancing With The Stars, strut like a peacock, gyrate irrationally.. Please. Get. Up. Hand. Ball. To. Ref. Go. To. Sideline. It's what you're paid to do. YUCKGIVING.

Video interruptus. Years, patience, and popup blockers have gotten us thru the popups. We've strolled into those stories, teasers where you click to read, then, you gotta click "next page" (again and again to get the rest of the story), huh uh, I'm outta here." BUT, the video you wanna see.. allofasudden, you're on the edge of the chair, perked, enjoying, and you see "Ad starts soon." DAMNIT! YUCK!

Slow loading screens.
Tailgaters.
Political ads.
Driving fitty-five in a sixty-five.
Lies and liars.
No usey turnsignal.
Foodchompers, loud ones.
Stubbing toe.
Your insteada you're.. I seen.. I mean <- at the start of a sentence.
Cereal poured, yuck, no milk in fridge.

You're out and about. You gotta poop. You finally find where the bathroom is. You FINALLY get the heavyass door closed. You poop. NO PAPER. The paper towel holder is a County away. You stand. You waddle. You waddle back. It spreads. Well, sorry, it DOES. You sit. You wipe. And, it's as coarse as 45. Sorry, slipped again. (Well, it IS Yuckgiving Day!)

Put on hold.
You get a text you've been dying to see, the phone shuts down 'cause you're at 9%.
Nosepickers.
Servers who say "Absolutely" into infinitum.
People who finish my sentence for me. Please wait, that's yucky.
"Just sayin' "..."Like I said".. "Honestly"... "Same difference."... "Chill out."... "110%"..

Bloggers who wake up on the wrong side of bed.

Hehe.

Happy Yuckgiving.

Love, Victurd