As much as we try to distance ourselves from the negative traits that are parents had, there is always that moment of clarity moment when we look in the mirror and realize that we are exactly like them. I don't mind having my mother's traits, I can be kind, compassionate, attentive, and we both share the same love for Negligee catalogs.(For entirely different reasons I hope.) I'm just lucky that I didn't inherit some of my old man's traits, the ability to belittle people, his Jekyll and hide mood-swings, and his weird love for women with excessive hair on their legs.(I remember when he was alive him telling me, "See there HumanityCritic, that right there is a real woman!!" So you can imagine his disgust when I said, "Shit, that woman right there is a Sasquatch! I wouldn't know whether to fuck her, or sheer her for a winter coat!!" He also got mad that I called her "Harry and The Henderson's" to her face whenever I saw her. I'm saying ladies, some hair is alright, but if you can braid the hair on your legs please shave that shit, you bloody fucking savage!)
But the one trait that was handed down from my father, the one trait that has gotten me uninvited to weddings and made people afraid that I would start fights at a baptism, is my extremely bad temper. For those who have read this blog for any amount of time know that I sought professional help for my anger issues, but that experience wound up with a highly trained mental health professional telling me that I was "fucking nuts". So for the past few months, like King Fu walking the earth on some "can you snatch this pebble out of my hand motherfucker?" shit, I have tried to unlock the mystery that is my temper on my own and basically try my best, for lack of a better term, calm the fuck down. Even though, like a kid getting "tea-bagged" by a bully a few times a week there has indeed been some testy moments(get it, "testy"), I have done a lot better when it comes to keeping my temper in check. Here are a few incidents that happened over the last week where I wanted to flip the fuck out, but like an Eskimo winning a blow-job contest, cooler heads prevailed.
My Lawn: For the past 2 years my relationship with my neighbors has been, well, strained at best. Lets see, there has been the white trash hair salon that the lady of the house had built in her garage which in turn led to people parking in front of my house, the looks of disgust I'd get from them every time I walked a miscellaneous woman to her car one drunken morning, how the man of the house almost got beaten the fuck up in front of his child by yours truly after he didn't acknowledge my "what's up" for the third time in a row, but there has always been one monumental issue that I had with the neighbors ever since they have lived there. That problem, in a nutshell, is concerning my lawn. Let me give you a brief background: The people who lived in that house before them had the fucked up habit of cutting multiple rows into my lawn each and every week. No matter how many times I would go over it with my lawn mower, passive aggressively telling them that they were cutting into my property, it's like they didn't give a shit and they would cut even further. After a while it stopped, not because we discussed it like adults or anything, not even because I showed my lovely neighbors documentation of where their property ended, but basically because one summer day when I saw them cutting into my yard I very innocently told them "If you do that again, I'm going to fucking kill you!!" It made me look crazy but it worked. So like old folklore that is passed down from generation to generation, it is my belief that when they sold the house to the current occupants they told them to cut into my yard, I'm serious.
I thought that the divorce of my unruly neighbors would stop their practice of cutting into my yard, I figured now that the lady of the house has the duty of getting her ass out there and cutting the lawn that she would have a common sense about her that her knuckle-dragging, "let me ignore the surveyors spray paint marks and wooden stick in the ground proving that I'm cutting into HumanityCritic's yard" ass didn't have. But last week, as I came home one afternoon, I had noticed that this broad cut 4-5 lines into my yard. Irate, here's what I wanted to do..
I wanted to...: Go over to her house, knock on the door and politely ask if her parents were siblings. I'm sure this wouldn't sit with her too well which I understand, so I can only imagine how upset she would get after I asked her "What are you, fucking retarded??" as I manually pointed her head in the direction of my lawn. The next few minutes, because I'm sick of the same bullshit, I would talk to her like she was a retarded toddler that was hard of hearing. I'd slowly show her the paperwork that indicates where her lawn ends and mine begins, then I would go out of my way and offer to blow it up to poster-size proportions and mount it to the front of her garage if her slow ass ever need it as a guide. Lastly, because I'm a helpful guy like that, I would get a can of spray paint and spray the words "Hey whore, don't pass this line! Thanks.."
What actually happened: I took a few deep breaths, relaxed, and proceeded to cut my own grass without making a fuss. As I got blacker under the 100 degree heat and did my lawn work, I was proud that I didn't lose my head like I had done a million times before. Granted, I did cut like 10 lines into her grass, 10 very uneven and patchy lines to get my point across, but at least I did it in a very calm fashion.
My friends Barbecue: Each year my friend Paul has a barbecue that I love going to, not only because the food is great, the fact that we freestyle, or even the ability to get drunk free of charge, I love going to his shin-digs because his wife has some of the most simple girlfriends imaginable, and I'm all for lines like "Hey, I have my own car!!" being the key to me being on the business end of some random piece of ass at a later date. Anyway, at the barbecue I'm in the middle of three very mentally inept chicks that I'm desperately trying to premature ejaculate with later, when I hear this drunk asshole making quite the disturbance. Dude is cursing people out, throwing things at people, inappropriate grabbing women, and worst of all he made the women that I wanted to sexuallydisappoint so uncomfortable that they wanted to leave. Paul looked at me to do something, so here's what I wanted to do..
I wanted to..: Go up to him and chop him in his throat, and when he was on the ground grasping for air I would go through his pockets then snatch his chain off.(a HumanityCritic signature move) When he regained his wits about him I'm sure that he would want a piece of me, so as we decided to engage in the aged old art of fisticuffs, I'd have him eating jabs the entire time, showing the simple minded bimbo's in attendance that I at least had a skill in something, even if I was quite the letdown in the bedroom. The next few minutes would probably involve me throwing him into the punch bowl, smacking him with some salad forks, possibly even tossing him into a grill or two.
What actually happened: I was so proud of myself that I didn't feel the need to assault the young man unnecessarily. The last thing that I wanted to do was perpetuate the angry black man image, so I really felt that I had accomplished something by very calmly escorting the gentleman to a cab that was called for him. Ok, so my "escorting" actually consisted of me grabbing him by the back of the next and physically kicking him into the cab like he was a stray dog or something, but I never hit him though!
The jackass in the check-out line: In not all that into astrology, but the one thing about Virgo's that I have read that I feel is spot on is how they say that Virgo's are very regimented. That's why if I ever had a hit-man that wanted to end me and the existence of this shitty blog, I wouldn't be that hard to find based on my utterly monotonous routine. Every day after I play basketball, I go to the supermarket to get some Gatorade before I get home. I could have stocked up on Gatorade at an earlier date so I would have it waiting for me when I got home, I could have even purchased it at a closer establishment to where I play ball at so I could quench my chubby thirsts on the drive home, but because I am a stickler for routine I go to the same grocery store near my house like clockwork. So yesterday, after I picked up my selection of Gatorade and started to get in line, this musclebound ass-hat rushed in front of me with his cart full of shit, and to add insult to injury he turned to me and said, "Sucks to be you huh???" I could actually feel the steam coming off my scalp, I mean, besides the blatant rudeness he had a cart full of shit and I had one sole item. That's when I wanted to..
I wanted to..: Choke the life out of him with that 1980's style string tank-top that he had on, watching him get beet red with me screaming "Who does it suck for now motherfucker!!" The next few minutes would consist of me kicking him vigorously, like how Joe Pesci and Robert DeNiro did that guy in "Goodfellas", as the employees and patrons of "Food Lion" look on in utter disbelief as I beat the brakes off of that motherfucker. My finishing move would be to empty the contents of his basket and grab some of his items for myself, afterwards throwing his entire cart onto his lifeless body, yelling "take that motherfucker!!!'
What actually happened: I waited calmly in line with my one item, as this shit-stain bought a shitload of supplements and other things to shrink your cock at an extremely fast rate. When I finally got to the cashier I was glad that I didn't cause a scene, because I knew that the old HumanityCritic would have gave him quite the helping of ass whipping. Granted, when I got outside and saw the man loading his groceries into his van with his wife, I did say "You are lucky I didn't Mame your dumb ass in there!" When he looked like he wanted to say some slick shit I said, "Don't get your ass kicked in front of your lady!!" I know, it's not the most positive tale that you've ever heard in your life, but at least I kept my cool.(Somewhat)