Nose rings. If that's your thing, if you want to punch a hole through your nose and walk around like a prize sow, that's your business. But it bugs me. That's because I have allergies. All I can think about when I see a nose ring, especially the kind through the septum, is how the hell do they control the snot? The drip, drip of a cold winter nose or the pollen of springtime. What do these people do when uncontrollable snot comes running out of there? And did I mention that I really, really don't like it on somebody who is serving me food?
Gray Hondas. Yes, the automobile, they bug the living crap out of me. When we lived in Florida, Hondas were relatively rare. For some reason, here in Chicago, every other car is a Honda and they move very slowly and very stupidly. Drivers of Hondas don't seem to be able to figure out stoplights, the lines that divide the lanes on the street, or just what that long pedal to the right of the other pedals is for. Seriously, we get behind one of those rice burners at least ten times a day. They are always gray and they are always the slowest car on the street.
Fire-fucking-crackers. God knows I loved those things when I was younger. Blowing up model cars, blowing up my sister's dolls, blowing up neighbor's flower pots, and my favorite, sticking the fuse through a lit cigarette and leaving it on somebody's window sill. Yes, I was a little asshole when I was a teenager. But I am not a teenager anymore. I am a crabby old guy who walks an eighty five pound dog around the block every evening, who does not like it when the punks at the corner blow off cherry bombs just as we walk by. It is amazing how much power that dog has. Eighty five pounds of dog dragging two hundred pounds of fat old guy all the way back home.