Last year around this time I listed a bunch of things for which I’m truly thankful.  Well, this year I’m not in the mood.  So instead I’m going to list a bunch of things I hate.

National Novel Writing Month. Who the hell came up with this lame idea?  Crank out 150,000 words in 30 days?  What’s the point?  Your novel will suck.  In all candor, your novel would probably suck if you worked on it for a year, but seriously, it’s going to suck.  Why can’t everyone just paint something really fast?  At least that way you can pass it off as “abstract” or something.  You can’t spew out a badly written novel and pass it off as art.  Well, unless you’re Dave Eggers.  Listen, if you want to let your fingers fly all over something for no good purpose, leave your keyboard alone and come over to my place and give me a back rub.

Songs that have sound effects such as beeping that make you think your cell phone is ringing when you drive. “All I Need” by Air might be a nice song, but it has a synthesizer riff that makes you say “WHAA--!  It might be the CEO!” And you grasp for your phone and you veer out of your lane and by the time you’ve figured out the situation you’ve slid into a crosswalk and killed a family of five.

Shopping for my family.  I have no idea what the hell they want.  Although my brother is having a daughter, so screw it, I’ll just buy him a whole bunch of Gerber’s baby food.  And then I’ll get a whole bunch of Gerber’s baby food for my parents so they can re-gift it.  My niece is going to be my ticket to a stress-free holiday!  I love her already!

Speaking of “holiday.” I actually heard some cretin complain about the word “holiday” because it stands for ‘holy day,’ and that’s a religious phrase and therefore it offends him.  Hey, you know what offends me?  Morons.  You’re all Mr. Picky in regards to linguistics, but I bet you also use an apostrophe when you spell out decades, i.e. 1970’s.  Admit it, you do.  Bite me.

Norah Jones.  I was tolerant of her because I figured that Grammy would send her straight to oblivion just like Paula Cole and Hootie & the Blowfish.  But they still play her crap. Bland music.  Bland voice.  Bland name.  Who the hell calls their kid Norah Jones?  Mr. and Mrs. Jones, if you’re reading this, you’re on my list.

Happy Thanksgiving!