so dumb it doesn’t deserve a title
(Originally posted 4/24/2016. Why? I’m not sure.)
It’s funny what annoys me sometimes. Little things that just set me off. Take, for example, how much I hate people who don’t know how to clap. I’m not talking about clapping in rhythm; I understand that not everybody has been graced with the ability to keep the beat. I’m talking about simply clapping your hands together.
The act that if seen by an alien race would have them wondering what it was that had these creatures banging their appendages together. Clapping. Little kids can clap… and do so way too often.
But there are people that when I watch them clapping I want to punch them in the face. It’s like every clap looks like they are going to miss their hands entirely. Perfectly normal people that transform themselves into complete retards every time they try to applaud something. I have literally had my jaw fall open and the words “what the fuck?” come tumbling out before I’m able to stop them.
How tough is it to fucking clap??
It has ended friendships and romances. I just can’t get past it when I see someone who doesn’t know how to clap. I wonder why they can’t just look in the mirror and work on it. You know, like I did with my orgasm face. It wasn’t easy and it certainly wasn’t much fun but I knew that what I was doing (facially speaking) wasn’t cutting it so I got to work and fixed it. Now when I approach that blessed pinnacle of exultation I am confident because I have trained myself to nonchalantly lift one eyebrow, give a little shudder and then finish with a quick wink. You think that kind of cool just happens?!
No. It takes discipline. The kind of commitment these bad-clappers obviously lack.
It’s funny what you end up respecting in others. Little things that impress me.
For example. I have this friend who was telling that he got a bit of a scare the other morning when a centipede crawled out of his sink when he was brushing his teeth. He showed me how big it was and held his two fingers an inch apart.
That was it. There is no way I could have told that story without exaggerating the length of the centipede. No way. If it was an inch I would have held my fingers two inches apart. If the centipede had been two inches long I would have told the story about seeing a pair of enormous insect legs emerging from the sink and fleeing before it had managed to drag its entire body out of the drain. I might have even made mention of the Army’s heroic battle to kill it with flamethrowers. I just don’t have it in me to show the insect’s true length.
So obviously you have to respect a man who doesn’t exaggerate. Although now I think about it, it does seem a little odd that he wouldn’t throw in a little color to the story. Could it be that the centipede was actually only half an inch long and he not only exaggerated but also was scared by a little baby centipede? Pussy.
Now I think about it, I’ve never seen this guy clap.
Yep. I’m going to end that friendship just to be on the safe side.