Geneva, You're Getting on My Last Good Nerve

Despite my best efforts to impart my impeccable wisdom as to the impenetrable error of your ways, just when I think I’ve think I’ve finally managed to browbeat you into behaving a little better, y’all insist upon getting on my last good nerve.

Why, some of you have become so adept at annoying me that it makes me want to whack you upside the head with a virtual newspaper. So, with only the best of intentions in mind, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

And we’ll start with your children, who should neither be seen nor heard.

If you kept ‘em locked up as nature intended, that’d be one thing. But no! You insist upon thrusting your ill-mannered brood upon the rest of mankind and then expect us to smile when their mere presence on this planet is more horrifying than the thought of Lindsay Lohan driving again.

My sanity-saving solace was that I could always beat a hasty retreat when confronted by your perturbing progeny, but now I can’t even do that because of a vile new trend in advertising.

I refuse to give the specific local car-dealer family the satisfaction of mentioning their short name, but watching them parade their bratty brood in front of the camera just to sell automobiles is far more frightening that Mitt Romney’s magic underwear.

What I want these marketing geniuses to tell me is, how does the fact you can procreate—something that falls into the realm of sneezing—specifically qualify you to sell a $25,000 vehicle?

And now we even have a radio advertisement following the same annoying format. The end times are most certainly upon us.

Along those same lines, and even though it’s not nearly as egregious as what we’ve just described, having your children create a shrieking, rambling and completely incoherent answering machine preamble is a crime against humanity that should be punishable by death by stoning.

Not the kids—the parents. If I really wanted to listen to something like that I’d turn on Fox News.

And I’m sad to say one of the offenders in that regard is none other than our esteemed owner Marty Kane, who really oughtta know better. The only reason I forgive him is because, unlike your ill-mannered miscreants, his children are well-behaved.

The only thing worse than those narcissistic answering machine folks are the ones who actually let a 5-year-old answer the phone. I would advise against that if for no other reason than I will now proceed to teach him or her some new phrases that will make him or her the hit of the kindergarten class.

My absolute favorite part of this ritual is when you ask the completely confounded curtain climber if their mommy or daddy is home only to have them respond with a simple “yes” followed by a long dead silence. Personally, I’d make ‘em start practicing the phrase “do you want fries with that” now because that’s exactly where they’re headed.

And, yes! Despite getting pushback from some of you, not only do those back car window family stick figures remain an utter abomination, it’s gotten worse. Now some oblivious parents actually plaster their children’s names below each icon, which is nothing more than an open invitation for all child predators to approach your children as if they've known them for years.

You really oughtta have to pass an IQ test to have kids.

But enough about children! Let’s get back one of my favorite weekly endeavors —grocery shopping.

Please tell me, why is it that so many women absolutely refuse to locate their wallet or checkbook until the very last item has run through the scanner? Then, suddenly confronted with the terrifying notion that groceries generally aren’t free, they start to scramble through their overstuffed purse while the rest of are forced to stand there and enjoy the 10-minute show.

That said, it’s not nearly as bad as the women—and again, it’s almost always females—who can’t settle up a grocery bill with anything less than exact change. Who cares if the line already stretches to the back of the store? They’ll make everyone else wait while they drill to the very bottom of their wallet in search of that last penny.

Lastly, and to digress yet again, I’m not sure if this is the result of that nitwit NFL quarterback, but I’m starting to see too many youth sports participants Tebowing and/or pointing upward after a minor moment.

Ya know, God really doesn’t care about youth sports—or professional sports, either. With all that war, famine and disease stuff to worry about, the fact that your son barely managed to kick the ball in the goal by sheer happenstance certainly shouldn’t be foisted upon Him.

Please get a grip and give God a break! Considering our general planetary condition, He could really use one.

Now, I’m sure at least one you will add commentary to the effect of columnists who expound on their pet peeves are even worse than the inane people they write about. And that’s another thing that annoys me. Please remember that I’m only trying to make the world a better place—for me.

And if you don’t like it, put in the effort and get your own column.