I’ve read Jen FUCKING Mann’s new book and I’ve been inspired.
Yeah, I got Jen Mann’s new book before it came out. Because I’m a big shot. It’s called Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Yuletide Yahoos, Ho-Ho-Humblebraggers, and Other Seasonal Scourges. Holy shit, was that title mention also a cleverly inserted link? To the Amazon page where you can buy her book? For real? Yeah. You’re welcome.
I knew it would be full of annoying situations dealt with hilariously, but I didn’t expect it to be so warm and charming. Really, it almost reads like a guide to becoming part of Jen’s family for the holidays. There’s love baked into every section, people. Baked right in.
But it got me thinking. Who do I want to punch in the throat? Who pushes my VIOLENCE WITH A THROAT-STRIKE button? I considered this over a 2015 limited edition PSL and I came up with 7 types of people that I can’t stand to be around. I’m presenting them here as Individuals Who I Wish to Strike in the Neck Area because punching people in the throat is Jen’s thing.
Drunks. I’m South Side Irish. I’ve been confronted with drunks since I’ve been. Drunks want everyone around them to also be drunk. They think that being drunk is the entire point of drinking. They’re loud, pushy, and shamelessly full of their own shit. Like politicians. I understand that addiction is a complicated, many tentacled beast. But a post all about striking assholes in the neck isn’t the place to express understanding. So fuck them. Wait for my “People I Want to Embrace and Comfort” post if you want empathy and/or sympathy. You might have a long wait.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: They won’t feel it. Or remember it. Or learn from it.
Politicians. To be honest, I’m rarely around politicians. And by rarely I mean never. Except for that one time I was standing next to Mayor Daley. But he was always more of a gangster than a politician. I respect gangsters. I don’t care what side of the aisle you sit on or whether your underwear is red or blue–if you believe anything a politician says, then you are simply huffing farts. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if it can be fixed. This is where I play the Amateur Humor Blogger Card and fold.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: Because they’re armed to the teeth.
Zealots. You know a zealot. A one-issue hurricane of status updates. A single-cause tsunami of tweets. They see the world as a battleground for whatever crusade they’re championing. And they want to enlist you. No other issue is as important to the health and wellness of humanity as [FILL IN THE FUCKING BLANK]. DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? WAKE UP AMERICA! IF YOU DON’T EMBRACE [GUN CONTROL/THE 2ND AMENDMENT/JESUS/ATHEISM/DETOXING/CROSS-FITTING/PUMPKIN SPICED LATTES] THEN YOU’RE A FOOL AND PART OF THE PROBLEM AND THE REASON THIS COUNTRY IS DOOMED! Whether or not you agree with them is beside the point. If they carpet bomb my TL with their rants, they might cause me to take the opposing view. Or just unfollow them.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: Because that would prove that the world is against them and it will make them fight harder and scream louder.
Pedestrians. When did people forget how to be bipedal? It’s kind of one of the defining characteristics of being people. Walking upright on two fucking legs and opposable thumbs. We own that shit. Yet, every fucking day I encounter people during my commute who have no clue how to sidewalk. They spill out of trains and cabs and immediately begin to stumble about like they’re wandering around in the devastating aftermath of a tornado. “Where’s my cat? Have you seen Snuggles? She was beautiful! Now she’s gone and everyone is dead! WHERE AM I? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT IS THIS HELL-LIGHT IN MY EYES?” It’s called morning, it’s what you see when you’re not looking at your phone. And when you put an escalator in front of these zombies, it gets exponentially worse. I’ve seen people stand at the bottom of the escalator–just stand there–while they try to figure out where to go next, as the conveyor belt full of other zombies pushes more idiots into them. I watch this all the while wishing I had a fanny pack loaded with poison-tipped shurikens.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: Because I have a fucking job I have to fucking get to and I’m already late because of these asshats.
Women. Women are just awful. They can’t stand a happy man who is resting and happy. They will immediately find shit for that man to do. And they’re worse to women. They’re always scheming and maneuvering against other women. It’s a constant popularity contest with them and GOD HELP YOU IF YOU ARE ABOVE THEM IN THE POLLS. Because they will tear your bitch ass down. Sure they’ll talk a good game about empowerment and sisterhood and all that shit, but just pair a tight dress with a new hairstyle or brag about the perfect party you threw for your daughter and hey’ll talk about you behind your back for days. SHHHHHH! Listen. you can hear them. They’re giggling with giggles that are like tiny little blades chopping into your self-worth. And they most certainly will cut you down to size.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: Because a man that strikes a woman is a piece of shit.
Men. The only thing worse than women are men. Men are always trying to compensate for some insecurity. They’re a herd of “one-uppers” who can’t let your story be your story. They’re not listening, they’re waiting. Waiting for you to shut up. Waiting to pounce. Waiting to scoff. Waiting to be better than you in some capacity. Any capacity. Line up a row of men and ask them how many push ups they can do. Go down the line. By the time you get to the end, the last man will boast about being able to do thousands of push-ups while sporting an 18-foot erection. Even if the line only has two men in it. If you’re a man and you can’t lift a truck or drill a woman–A WOMAN–for ten sweaty hours, then don’t bother talking to these hair farms. Men are such a bunch of annoying douchebags.
Why I won’t strike them in the neck: Because these guys can all bench press 6000 pounds if you believe what they say. I’d just get my ass kicked.
Me. If they ever make a time machine I will buy mine with one purpose in mind. I’ll leave all the Hitler assassinating and Kennedy saving to other warriors. I’m sure those two things will happen within moments of the machine being constructed (and countless others will try to undo those two things moments later). No, I will get in that machine with the sole intent on slapping the shit out of myself. For a multitude of reasons. This post being one of them. And that Soft Close Toilet Seat post too.
Why I won’t strike me in the neck: I am. Right at this moment, I’m beating the hell out of myself. But I’m such a wuss that I don’t feel a thing. Now I’m sobbing. So predictable. Way to go, me.
Go buy Jen Mann’s new book (well, pre-order it–it comes out October 13). You won’t be disappointed. Don’t forget to check out her blog for hilarious free content while you wait. And see the proper way to take people down with a throat-punch.
By the way, Jen didn’t pay me for this post. She didn’t even know that I was writing it. She’ll probably serve me with a Cease and Desist order if she finds out. This was all me. Broke-ass me.