Pepperidge Farm remembers!

As you may tell from some of my other blogs, I have the ability to rant. And rant. And rant. I consider it something of a superpower, a gift, and a curse all rolled into one. I try to use it wisely, but I have moments….okay, days….okay, weeks…where it’s used for anything and everything that irritates me.

Enter my exposure to the “Pepperidge Farm Remembers” meme. It cracked me up. And since I’m in a foul mood, it’s time for a rant, Oppa Pepperidge Style.

Do you remember:
When people used to be polite to each other?
When people didn’t have their head rammed so far up their phone’s ass they avoided getting run over by cars?
When we held politicians to a higher moral standard than celebrities?
When politicians actually did their fucking job and represented the interests of the people?
When the MTA actually ran a fucking train on time?
When the MTA did actual repair work on time and under budget?
When your job paid you what you’re REALLY worth?
When people used phones to……GASP…make actual phone calls?
When AOL was all the rage?
When ISPs didn’t throttle your service to get more money out of you?
When Nazis were people you stomped out on sight?
When charter schools were seen as the utter shit they are?
When we had a president that wasn’t a complete fucking retard that needs to be thrown out of office now?
When Congress didn’t spend millions on a bullshit investigation into embassy attacks to cover up the fact they voted to cut the embassy budget 2 years in a row, hence being directly responsible for the entire mess?
When Cabinet appointees were actually…shudder…qualified for the positions they were nominated for?
When it dawned on people that saving the environment was important?
When people didn’t take opioids like they’re going out of style?
When owning a gun meant you were a responsible gun owner and not some random asshole who got it at a gun show because he or she could?
When “No” actually meant “No” and not some imaginary bullshit that meant the opposite?
When a high school diploma got you a job that could support a family and buy a house?
When people realized the danger of credit cards and didn’t use them as much?
When singers actually wrote their own songs with real, understandable lyrics?
When music wasn’t all just pop garbage spewed out to make money?
When being part of a family owned company meant you felt like a part of their family, and vice versa?
When the government at least made the fa├žade of an attempt to respect the rights of Native Americans and the land they were forced onto?
When banks helped you save money for the future and not hit you with fees for every fucking thing?

Pepperidge Farm remembers.

I can keep going, but I think you get the picture.

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Fuck off my phone, asshole.

People simply amaze me with the balls they have.

I’m at my local pizzeria waiting for a small pie to go. I like pizza. A lot. But no, I wasn’t eating it all myself. Hakuna your tatas on that. I have reasonable amounts of eating ability, not pig out on the constant ability.

So I’m on my phone texting with a friend when a guy who was sitting in the pizzeria walks up to me. Now mind you, I’ve got my headphones on listening to my MP 3 player while texting, so it would even be clear to Stevie Wonder I don’t want to be bothered.

“Sorry to bother you,” he starts.

Pause.

No, dude, you are not sorry to bother me. If you were sorry to bother me, your ass wouldn’t have bothered me in the first place. So please, stop lying.

“Can I use your phone to make a phone call?”

Pause.

Motherfucker, I don’t know you from a hole in the wall. I have no idea who you’re calling, or even if you’re going to make a call. For all I know, you’re going to take my phone and make a run for it. Fuuuuuuuuck that shit. You think I’m stupid? You’re not touching my phone. Go ask the pizzeria. They got a landline. But I’ll be god DAMNED if you’re touching my phone.

“Sorry, my phone’s on minutes,” I replied, to which he moved on to the 3 high school girls waiting on their food. They shot him down too.

Some people got some fucking nerve, I tell you. This is Brooklyn, pal. That ain’t happening. Make sure you got a phone on you at all times. They ain’t hard to get. Shit, there’s 5 places within rolling out of bed distance from my place that you can get a phone on the spot.

This is why you always gotta be on watch. Retards are around every corner trying to prove how slick they are by robbing you of your things. Stay aware, people. Don’t let them win.