Things That Piss Me Off, Volume 1

This is called "Things That Piss Me Off." This is not called "Things That Annoy Me" or "Things That Mildly Disturb Me." These things truly piss me off.

--Wind Chills. Holy crap. Like, when I check out the weather, I'm looking mostly for the temperature. If I want to know if it's raining or snowing or hailstorming, I can look out the window. A cursory glance, however, won't tell me how cold it is. So I look to you, Mr. Weatherman (or Ms. Weatherwoman). Your job is to tell me what the temperature is. Great, it's 40 degrees out. That's cold. But then you drop this little "wind chill of 25 degrees" factoid on my head. What the hell? Is it 40 or is it 25? Because, if it feels like it's 25, guess what? For all intents and purposes, it is 25!! I don't really care that it's actually 40 degrees; I don't have any crops affected by the actual temperature. I DO have fingers and a nose that are affected by what it feels like. Don't fill my head with your abstract numbers. And don't ever, EVER call it "the real feel." Oooooh I REALLY hate the "real feel."

--Discriminatory bar wenches. Now, before you complain, I am not anti-women. Far from it. Wench is clearly a derogatory term that should not be used, except in clear cases of bartender discrimination. The other night, a select few of us (read: those of us with nothing better to do) went to a fine Irish establishment that serves adult beverages. Being the gentleman I am, I offered immediately upon arrival to buy the first round of said adult beverages (essentially, I dragged everyone out, and this was how I would remedy the "this sucks, Joe, I hate you" phenomenon). Crickets. I got crickets. A few minutes later, I ask again, a little more forcefully. I get orders, go up to the bar, and relay the orders to the young lady serving drinks. She looked nice enough, not anything like the man-hating succubus that she is. She provides me the two mixed drinks, one beer (on special, no less), and a glass of water. She charges me $15.50. Not bad. Three drinks, three dollars on the bar...$20 for a few hours of fun is not too much to pay. A little while later, we've all finished our drinks, and one of my esteemed colleagues...we'll call her "Billy"...goes to the bar to buy another round. She buys the same exact drinks, down to the glass of water. Pretty soon, we're all done, and it's time to go home. I have no idea how the topic came up, but the topic of the price of the drinks comes up. I mention that it was $15.50, and Billy informs me that she paid $13.75. THE BAR WENCH RIPPED ME OFF. Why? BECAUSE I AM A GUY. I had to pay the "All the rest of you are douchebags towards me every night, you are likely to be no different so suck it" tax.

I'm going back there for my $1.75 sometime. Don't think I won't. Friggin' bar wench. She knew what she was doing. That explains the "here's your change, a-hole" comment. Okay, she didn't say that. But she thought it.

--Adam Sandler. I used to think he was funny. I really did. Then, I came back for Thanksgiving break my freshman year of college and thought it would be a good idea to see what was sure to become an animated classic, "Eight Crazy Nights." I don't think I need to tell you that the film wasn't really worth even the discounted student ticket. Ever since then, Adam Sandler sucks. There. I said it. I should see him about getting my $6 back, too.

Man, between the crappy movie and the rip-off at the bar, I'm gonna be pulling in some major coin this week. Got that, ladies? Crazy money.