Why Do We Complain Constantly? Because Life Is Wonderful

Recently I’ve been finding a wealth of articles that are really good at bitching about things. Take this embittered little numberabout veggie trays, or absolutely anything written by the pirate/lumberjack lambaster of everyday things, Maddox. Hating things is funny and popular and something that we lemmings of the interwebs can huddle around.

A good idea is worth stealing, I’ve always said. Someone else was always saying it before me, so now I always say it as a way of complimenting them. I tried to apply that logic and fashion a bitch-tastic post of my own. It didn’t take.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of things I came up with to complain about:

  • Why don’t they make catsup packets bigger? Has anyone ever needed one, single catsup packet?
  • If there’s one thing I hate, it’s those people that say/spell catsup instead of ketchup. We don’t need both spellings.
  • Don’t think I’m letting colonel/kernel off the hook either.
  • As men, why did we agree to start paying attention to fashion? Were we tired of wearing sweatpants to watch football games and not paying for tailoring?
  • Why in the name of Parnelli Jones doe any highway have a speed limit under 75 mph? We’re not driving Ford Pintos anymore.
  • Stand-up comics pretty much talk about food, sex, social oddities and their kids. Nothing is worse than hearing an act for the first time and the comic says, “So I have three kids…”
  • How can anyone complain about being single in 2013? The resources for meeting people and dating are practically endless. This isn’t Lost Springs, Wyoming.
  • Is there actually a girlfriend or wife born after 1980 that understands her significant other owns a phone for his own convenience? Unless she’s paying for his bill, it’s not attention on demand.

I mean, I could probably throw up three paragraphs on each of these things, and one day I probably will. But each thing I thought about that annoyed me really doesn’t. I utilize the dating resources. I manage expectations for relational communication. I fast-forward the Netflix when Kevin Hart starts yapping about his kids. I get around fast enough, don’t really care about fashion and have never been burned by syntactical redundancies. Sure someone should dispense some word-justice on the size of ketchup packets, but I probably don’t need the extra sugar anyway.

Life’s pretty wonderful, really. I can wake up every morning and thank the good Lord that my life is so NOT like Game of Thrones. I don’t, but I could. I guess my point, if I have one at all, is this: If anyone actually has the time to sit down and write a comically angry blog post about the banality and blandness of veggie trays—and you have the time to read that same article—then life is pretty cushy.

Speaking of, why hasn’t a more hazard-resistant cushion risen to prominence in public seating? Aren’t we tired of sitting on plastic folding seats at our NFL games? Then again, it’s the NFL. Their seating hasn’t been a problem since the 80s.

Puking sunshine,
Dusty “photovore” Riedesel

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