Being A Crank
Where I do I begin? Even the thought of blogging about being
a crank makes me very cranky.
For me, being a crank takes skill and talent. Skill, as in perfecting
your bitchy death stare looks followed by various huffs and puffs. Talent is
embracing being a crank and all that comes with it, including eye rolling, slouching,
shifting weight from one side of your body to the other to encourage whatever
spatially unaware aura rapist is almost in your pants that you might as well
have a sign on the back of your t-shirt that reads.. ‘queue on me... and please
don’t forget to breathe on my neck while your’re mounting me’.
I sit here in my cosy sitting room, not a care in the world,
happy as Larry..or Pharrell (that’s right, I am so up to date) ..then my
perfect world is ruined by the excited shrill sounds of children (not my
children, they’re tied up-it’s the new hide and seek), happy children outside playing
in the sun, being happy. It annoys me. I am a crank, this is my fuel. I stand
at the blinds like a 70 year old man, pants up to me chest , jaw out a bit
further than the rest of my face cause I’m chewing on my false teeth. I am
peering out using my laser vision to kill them all. How dare they invade my
ears with their happiness. I have
visions of walking out in slow motion, while everyone else is in normal motion
to make them feel even more uncomfortable, picking up their ball and talking
out my ninja sword and slashing it in half like Fruit Ninja. Of course I would
never do any of this but the thought gives me pure joy.
The kinda joy you get when an overly confident woman in
stripper heels face plants herself on the ground while trying to impress the lads in the nigh club with some sexy dancing. Or the kind of joy you get when you really hate
someone but are afraid to say it but then it turns out a lot of other people
hate that person too but were afraid they were alone and so stayed quiet also.
Or the kind of joy you get from complaining in a blog about humans being human.
Being a crank isn’t for everyone, only the most elite,
egotistical, centre of the universe, stern faced, easily annoyed people can
claim the crank title. Here is a further list of things that really annoy me
and turn me into a crank that probably shouldn’t but hey, just ‘Crank Dat Sh*t
Up!’
-People who don’t queue
-people who queue
-people who think they are in a queue
-shop assistants who stare into your soul when giving you
your change back
-shops
-people who shop
-people
-people who breathe
-people who walk slowly, people who walk fast
-going to a shop with a carrier bag from another shop
-playsuits (no one wants to see your arse ingest your
clothing)
-hair up in a messy bun (the unwashed backcombed nest hair doesn’t
just scream hobo it just screams... cause it’s a half dead animal and needs CPR.. or
a brush)
Bah humbug
