The word “bespoke.” I was in a bar last week that boasted “custom bespoke cocktails.” First of all, way to be redundant. Second, what the fuck is a bespoke cocktail? By definition, that a poncy way of saying “we’ll mix whatever the hell you want.” In which case, that’s like, you know, EVERY BAR. Fuuuuuck yooooouuuuu.
“Curate” is another word. Holy fuck is this word thoroughly misappropriated. Almost as bad as “diva” was. Museums and art galleries only, if that. You don’t get to fucking curate anything else. A butcher is not a meat curator, a DJ is not a music curator, you don’t curate Twitter feeds, none of you assholes are curators in any capacity. Please fuck off with the curating.
“Occupy” anything. Here’s a bonus fuck you to the assholes who wasted their meaningless lives about a year ago trying to picket Wall Street. A lot of good that did, you fuckwads. No one gave a shit then, and fewer than no one give a shit today. But what’s worse is somehow this “occupy” term taking on a whole new meaning for which it was never intended. Don’t believe me? Look at this shit on the left.
Lena Dunham. Holy shit, you are SUCH a bore. If Lena Dunham is to be cultural milestone, then 2012 is the year of celebrating mediocrity. You’re not funny, you’re not interesting, how the fuck you finagled million dollar deals out of tepid, borings ideas that no one gives a shit about is beyond me. And frankly, I’m jealous as fuck. Because no one’s giving me million dollar deals for any my stupid ideas. Oh, that’s right, I don’t have hyperartistic celebrity parents like you, you charlatan. Ugh, enough with this dummy.
Instagram is all its faux filtered tilt-shift bullshit glory. If someone took away Instagram tomorrow, would you miss it? Would you? I know if someone took away my Facebook or Twitter, I’d be fucking pissed. But Instagram? Who gives a shit. Instagram did one thing only – they ability to share filtered, tilt-shifted photos. Sharing? Any number of other platforms can do that. Shitty filters and fake tild-shift effects? Every other camera app can do that now. So what’s the value of keeping Instagram around? And they’ve now got some new policy where they can sell my photos? Fuck that. I just deleted my account.
Plastic mini skateboards. I got my elder kid a skateboard last year. It was brilliant – a proper skateboard with a maple deck, trucks, big bearing wheels, the lot. Then these stupid vinyl mini-skateboards show up all over the city. All commandeered by some hipster douchebag with a gnarly beard. It takes every fiber of my being not to throw an empty Starbucks cup in front of one of these douchebags just so see him fly and eat some curb. Fuck off with these little skateboards, you look ridiculous.
Homeland. If there’s one thing I can reliably count on each Monday, it’s that my Twitter feed and my Facebook page will be completely inundated with comments about fucking Homeland. “ZOMG!! Homeland is the greeaaatest!!!!” “WTF! Homeland jumped the shark!!” I have never seen the show and at this point, I never want to. It may be a good show, but I’ll never know for real because you fuckers have ruined it by being completely incapable of not yammering about it all day and night.
Dubstep. Thank you all for already killing this off. Skrillex can now go back to pumping gas in the Valley.
That Gangnam guy. Please, PLEASE, PLEASE go away. I hope someone takes him across the border and straps him to one of Kim Jong Un’s “weather rockets.”
YOLO. A few years ago, when I was in the market for my first paddleboard, I nearly bought one that was Yolo brand. Thank fuck I didn’t or I’d have to set on fire, gather up the ashes, then set it on fire again just to be sure. If anyone ever uses the phrase YOLO to you, verbally or in writing, no judge would ever convict if you decided to stab ‘em with a rusty spoon.
Camera phone self-portraits in the mirror. It’s the holding of the phone that’s so, so stupid. If you must use your camera phone to take pictures of yourself, make sure it’s dick shots only (Brett Favre can help if you’re not sure). No more self-portraits. And I’m not even going to get into doing with iPads.
Moustaches. I don’t just mean in November (although that can fuck off, too, because all that Movember bullshit is prejudiced against those of us who can refrain from shaving for two months and still look like cantaloupes). I mean year-round. Hipster moustaches, moustache ink on index fingers, glue-on stashes, all of it. A follicle tuft positioned between your upper lip and your nostrils is hardly a thing that needs to be celebrated, so please fuck off. Moustaches on Instagram are the fucking worst.
This Annoys Me 