While I consider myself of a jovial disposition and given to a generally moderate and accepting temperament, there are types of persons which I find difficult to abide. and indeed should they be shipped off in airless, tightly nailed boxes to some remote desert, I would think myself unlikely to lose sleep, nor perhaps even to notice, except in that pleasantly absent way the air smells sweeter after the passing of a wagon full of dung.
The first of these are canoodlers. Wanton layabouts which vex me with their purposeless lolly-gagging and flim-flamming. They are only so much detritus clogging up the plumbing of the remaining human race. Like cow-leavings on a split-rail, the canoodler sits and ossifies yielding his dilly-dallying stench in full sense of more industrious nostrils which pass by on their way to the mercantile.
Closely related, but of a more loquacious disposition are the ruminators, postulators, and formulators. Given to expulsions of verbal steam which would impress even Old Faithful with their relentlessness and reliability. One only has to introduce a topic of any variety in conversation and the ruminator will set forth on a lengthy explanation of a solution that accomplishes a decrease in the exigency of the problem discussed and a state of emergency in how to most quickly get a cork placed firmly in their maw. A complete absence of knowledge poses no impediment to their gas-baggery.
“The Denver Nuggets” are perhaps the most poorly named athletic team in all of sporting. Whomever is responsible for conceiving and accepting this nomenclature should be stricken from the rolls of Christendom and made to live in a hut with like-minded savages.
Horn-swagglers, confidence men, and carpet-baggers. These men are of a low and predatory class and should they be strung up by their testicles on Main Street and plugged into an electrical box, I should think myself more inclined to fully enjoy the Yuletide season.
I don’t much care for the elderly.
Loose women of a base and devil-may-care nature. While I appreciate, their brassy temperament, I don’t think they exert nearly enough effort in proselytizing and enrolling other women to their point-of-view which is to the detriment of those of us possessing penii (penis pl.).
Ham radio operators vex me and I suspect many are witches despite their ability to fall properly when shoved off a cliff in court-ordered testing.
Those given to the worthless collection of frontispieces. Given time I am certain history will bear out my prediction of this as folly and a senseless use of resources.
Ruffians, scalawags, and roustabouts have no place in my conception of a well-ordered society either and should be bled with leeches until some of the piss and vinegar is drained off and they can retire to bed at a sensible hour and not trample one’s carefully cultivated marigolds and lilacs in the midst of rowdy hooliganism.
This is an incomplete list as I have had occasion to meet many people in my travels through the ages and there is something about the grand majority that recommends a solid dunking in a vat of boiling tar might make the lovely journey of life more tolerable.
Yours in indignance and umbrage,
Msr. Matt Kaye, Malcontent, etc.