Savage Dos and Don'ts

First in a continuing series of hints on proper behavior, by your Arbiter Of All That Is Correct...


If you have a permanent peplum of blubber around your middle, no low-rise pants and no belly shirts for you, Tubby.

If you sport well-earned stretch marks on your tum-tum, do not pierce your navel and display it for all of us to see. Geez, Moms!

If you are a trick-or-treater and you need a shave, at least wear a fucking costume, you lousy teenaged hoodlum.

If you are candy, and you are sugar-free, you have no reason to exist.

If you are a salesclerk and you hate your damn, boring, ill-paid job, please remember: Your crappy job is not my fault. Slacker.

If you are a married man, do not ask your wife where the duct tape is. She neither knows, nor cares. Contrary to popular male belief, women do not have GPS installed in their ovaries at birth.

Also, married guy, do not attempt to ease your wife's empty-nest syndrome by acting childish yourself after the real kids grow up and leave home.

If you have a waterbed with a mirrored canopy, do not allow your parents in your bedroom. You don't want to know about your parents' sex life; believe me, the feeling is mutual.

If you are my neighbor, and you keep a loud, vicious dog for "protection," keep the mutt in the house, please. He can't save your stupid ass from the backyard.

Do not talk on your telephone while driving. If I catch you at it, I just may have to ram your witless yuppie ass. My car already has so many dents, a few more won't bother me.

While visiting my home, do not ask where my television is. I don't have one. If you wanted to watch TV, why didn't you stay at home?

When someone dies, the correct funeral attire is something covered up, fairly formal, and DARK. Black. Dark brown. Navy. Dark gray. Your glittery skank-ho club dress or your "Look Ma, I got on clean boxers" jeans will NOT cut it.

When shopping with your little darling, and he/she begins to throw a screeching fit, take the little bastard outside, ASAP, or I will be forced to demonstrate my proven method of post-natal birth control.

Silence is golden. So, STFU. If you are wondering if this is directed at you, it probably is.

Cut people some slack. Nobody is perfect. Except me, of course.