There is nothing I despise more than standing around, eating fucking finger food, wearing uncomfortable clothing, listening to some professional neurotic yammer on about career, love, and family.
A close second on the loathing scale is sitting around a table eating bad food, with some stupid asshole, and his stupid asshole wife, and their stupid asshole parents–both sets–and my bored lover who I would rather be in bed with at the moment, and, of course, the incessant yammering on politely about career, love, and family.
Vomit. I fucking hate small talk! In fact, it offends me. Human language is the product of millions of years of evolution, generation after generation of our ancestors, surviving, striving, adapting to a point–this moment–when we have the linguistic subtlety to communicate our inner lives to one another.
And you take that amazing birthright and say some bullshit like:
“Can you believe what Tiger Woods did?”
Seriously, go fuck yourselves.
