Things That Piss Me Off: Loud Cell Phone Conversations

Listen here you overweight, balding, middle aged son of a bitch. It’s a telephone. Since your birth over a hundred years ago, advances in communication no longer require that you yell at the person you’re talking to. It’s not a megaphone, you retarded SOB.

I don’t give a flying crap that your flight was delayed, and I don’t want to listen to you justify your effing expense report at the top of your lungs while I’m standing no more than 2 feet away. It’s an elevator, bastard. Use your indoor voice.

I understand that your doctor called and said that your test results were a little troubling. Regardless, I can tell you without blinking that I don’t need to hear you relay that information to your wife, who is probably also balding, overweight and middle aged.

I can not for the life of me figure out why you own one of the most expensive phones on the market, yet seem to believe that the effing thing is chiseled out of stone. Turn it off, Barney Rubble, or you’re gonna get my high tech smartphone shoved so far up your ass, you’ll be crapping rubies from my last record-breaking game of Bejeweled.

Did you actually KNOW Alexander Graham Bell? Were you schoolmates? His wonderful invention no longer consists of two cups connected with a bit of string. STOP YELLING AT THE MICROPHONE TWO INCHES FROM YOUR FACE!

If your is capable of sending a signal to a tower miles away, allowing you to check your email and listen to Elvis’ Greatest Hits, how in the Hell do you not think it can pick up your gravelly voice at a normal conversational volume. Here’s a neat trick: SHUT UP!

You rooster-sucking piece of garbage, if you ignore me again when I look your direction, I’m going to knock your dentures down the back of your palsied throat. You really piss me off.