DEAR NITWITS

Dance Like Nobody’s Watching. Order Coffee Like Nobody’s in Line Behind You at Starbucks.

I could go on and on … so I will

We all get the message behind:

“Dance like nobody’s watching.”

But — like too many sprinkles on your ice cream cone, or too much Colombian marching powder on your nasal mucosa, or too many cooks in your “broth” — you can take the message too fucking far. Many have.

Here’s how:

Signal like nobody’s driving behind you

That is to say, don’t signal … under any circumstances.

Screech to a halt in heavy traffic, careen across six lanes, and hang a U-turn in the fog … on the freeway … during an ice storm.

Do whatever the hell you want to, whenever the hell you want to do it. We all know you’ve got errands to run and priorities that supersede ours.

Besides, we all applaud your free spirit.

And really, never mind that I had to slam on my brakes, and my kid’s faces are now all glued to the seat backs in front of them, and that grandma will be wearing a neck brace for the rest of her life.

You do you.

We’ll all adjust accordingly.

Order coffee like nobody’s in line behind you

We understand. We know you’ve never ordered coffee before. There is, after all, a first time for everything.

But, if you’re in line looking at your phone, and intermittently staring idly at the nice tight little ass in front of you, and surreptitiously mining for nose gold, AND THEN — just as it’s your turn to order coffee — you THEN look up like you’ve just been hit with a cattle prod and sputter

“I’ll have a large, no a Venti, no a big sippy cup full of half-caf decaf with sprinkles and whip, no wait, no whip, but what’s the flavor-of-the-month this month?, and what month is it? oh and I need to order 15 more coffees for the entire office staff and I have the notes for that here somewhere,” and then you begin pawing through your pockets …

THEN we’ll kill you.

And, you can die like nobody’s watching, because no one will be.

Shop for groceries like nobody else is in the market

We do love admiring your open-mouthed gaping profile as you enter a fugue state and stare straight ahead at the peanut butter … for … 15 … minutes … or … so.

There are SO many choices to be made: * small, large, jumbo, family pack, fun-sized, individual servings, or medium * chunky or smooth or EXTREME (only Fascists like smooth, in case this makes the next shopping trip easier for you) * organic or chock full of petrochemicals (organic is the one with the disgusting oil lurking on top of the good stuff) * Jiffy or plain-wrap or Skippy or, or, or, or … * and on and on it goes

It’s enough to drive a shopper to distraction. And, there’s so much pressure to get it right, because if you show up at home with the wrong shit everyone will hate you and you’ll be forced to hang yourself in the closet, not in your usual auto-erotic asphyxiation way you enjoy, but in a final “fuck all and fuck off” kind of way like you’ve been pondering …

and then there’s the decision about pure peanut butter vs that disgusting crap with the jelly stripes …

and oh where was I?

And you are so wrapped up in your peanut butter gazing seance that you can’t hear the seventeen shoppers who can’t get past your cart and your fat ass blocking the aisle all shouting “excuse me!!!”

But really, it’s OK. Take your time.

Then there’s this collection I won’t further bore you with:

1️⃣ Bathe in your favorite Eau-de-GoodStink-by-Round-Up like there’s no one else with a functioning nose

2️⃣ Use your cell phone in the theater like there’s no one else watching the movie

3️⃣ Fart on the airplane like it’s your private jet

4️⃣ Bring your kids to the restaurant like we’re all at a BBQ in your backyard

and

5️⃣ Actually dance like no one is watching

Because someone is always watching and you dance like a one-legged marionette having a seizure while falling down a flight of stairs.