Today's Irk: Bad Drivers

A.K.A. The bane of my existence, Jackasses, Potential meaningless death and destruction

Irk Factor: 5/5

Before we start here I’d like to apologize for the lack of recent Irks I made up for it with this special edition 5/5. So without further ado, WHAT THE FUCK!? I know I’m not the only person that has noticed the inane driving abilities of the Canadian population. If I were to take an unbiased guess at what percentage of the population can actually maintain their fucking composure behind the wheel, I’d say about 75%, and that’s being generous.

After a near-crash experience with one of the impaired 25-40%, I have been pushed over the edge into a road rage. In order to relieve myself, this rant must be heard. The seemingly blind, deaf, drunk and handicapped automotive menaces of the population are unable to be described as a whole, and thus they have been divided into categories to be further examined and scrutinized for their stupidity.

Driving Hazard #1: The Overly-Cautious Driver
This paranoid bastard can usually be seen causing traffic jams and near collisions in their Toyotas and Pontiacs. They commit most of their attempted murder by: stopping really early for a turn coming up in a kilometre, slamming the brakes when they’re practically in the intersection on a yellow light, and driving 10 under the speed limit. In snow or rain, this group IS traffic. They create it and mutate into a retarded road-block as more of them build up. It’s horrible. It’s almost as if every one of these drivers has experienced multiple auto-related near-death experiences and is carrying a mini-van full of newborn children. Get over it. Take a bus, pussy.

Driving Hazard #2: The Overzealous Maniac
This psychopath can frequently be seen tearing down a one-way street because it’s faster than the corner coming up in 500 metres. I’m not sure if it’s ignorance or just blatant stupidity that causes these drivers to treat their Honda civics, Mustangs and BMWs that way. I assume in winter, a lot of this group dies of in stupidity-related crashes. When they’re not playing need for speed, at the gym, the tanning lounge, or at the club hitting on your girlfriend, they can also be found almost killing people by turning right on a red light without checking to see if I’M ALREADY HALFWAY THROUGH THE INTERSECTION LAYING ON MY HORN AND FLIPPING YOU THE BIRD OUT MY WINDOW, YOU ARROGANT JERSEY SHORE FUCK! Can you guess which driver set me off on this rant?

Driving Hazard #3: The Clueless Fuck
Perhaps the most dangerous of the three groups of people that got their licences in a Christmas cracker is The Clueless Fuck. This senile old wasp category typically consists of...Well, senile old wasps. And foreigners (I’m not racist, it’s true. Don’t bullshit yourself.). What makes this group particularly dangerous is that THEY. HAVE. NO. FUCKING. CLUE! Seriously, they must not. They weave back and forth between the lanes in their Hondas and 19th century Cadillacs, and definitely don’t know where they’re going half the time. They usually drive the 1 km/h under the speed limit, as if to say “Fuck off, I’m stupid” to the rest of the world. They can also be seen cutting across 3 lanes of traffic without looking to make an exit they almost missed. In winter, they are pretty much white death on wheels. How the fuck do you still have your licence/life? Get on the bus with the paranoid bitch.

As you can tell, the roads in Canada are polluted by this plague. Now that I’ve made the divides between the three for you, you will start to realize which ones are which on the road. I think they must know they’re bad drivers after the thousandth time some pissed off citizen honks at them or flips them the bird. If you are a bad driver you should NOT BE DRIVING.

And that’s not just my opinion,
That’s a fact, Mother-fucker.

-Adam

Today's Irk: Scene Kids

A.k.a. Emo Kids in disguise, Cockroaches of society, That dumbass kid flailing his arms at the back of the venue.

Irk Factor: 4/5

You may be asking yourself “What is a scene kid?”. A scene kid is more or less a mutant crossbreed between an emo kid and a hipster. It’s basically an emo kid in a plaid jacket and ludicrously tight pants wearing big thick glasses with no lenses, listening primarily to indie music in an attempt to “break away from social norms”...just like every other plaid wearing emo waste of oxygen. For those of you that are still having trouble imagining it, the picture above almost does it justice.

Normally, I wouldn’t have a problem with them, after all, there’s a LOT of social anomalies out there, and scene kids would just blend in with the rest. But something about these mutant rejects of society makes me angrier than usual. Perhaps it’s their “dancing”. Rest assured I have never used that term more loosely.

Scene Kids have this form of “dancing” they like to call “throwing down” or “hardcore dancing”. It comprises of sporadic arm flailing, twichy gestures, and running back and forth. If you need a mental image, try to picture the Hokey-Pokey division at the Special Olympics; it’s probably pretty similar. What blows my fucking mind is that they definitely must know they look like idiots, yet they persist. On top of that, they brag about it after, rather than pretending it was a drug induced seizure and never mentioning it again. I remember the good old days of the “Mosh Pit”, where a bunch of crazy motherfuckers beat the living hell out of each other, and other people jumped around in this orgy of spur-of-the-moment adrenaline.

Maybe it's their constant craving for attention that grinds my gears. Dressing in ridiculous clothing to draw as much attention to themselves as humanly possible. Let's not forget, Mr.Scene Kid, you are just an emo kid in disguise. You are supposed to remain silent and just die quietly somewhere.

I think what pisses me off the most about this infestation is their contribution to the death of music. These cockroaches of society have made their way into indie and underground music, and have taken a heaping pile of steaming plaid shit all over it. Underground and upcoming bands used to be about making good music. Now, due to their increasingly embarassing audience, they have become nothing but breakdowns after breakdowns to appease the Hokey Pokey team that attends their shows.

I WOULD hereby sentence all scene kids to slit their wrists lengthwise, IF I didn’t think most scene girls were smoking hot. But the one's that aren't horrify me and haunt my nightmares.

But that’s just my opinion.

-Adam

Today's Irk: Pringles' Can

A.K.A. False advertising, inconvenient convenience.

Irk Factor: 1/5

Before we get started here, I need to clear something up. I like Pringles. Their variety of flavours is nothing less than spectacular, and their convenient stackability makes for a relatively mess-free snacking experience. You'll notice I said "relatively", and that is where my quabble with the Pringles begins.

The USP (Unique Selling Point for those non-advertisers) of Pringles is their convenient can, eliminating the mess of eating chips out of a bag. However, after years of eating Pringles, I have noticed a flaw in their prospect.

Don't get me wrong, the can is super convenient for the first half of the pringles, keeping them readily available for immediate snackage. But once you hit the lsat 40-50 Pringles, anyone without muscular distrophy over the age of 5 cannot reach the rest of the Pringles! This causes the need to tip the can in order to retrieve the remainder of this delicious salty snack. BAM! Stop there.

You may be asking, "What's the problem with that, Adam? Are you that lazy?". First of all, yes, but that's not the problem here. Remember Pringles' USP? No mess, right? Well, when you tilt the can, 99.9% of the time there is already a pre-broken pringle or two at the bottom of the can, and now you have crumb spillage. Nobody likes crumb spillage.
Just like that, in a horrifying moment of crumbs spilling and muffled cursing under one's breath, the USP of Pringles is null and void. To solve this issue for future generations of Pringles lovers, I propose a simple, yet effective Pringles Extraction Device, shown below.



Simply pulling on the Revolutionary Pringles Lifter will remove the Pringles mess-free. Seems like a pretty simple concept to me.

But that's just my opinion.

-Adam

Today's Irk: "The 13th Floor"

A.K.A. That really stupid superstition likely conjured up by some waspy old cat lady

Irk Factor: 2/5

This one is almost as funny as it is stupid. I'm sure you have noticed that most buildings over 12 stories seem to "leave out" the 13th floor for stuperstitious (no, I didn't spell superstitious wrong) reasons. Apparantly, the 13th floor would be bad luck, although interestingly enough, most of these buildings still contain the room#666, which seems like it would be worse to me.

This really makes me wonder...Do people actually feel relieved to know they are on the "14th floor" rather than the 13th? Surprise, dipshit! You're still on the 13th floor, except now you're in blatant denial. From what I hear, denial is what kills you.

It really floors me (pun intended) that some paranoid bastard actually suggested leaving out the number 13 in the elevators, but what absolutely blows my fucking mind is that someone else took them seriously!

If I ever own a skyscraper, I WILL include the 13th floor. Anyone who complains about their floor being unlucky will be escorted to the 7th floor and shot. But they'll be fine, becuase the 7th floor is lucky, right?

That's ridiculous.
But that's just my opinion.

-Adam

Today's Irk: Airport Security

A.K.A. Overkill, Cavity search, Violation of rights

Irk Factor: 2/5

Do you remember the days when people could pass through the airport with a little respect? So do I. But since 9/11, those days are gone forever. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the security and protection of innocent lives, but we really need to draw the line somewhere.

Once on the actual plane, you can be given a KNIFE with your dinner, but god help your sorry ass if you try to smuggle a bottle of water on to the plane, let alone a box of chocolate. That’s probably grounds for a cavity search nowadays. But...why?

Personally, I’d love to meet the first terrorist who stood up mid-flight and yelled “THIS IS A HIJACKING!” before pointing a water bottle at a stewardess. Or better yet, the first guy who attempted to bring down a plane with a Ferrero Rochet. Is a nut-filled chocolaty delight really that big of a threat to national security?

I think any overzealous security guard that interrogates a 15 year old girl for trying to “smuggle” a water bottle through security should be forced into a cavity search by someone with elephantitis of the hand.

But that's just my opinion.

-Adam

Today's Irk: Kids on a Leash

A.K.A. Neglect, Future serial killers, Children of parents that should be shot.

Irk Factor: 4/5


Typically when you think of a leash, you think of a dog on a collar and chain, maybe a monkey or something; NOT an infant child sporting a tether attached to a clearly incompetent parent.

I first witnessed this phenomenon on TV, and thought it to be nothing more than a joke. I was wrong.
Then I visited Miami, and low and behold, I actually saw a kid on a fucking leash. Only in America.

This raises several questions, such as: What could that 3 year old have possibly done to deserve such a humiliating restraint? Does he occasionally make a bee-line for the nearest body of water? Or is the parent too busy with his chronic gambling and alcoholism to pay one single iota of attention to his own offspring? Or perhaps most importantly...WHAT KIND OF INCOMPETENT FUCKBAG INVENTED THIS CONTRAPTION?!?

Seriously, am I the only person who sees a problem here? First of all, if that poor neglected kid ever looks at a childhood photo of himself on a leash, he’s probably going to murder his parents, assuming he doesn’t immediately commit suicide. Secondly, you look like a fucking jackass. Sorry, Mr. Incompetent Dad, but being tethered to your child makes you look like one seriously irresponsible, yet still over-protective idiot.

Honestly, be a PARENT or don’t be a parent. Don’t be a shithead with your kid on a leash.

I hereby sentence all parents with their kids on a leash to be tethered to a concrete block and thrown into the English Channel.

But that’s just my opinion.

-Adam

Welcome to The Irk Factor

Hello friends, family, and creepy people that browse blogs.

What you have stumbled upon is the next best thing since verbally complaining, which, for those of you that know me, I do a lot of.

I figure it's about time to start putting my complaints to a somewhat productive use, and thus, The Irk Factor is born. "What the hell is The Irk Factor?" you ask.

The dictionary defines "Irk" as "To irritate, annoy or bother". This blog will focus on the little querks in life that seemingly everyone thinks "What the fucking fuck?" when they think about or witness. It will also rate each of these things on a scale of 1-5, based on how much they Irk me, the writer. And of course, I will rant about each of these things, tearing them apart as critically as possible.

I am writing this blog simply to amuse myself as well as you, the reader.
Maybe one day this will be a famous blog, and will revolutionize the world as we know it.

But probably not. Enjoy :)

-Adam