Out-Numbered

We are not Italian Plumbers. Nor are we porn stars. We don't have our own Reality TV Show. Half of us did not choose to be here. Half of the time, the other half of us, wishes we were somewhere else. We fight. We cry. We laugh. We hug. We kiss. We forget. We remember. We all love pancakes and bacon. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my family wasn't here. It scares me to death. I wear a shell, like a turtle or a snail. My shell is invisible but it's there. It's made of love and it protects me, just the same. There's nothing more important than my family. If aliens landed on Earth and they wanted to know the true meaning of family... I would show them that picture and say, "The mustaches and hair are fake. We were just messing around. You should watch Different Strokes. That's the real deal." Then we would Out-Number those green, little, pricks and annoy the shit out of them until they went home.

I hate loud chewers. I don't know how else to say it. There's nothing that irks me more. Whether it's the smacking sound of a mushy banana sticking to the roof of someones mouth or the rubbery pop of cooked fish, constantly clinging to a pair of back molars, I absolutely cringe at the thought. I can hardly sit down at the dinner table without putting on some background music. Don't even think of eating popcorn next to me in the movie theater unless you let those bastard kernels melt in your mouth or swallow them whole. You need to take a drink? Please use a straw and give me some notice so I can start humming. I immediately become consumed by the clatter. It's like thousands of tiny little audible needles raining down upon me, simultaneously piercing my eardrums until they explode. Holy shit. It just annoys the snot out of me. I'm sorry. I know this sounds messed up. I'm pretty sure my pet peeve comes as a result of years of eating meals in front of the tel...