We ask a sexy babe what pisses her off. Today’s Ballbreaker: Ann French
I am proud to admit I like a little bit of everything, literally—yes, I like some cool things but I also listen to Roxette, Elton John, Steve Winwood or the Glee soundtrack. My iPod is like the playlist at a gay dance club (with piano bar), and I’m proud of it! If you want to sneer at it because it’s not all Kings of Leon, Oasis, the XX—fine. I have more tattoos than you, so there.
I just don’t understand why people do this. U no wen dey all tak lyk diz, n talk bout fly girlz and say “wassup’ n ‘u ok bb?” n av 4gottn ow 2 spell or uz punctuation. Gud look n skool peepz! It does not make you look cool or clever, in fact, quite the opposite, it makes you look dumb and childish. Maybe I’m just getting old but it’s like another language and takes me double the time to understand what they are saying. I have to say it out loud in a stupid wannabe-Ali G accent to figure it out. And then it turns out to be a load of shite that wasn’t worth my time anyway. GTFO lozerz!
This annoys me because I can’t do it, although part of me looks forward to the day I can. At present I walk into one of these places and they just fire words at me that mean nothing—”Skinny?” “Tall?” “Frap?” “Half-caf mochaccino?” What is that? Someday I will fit in with the slick suit city worker types—someday I will speak The Code, and I will be able to order a simple cup of coffee. Is there a manual, like “The Idiot’s Guide to How to Order a Cup of Coffee”? Help me out. I would like a coffee. I can pay for it.
EVERYONE ELSE ON THE ROAD
Just get off the road, you are all doing it wrong. You’re too fast, or you’re too slow. You pull out in front of me, or you’re there behind me when I pull out—where did you come from? Can’t you see I’m trying to drive here? You crash for stupid reasons that could easily be avoided. You hog the middle lane. You hog the fast lane, and when I try to come around, there you are going slow in the slow lane. You’re too slow to pull away at traffic lights or roundabouts when I’m in a rush, or you’re the annoying idiot right up the back of me trying to overtake every split second. Or worst of all, you’re on a motorbike—fucking hell. Flitting around me, zipping between cars and almost hitting my mirror, then slowing down in front of me. You’d be in a serious accident if I wasn’t such a good driver. All of you.
DISCLAIMER: Ballbreaker contributors are in reality lovely, sweet girls who are cranking up the attitude for entertainment purposes only, at the request of The Smoking Jacket.