They Devised It, You’re the Dipsh*t

There’s something truly insidious going on in the world, and it has to do with the brainchildren of engineers, marketers and other bastards who invent stuff with the alleged purpose of making everyone’s lives easier, better, more convenient or more cost-effective. Key word: alleged. You see, the real end game is to make the population at large look like a bunch of trained monkeys at best and mouth-breathing idiots at worst, all for the secret amusement of the assholes who came up with this crap. Here we present a short list of the worst offenders, as the inclusion of more would certainly result in a fatal blood pressure spike or aneurysm in writer and reader alike.

Those F*cking Snack Machine Coils
When your snack gets stuck in them, you have three options, all of which make you look like a supreme dipshit:

1.) pony up for the snack behind it, which means you just spent twice as much money for a second snack that you didn’t want or need (assuming the second fucking snack doesn’t get stuck also)

2.) physically assault the machine in hopes of jarring the snack loose (try this with a snack machine that’s bolted to the floor and you’ll walk away with some shoulder pain to go along with your embarrassment)

3.) simply stand still, paralyzed by anger/frustration as your Fritos hang there unattainable (only they’re not hanging, they’re laughing)

Those F*cking Snack Machine Dollar Bill Receptacles
You know, the ones that’ll only accept a bill if it’s as crisp as it was when it was freshly minted. If there’s even the slightest blemish, you’re screwed. Sure, you can try and smooth it out against the corner of the machine, undo any folded corners by folding them in the opposite direction, etc. But if those tactics don’t work, you’ve just wasted precious seconds of your life engaging in an activity that’s usually reserved for typical kindergartener during an arts and crafts lesson.

An Aside About the F*cking Guy Who Loads the Snack Machine

Is he hell bent on destroying everyone’s feeble attempt at pseudo nutrition, or does he think he’s being funny by putting lightweight fare like potato chips toward the bottom of the machine, while putting the breakables on top? What sort of sadist puts fragile, make-believe pastries like Frosted Apple Strudel Pop Tarts where they’re precipitously perched and poised to tumble and crumble to a messy demise? The snack machine fulfillment dude, that’s who. Fuck him.

Those F*cking Motion-Activated Hand Towel Dispensers in Public Bathrooms
Immediately after doing your business (and often when you’re lightheaded if said business happened to be especially robust or a bit overdue) you’re faced with the challenge of activating the towel dispenser with the precision of a NASA engineer. Which of course you won’t be able to do right away, meaning you end up standing there waving your wet hands around in front of the sensor like a delusional Alzheimer’s patient trying to shoo away whatever imaginary beings are flying around your personal space. All for a six-inch swatch of brown paper that’s barely enough to sufficiently dry the hands of an infant or midget.

Those F*cking Voice-Activated Telephone Prompts
Just what you want to be doing when calling your insurance provider or cable company about a problem: sitting there like some douchebag with a Bluetooth and saying out loud to NO ONE things like “yes,” “no,” “dental claim,” “service interruption,” “I don’t know,” “English,” “Spanish,” AAAARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHH! And usually you’re within earshot of a friend, family member or coworker who can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous “I’m talking to myself” situation you’ve been forced into.

Those F*cking Unnecessarily Elaborate Voice Mail Prompts
Again, you’re forced to sit there like an asshole (mercifully in relative silence, other than optional expletive-laden outbursts on your part) as you’re offered way too many options, most of which you’ll never use. “If you’d like to page this person, press 7.” Who the fuck pages people anymore? JUST LET ME LEAVE A FUCKING VOICE MAIL ALREADY!

Those F*cking CPAP Masks
Is the medical community serious? THIS is what they came up with as a cure for snoring: Low-level life support gear that makes you look like Jacques Cousteau on a deep-sea-diving mission or the poor fucker who got attacked by the creature in Alien. Perishing from sleep apnea certainly would be preferable to using one of these contraptions. And we think we know what CPAP stands for: Coitus Probably Ain’t Possible. Because unless the person who shares your bed harbors a “fucked by Hannibal Lecter” fantasy, you can pretty much forget about rolling over and having spontaneous sex in the middle of the night ever again. This is definitely a medical condition that warrants a natural remedy instead. But that would require some discipline and self-respect. Why watch your weight and reduce your booze intake when you can strap on a Rip Hamilton mask every night?

Those F*cking Black Friday Retail Store Hours
While the marketers who came up with them are comfortably sleeping off their Thanksgiving dinner tryptophan overdoses, the unwashed masses are compelled to drag their asses out of bed at 3 a.m. or some other ungodly hour to wait in line and endure a mob scene in order to save a few bucks on whatever crap is popular for the holidays. Of course, the blame for this one is entirely on us, as participation in the activity is 100 percent voluntary (unless you happen to work at the store, which means you have to be there even earlier). Want to give a big middle finger to those aforementioned marketers? Resist your need for more cheap, foreign-made crap and stay the fuck in bed like a normal human being.

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