Find out if you're pissing me off here:

Scenario: I'm returning a DVD to Hollywood Video. I thought I might take advantage of the conveniently placed drive-by drop box in the parking lot so as to avoid using my legs. Much to my dismay, not so much for the fact that I had to walk, but for the fact that it made me hate everyone but myself even more than I already do, there was a piece of paper taped over the slot where one might find it suitable to deposit an item of borrowed media to return it to its owner. This piece of paper said: "Drop Box is out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience!" You know what? No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you have to wake up in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror and then STILL decide that your toothbrush belongs in your mouth more than it belongs inserted 7 inches into your brain through your eye socket. It's a box. The box has a slit in it. The box also has a door from which to remove items that have been placed inside of it. I would love to know which part of that is "Out of Order". I think the part that is out of order are the two fatass movie-store clerk legs that ache and burn after walking back from the microwave with popcorn as if they just participated in the Chuck Norris workout infomercial they were watching. It must be difficult to walk those 20 yards to pick up the 13 small, jewel cases from the Drop Box twice a day, but I'm glad that in doing so, you've managed to inconvenience me tremendously on my one and ONLY venture into the outside world today. Now it will probably be a week before I get the motivation to go outside again. Not to mention, think of the Earthly resources you're wasting by making countless people park their own cars and walk their own asses up to the drop box attached to the wall of the store (which was, remarkably, in full working condition). Petroleum reserves are exhausted as I am forced to stop and restart my engine, wasting precious gasoline. Depleting food stores are further challenged by the calories wasted by me walking a cumulative FORTY yards, as well as standing up and sitting down. And, lastly, baby seals are killed because I get so frustrated by the whole ordeal I have to go club one to death at the aquarium to relieve my stress.

When I walked to the window to drop my movie in the non-drive-through box, I decided to go inside and look for things to buy, as a way of demonstrating my outrage with the establishment's Broken Drop-Box Policies. I hate myself.

By the way, I wanted to talk about something that pisses me off. Oh, wait...well, I wanted to talk about more things. Health nuts. Shut. Up. I'm glad you've found a diet that works for you, despite the fact that it is ultimately unsatisfying and leaves you chewing on your pillow as you fall asleep wistfully dreaming about flavor or having enough nutrients to effectively run all of your vital organs instead of just your loudmouth lungs and your colon that is inexplicably connected to your vocal cords. I'm even happier that the years of misery you live in as you subject yourself to carefully executed starvation will allow you to live an extra 127 days more than me as you dodge the looming threat of a cholesterol and chemical induced heart attack at the age of 74 cause by the lifelong consumption of processed foods, only to fall victim to a fatal kick in the nuts from me at the ripe old age of 74 and 127 days for pissing me off all the time. Most of all, however, I'm happy that you will probably spend those last 127 days whining about how much you are upset with the world and the current state of affairs and how depressing life is (not to mention how hungry you are), just like you did for the 27,028 days you were alive before that. If life is really as bad as you say it is, then stop trying to prolong it by adding to your "suffering". I'm glad you're doing us all the favor of keeping yourself alive for that little extra, but we don't want to impose on you, so we give you permission to stop trying to breathe. I know you're probably saying, "Hey, James! But you're complaining about the world, too! You're a hypocrite!" The difference is, I'm complaining about the world with a Twinkie in my mouth, a Ding Dong close in line to go down the hatch, and, I'm washing it down with a steak (actually, just bacon fat), all the while unable to care less if I woke up dead tomorrow. Sure, life's great, but making it longer isn't what makes it fun. If you want to make my life better, guess how much I would care if YOU woke up dead tomorrow with a rice cake lodged in your esophagus. I'll give you a hint: the answer starts with "not" and rhymes with "lot bat fall". Ok, fine, here's another hint: the answer is "not at all".

I was going to finish off with making fun of vegetarians, but it's not nice to pick on retarded people.