Having an apostrophe in your last name: This one is for my Irish and Italian friends. Holy fuck. After every single time you fill out an electronic form for work, the government, an apartment, and so forth, it is the most frusteruating thing in the world when you lose everything you just entered because you entered a “special character” AKA the apostrophe that’s IN YOUR LAST NAME. Figure the fuck out. Let me keep all the data I just spent half an Office episode typing in, or don’t punish me for entering my own god damn last name. If you think you’re oppressed, try doing online taxes with the last name “O’Neil,” I dare you.
The HelloFresh Apartment person: It doesn’t matter if you’re making good money in an apartment with a doorman or you’re slinging it with the common folk in a place where your shoes stick to the floor of the elevator because somebody pissed in it at 3:17 AM the night before, there will always be a HelloFresh or BlueApron guy who leaves a box of Balsamic Rosemary pork chops in the lobby until it starts smelling like the back of Casey Anthony’s pontiac. If you’re on vacation for a week, I get it; shit happens from time to time. But, if you’re too lazy to pick up a box or too busy twitch streaming to eleven people, you’re a scumbag. Nobody wants Chernobyl in their apartment lobby because your Mommy got you BlueApron for Christmas.
Paying Taxes: Now, while I can acknowledge that it’s never been easier to pay taxes than right now, it’s still an insane concept. I’ve watched Snowden on Joe Rogan. YOU TRACK OUR PHONES, JUST VENMO REQUEST ME. I had to get a shot so I could eat in a restaurant, and you can’t tell me how much I owe the government? Apparently, over-stepping on boundaries is only okay when it inconveniences me and not you, US government. If I have a party, I don’t tell my guests to count the number of beers they drank, mathematically figure out a roundabout number for how much they need to throw me, and then send them to prison when their calculations are off.
Splitting The Bill With A Girl: Many times on this Tik Tok, I see influencer girls talk about how ridiculous it is to split a bill on the first date. Guess what? If you’re hot enough to make double a union worker’s salary with your toes, you’re not going to pay for a date…EVER. But there needs to be some kind of a code for the rest of us, ladies. I usually pay the bill on a first date, but I’ll check Twitter, and apparently, I’m a misogynistic piece of shit for doing so. Do you want to be Susan B. Anthony or do you want me to pay for your nachos?
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