3 things that frost my cookies this week:
I freaking hate writers are always loading up all their writing with words ending in -ing as they try making up for poor syntactical skills by putting everything into the present tense. It’s not working, folks. (Poor sentence structure intended.)
I understand that on occasion we all have to use gerunds. However, the overuse of –ing words is a weak attempt to enliven a piece of work via an artificial sense of ‘now-ness.’ Go back and re-read my first two sentences. Done? Let’s re-write them and eliminate several of the –ing words.
I hate writers who load up their work with words that end in –ing. It’s a lazy attempt to make up for poor syntax. When a writer puts everything in the present tense, it just doesn’t work.
Grammar, and its key subset, syntax, are the tools of the writer’s trade. You say you’re a writer? Then learn to use your damn tools.
2) A Lack of Skepticism.
I cannot stand people who cannot, WILL NOT apply the slightest bit of critical thinking to the world around them. Bigfoot. Internet hoaxes. Urban myths. You’ll spend two weeks in Nobel Prize quality research before you purchase a new juicer. But the instant a “Share this photo and CNN will donate $1.00 for each share for her surgery” or “NSA is using Flappy Crappy Pissy Birds to gather inside data” hits social media, you inundate my news feed, email, and Twitter feed with that useless horse droppings.
Good Mother of God people, you apply more deep thinking skills to your choice of dinner than you do to the world around you.
3) Melon. (Cantaloupe, musk, or otherwise.)
I do not eat them here or there. I do not eat them anywhere.
They smell like garbage, they smell like funk. They smell like trash locked in a trunk.
They smell of rot, they smell of puke. I’d rather eat some liver flukes.
Here’s the deal. I cannot stand melon. Melons smell like rotted garbage to me. I thought the peer pressure that surrounds teen drinking was bad. It does not hold a candle to those who force melon upon me.
“Here. Try this melon. You’ve never had melon until you’ve tried this. You’ll love it.”
This conversation invariably precedes a bite of melon on the end of a fork shoved towards my face. All melons smell like bad compost to me. I’ll sample your melon when you agree to paw through my garbage and eat the KFC bones that crawl with ants and began to mold three days ago.
Whew. Glad I got that out. Thanks.