Today’s Tirade: Incidental Pittances.

Photo of weekly junk-mail pile

Pile of Junk Mail

Having a blog is a great way to vent, from which the benefits gained are ideal for maintaining one’s mental balance and personal well-being.

Writing is escapism at its finest. When mundane and trivial annoyances take over one’s everyday life, an outlet for channeling such negative energy needs to be fabricated.

Some sort of a fail-safe device is necessary for preventing a personal meltdown, like placing a safety switch in a furnace to prevent it from exploding when too much gas has flowed into the ignition chamber without a burning flame.

This weekly journal, sometimes twice a week, serves that purpose for this writer. Listing annoying trivialities makes what I think are valid grievances,  yet turns them into incidental pittances.

Today, my flat’s furnace wouldn’t turn off. I had to bang on it for the heater to shut down. WD-40 on that aforementioned safety switch did the trick, allowing it to function properly until next week when a new unit arrives for installation. The present furnace was installed in 1967, and parts are no longer available.

To me that’s incidental. The owner of the building is paying for it; otherwise, I would be flipping out about the extra expense.

My father never seemed to be happy unless he had something to complain about. Must be a genetic thing.

The following diatribe is dedicated to that which annoys the hell out of me:

  • Telemarketers, calling  from a distant country, who have such a thick accent, they can’t be understood, rattling off something from a script written out for them.
  • Useless junk mail that’s stuffed into my mailbox weekly, only to be thrown away.
  • Twitter users, looking to stack their numbers, who use robots to harvest followers. They automatically follow someone, expecting a follow-back within a day or so, un-following when not receiving it. (If you follow them back, don’t expect responses to any of your tweets, but be sure your timeline will be deluged by their non-stop, self-centered garble henceforth.)
  • Even worse than the above listing is being followed and un-followed  after following them back. I could go on and on about Social Media quirks, which in itself should be trivial enough not to bother a person in real life anyway.
  • People who slam doors constantly. Once in a while is OK, but every time when coming in and out his or her apartment nearby in the building rattles my nerves.
  • Loudmouth neighbors, who think everyone needs to hear them brag about themselves to whomever they encounter outdoors beneath my window, sort of like on Social Media.
  • Someone’s driving two or three miles per hour below the speed limit. Idiot drivers are another topic which would fill an entire post alone.

That’s enough for now. I feel better, thanks. Pet peeves can look quite petty when reading back over them. People are starving all over the world, impoverished, seeking shelter from the storm; mass murders are becoming commonplace, and I’m concerned about insignificant incidents on Social Media?

Kind of puts things in perspective again. Thanks for your continued support.




About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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