Why It's Hard To Write: Douchebags & Jackholes

I'm sitting in the break room at work, trying to write on my own time, when these three knuckleheads come in and start debating last night's Panthers game.

Fine. It's a free country. Knock yourselves out. Had I watched last night I might even care. I focus and press on.

Then, Mr. Most-Vocal blurts out, "They should just do away with the extra point. It's irrelevant anyway."

Uh, no. The game is called "football". They'd have to change the name if they took away the only foot-driven way of scoring. What are you, a tourist?

Then, as part of his bloviated airtight theory on how team X can be invincible, he blurts out, "Irregardless..."

My knuckles whiten. 

Then some other douchebag walks in with a handheld coffee grinder.

Just.

Walking.

Around.

Grinding.

And so, having had these stakes driven through its inspirational heart, my writing session has been thoroughly assassinated. Thanks, jackholes.