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Essay:What The Hell is Wrong With People?

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Essay.svg This essay is an original work by Ace McWicked.
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This is a true story - written to educate
I mean, really, what the fuck is wrong with people? I was just down at the supermarket getting some smokes and some bumbling bewildered fuck face with an ass the size of Texas was lumbering around in front of me spilling his fat nodes from every orifice. I couldn't get past him due to his immense size. Once he entered the supermarket he just stopped dead, nearly causing me to walk into him. He looked around with a fairly banal look slapped across his face while he proceeded to remove his cellphone from his voluminous pockets to send a text message. What the fuck is wrong here? Do you not consider that there are other people behind you that might like to get past? Why do people do this? Why is it that some people just seem completely unable to grapple with the mechanics of walking? Why must they move slowly up and down the aisles, swaying side to side and preventing those with a little more motivation and locomotion from getting past?
Do they do it on purpose? Or are these bags of flesh that can barely be considered human totally oblivious to the rest of the world that surrounds them?
This is not just in the supermarket but also in the street; I see groups of people walking side by side taking up the whole footpath. They flail along at a snail's pace then all stop at once, suddenly, in order to discuss something they have seen in a shop window without actually moving aside to let others pass. It drives me fucking berserk, I can tell you. Then there are those bloated housewives with their sticky-fingered spawn standing at the counter and filling shopping bags with their weekly supplies of high-grade fats and sugars combined with yummy colourings and additives for the kids while the rest of the store swirls around in response to their gravitational pull. Completely ignoring the fact that this is actually an express lane and little old Ace behind them just wants to shoot through and grab a packet of cigarettes.
They'll clock a massive magnitude of food expense and then spend 15 minutes haggling about the price before it comes time to pay.
When the check-out clerk goes "That'll be $220.26 please" the rotund mass I see in front me opens some kind of corpulent hole in the centre of its face, a hole mostly used for the ingestion of fat laced solids, and a strange keening sound is emitted. The glazed and stupid eyes will open wide and the keening sound becomes a voice of surprise -
"$220.26? Oh yes of course, now where is my purse"
Why this look of surprise? Why didn't you, like the rest of us, anticipate that you would have to pay for your inordinate pile of oral faeces that you plan to inflict upon your scummy little children? What the hell is wrong with you?!
Now I must spend 20 minutes standing behind you getting more a more frustrated as you speak to yourself about how "I had my ATM card this morning when I dropped fat little Jimmy at football practice and I used it to get the holes in my husband's garters sewn up....Oh I just don't know where it could be! How about we deduct some items and I'll pay cash? Oh wait, found it! Oh no, that's my library card...." ARGH! Then they'll get hysterical and accuse those surrounding of thievery.
I would move to another counter, but, at my back, an octogenarian is staring at me with malicious intent from behind a sea of lip hair and prescription glasses while smacking me in the ankles with a supermarket trolley.
When I finally get to the counter and ask for cigarettes I am confronted by a guy half my age, so covered in pot marks and acne that his face looks like one of Saturn's moons, who looks at me suspiciously for a second and asks how old I am so I can access the adult delights behind the counter that he guards like he does his own virginity.
. I give him my age and he stares and studies me before reaching behind him for a pack of smokes. He swipes the pack and is about to lay it in my hands when he suddenly whips them back again and smugly says,
"Actually, I am going to need some ID after all". I can almost hear his "humpf" of pleasure and I know later he'll be masturbating viciously over this little victory of his.
It is then that I completely lose the plot.
"I am twice your fucking age" I scream with a fistful of dollars clutched in my white hands, "How many fucking teenagers come in here dressed in expensive suits, covered in facial hair and sporting tattoos in order to try and buy cigarettes? You fucking tell me you goddamn fucking Nazi? This is exactly how Nazi Germany started you wild-eyed freak!"
It is then the manager asks me to leave and I wave my fist at those who have wronged me.
So really, honestly, what the fuck is wrong with people?