The Rubber Mallet Awards

I've been feeling lousy lately. Rundown, tired, and sick. I think I picked up a cold during my Montana travels. Then the Red Sox lost last weekend, after an amazing comeback in the series against Tampa Bay, and that took away what little air was left in my balloon. So, crabby as I am, I think it's a good time to trot out an idea that's been germinating in my mind for well over a year: The Rubber Mallet Awards.

The Rubber Mallet Awards are given to the person or group of persons who engage in behavior so annoying, so inappropriate, so unnecessary and just plain stupid, that they deserve a hard-swung, carefully calibrated rubber mallet to the forehead. Or back of the head. Depends on where they happen to be standing when they offend me. The RMAs stand for the concept that if there were no repercussions, if I couldn't be arrested for assault, or, in some cases, murder, for swinging my rubber mallet so hard that it killed the deserving victim, I would rubber mallet these offenders into oblivion. I want to knock these fuckers OUT, O-U-T, OUT!! Because, for reasons that should soon be clear, they deserve it.

So here we go.


THE CLOTHING CATEGORY

We're going to start off small. These would probably be little taps to the noggin because the transgressions are fairly trivial, and due more to ignorance and lack of taste than to a serious personality disorder. The first group of Rubber Mallet Awards goes to:

Men who don't match the color of their belts and shoes. This isn't that fucking hard, guys. Get with the program. Mismatched shoes and belts are the clearest sign that you don't give a shit about how you look. You just grabbed the first thing and threw it on. If you're color-blind, and can't tell the difference between black and brown, see a doctor and organize your shoes and belts so you know which is which.

Men who wear white socks with dress shoes. Just. Plain. Dumb. Unless you're over the age of 55, you have no excuse.

Men who wear leather sandals. Two mallets if you wear dark socks under them. Three mallets if you wear white socks under them. Same grandfather clause as above applies.

Men who wear tank-tops in public. I don't care if you're ripped like LL Cool J. You look white-trashy stupid.

Women who wear flip-flops to higher-end events that call for shoes. Flip-flops, while comfortable and a fun way to get around, are not suitable for weddings, birthday parties, meeting the President, or first dates, unless you're going to the beach. They're also not appropriate for the subway, where every conceivable strain of bacterium resides. This fad has gotten a bit out of hand.

Women who wear those pointy, roach-killer shoes. I hate those things. Not flattering to the feet, and they make you look like a witch. If you have a witchy personality, then fine. For everyone else, wear something else. I realize I just pissed off two-thirds of the female population of Manhattan. Two mallets.


THE DRIVING CATEGORY

Now that I have a car, I have an opportunity to hand out RMAs to every asshole I encounter on the highways and byways of this great country of ours. The second group of Rubber Mallet Awards goes to:

People who cut me off, obvs.

People who don't use their fucking blinker. This is a major pet peeve of mine. I'll even overlook the first one if you at least use a blinker. It means that you half-thought there was someone behind you who might have to slam on his brakes due to your "me first" attitude.

Passengers who WON'T. SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. A little convo is nice, but seriously, unless I'm responding in kind, take the damn hint, please. I'll come around when the coffee kicks in or I think of something interesting to say. Otherwise, just sit back and listen to the music, or better yet, meditate in your head like me, mmmmkay? Two mallets.

Three mallets if I'm driving in a blinding snowstorm and you're Scottish.

Cops who give me speeding tickets. It's really not necessary, officer. I know you're just doing your job, but most of you do it with a condescending attitude. Yes, I know how fast I was driving, that was the whole point. Yes, I am in a hurry, or was, until I got pulled over. Now I'm going to be late. Just give me my damn ticket, Nazi! Two mallets.

Traffic weavers. Usually young kids who think they're invincible. They weave in and out of traffic, usually without using a blinker (see above), and act like they're the most important person on the road. I'd like to put a rubber mallet right through their windshield. That might slow them down.


THE POLITICAL CATEGORY

Fairly self-explanatory, and where it isn't, I'll explain.

Sean Hannity - Five mallets
Chris Matthews - Six mallets.
Bill O'Reilly - Seven mallets
Rush Limbaugh - Eight mallets

Sarah Palin - Seven mallets. Three for incompetence, five for hubris, and I'll deduct one because you're spunky and you've got that hot librarian thing going.

Barack Obama - Five mallets. I gave to your campaign and now you won't leave me the fuck alone! I get ten letters a week from you, Hillary, your wife, Joe Biden, and your campaign manager. Multiply that by three and that's how many emails I get. For crying out loud, when I was in Montana, I even got a cell phone call from someone in Pennsylvania or somewheres, asking for more money. You've got three times as much money left as Gramps over there, and you want more from me? Back the hell off, man! You'd better not pull this shit with your social programs once you get elected or we're going to have problems, you and me.

McCain - No mallets. Don't get me wrong, there are P-L-E-N-T-Y of reasons to whack this mole, but on the off chance that he comes back and wins this election, I can't risk malleting him unconscious or we'll end up getting you-know-who as President. That wouldn't be good for anybody.


THE GYM CATEGORY

We're upping the ante here to a moderately hard mallet swing because now we're dealing with sheer stupidity rather than simple, misguided ignorance. The third group of RMAs goes to:

The chromosome-splitting, knuckledraggers who grunt like they just shit themselves when they lift anything over 20 pounds. I've been known to mock these a-holes with some fake grunts of my own. One mallet (to the throat).

The sweaty pigs who think we all enjoy seeing their hairy man-boobs peaking out from the thin, stringy piece of cloth around their neck, which they apparently believe qualifies as proper gym attire. These are always the wettest, smelliest, and most oblivious jerks in any gym. And they NEVER wipe anything down afterwards. Four mallets.

Asshats who want to "work in" with me on a machine when the gym is nearly empty. Go use another one until I'm done, you douche! Two mallets.

Women who dress in too-tight leotards, often with a neon thongpiece worn outside. I ask why? Two mallets. None if she's hot.

Attractive women who refuse to acknowledge my inappropriate staring while they're using the hip flexor machine. Seriously, what would it cost you to throw a little smile my way? Or one of those Sarah Palin winks? Two mallets.

Men who walk around the locker room totally naked for twenty minutes while I'm trying to shower. These exhibitionists are too comfortable with their bodies and a little too happy to look at mine. They blowdry their hair (and sometimes their bodies) naked, before they get dressed. And they congregate in places where you HAVE to walk by them: in the corridor on the way to the shower, in the shower area, where they're either toweling themselves off, or "waiting" to use one of the seven empty showers, in front of your locker, where they take an egregious amount of time to get dressed, while they bend, flex, and stretch. Naked. Ugh. Five mallets. Two to the head, three to the balls.


GENERAL STUPID BEHAVIOR WARRANTING MULTIPLE MALLET BEATINGS CATEGORY

This category is the top of the heap. I likely would kill these people with a rubber mallet if I wouldn't go to jail and feel bad about it later.

C.A.C.A. Enough said.

Nextel cell phone users, whose every conversation is on a speakerphone and preceded by those nails-on-a-chalkboard BEEP BEEPs. Making matters worse is the fact that the calls are typically unintelligible to the user because they're always saying, WHAT?? and they have to repeat themselves 1000 times. For some reason, these violators tend to be loud-talking minorities dressed in gang colors. I'm just sayin'. I've never seen a white person with one of these phones. If you're out there, shoot me an email and I'll publish a retraction.

Seven mallets.

Pretentious, clueless assholes waiting in line at a soup place or ice cream parlor who want to "sample" thirty-five flavors of the merchandise before buying something. "Can I try a little of the ________, please?" Then they take the little soup cup or wooden stick with ice cream in their obnoxious hand and dab their tongues at it like they're tasting a fine pinot noir in a Napa Valley vineyard. They're totally oblivious to the people waiting behind them. They couldn't care less. The Sampler is all about ME and GETTING THE BEST FOR MYSELF. To The Sampler, the Sample is precious, it's ambrosia, it's Frodo's Ring, because the success of The Sampling is going to dictate how pleasurable their soup or ice cream experience is going to be. And it's crucially important for this type of person to have every experience in life be as pleasurable, as meaningful, as possible. The Sampler, who tends to be well-dressed and have a heavy wallet, is used to having the best. Nothing less will do. So while the rest of us jerks stand behind these self-anointed kings and queens, they just keep sampling until they finally, FINALLY reach the Promised Land and have that magical, elusive flavor they've been searching for their whole lives swirling around their aardvark tongues.

I want to rubber mallet these arrogant, clueless pricks in the back of the head until they regurgitate their samples on the floor. Eight mallets.

Blackberry or cell phone users who, within seconds of leaving their office, are scanning and/or texting on their handhelds in elevator banks, on escalators, down stairs, on a busy sidewalk, in the middle of Grand Central Station, anywhere they'll cause maximum inconvenience to those around them. These fucktards are easy to spot because they're always looking down and not watching where they're going. I make it a point to try to run into them on purpose just to see if they'll look up.

If one of them happens to be in front of you, you'll know they're looking at a Blackberry because they'll suddenly start walking like they're 98 years old and suffering from an attack of rigor mortis. I'll realize it all of a sudden and then walk by wishing to God I could knock that piece of plastic out of their hands without starting a fistfight. I ran into a lady the other day. She was talking on her cell phone -- technically not the same thing as this category, but whatever -- and walked in a diagonal right across my path. I didn't stop, and I sort of brushed by her, so we barely touched. Maybe our jackets did, but that's it. She had a satisfying conniption anyway. She started yelling at me right there on the sidewalk. I had my headphones in, so I ignored her and just kept walking. I was happy to end it there. But she wasn't. She caught up to me at the next corner because I didn't have the light and couldn't cross, and she started giving me the jibberjabber, calling me a piece of shit and this and that. I explained to her in a loud voice that just because she's talking on a cellphone she doesn't have the right to walk wherever she pleases. Then she tried to say she was walking straight and I laughed in her face. Then she called me more names, whereupon I told her repeatedly to go fuck herself. Felt pretty good, too, but not something I want to do every day.

These cell phone users, Blackberry users, Nextel beepers all need to realize: You're not that fucking important, okay? Seriously. President Bush isn't emailing you. It's not N.A.S.A. calling to say they need you by the rocket-launcher asap. You're no more important than anyone else. So use your fucking heads when you're walking around. Either pay attention where you're walking or pick a place out of people's way to do your boring personal business.

Jesus, I want to club these people senseless. Ten mallets.

CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL THE WINNERS!