Rage Against The Fruit Bowl

I have just sworn at my pineapple. Pineapple isn’t a pet name for a spouse or dog, I actually mean that I just berated my fruit salad. What did I yell at it for? Having seeds, which by definition of it being a fruit, is pretty much it’s job but seriously, why so many?!?!?!

This little outburst wasn’t in any way unusual and I’m not at all sorry. Well, who has to apologise to a pineapple?! I actively enjoy these moments of rage and I think all who come into contact with me should be eternally grateful that innocent tropical foodstuffs are there to take the full brunt of this inner hatred. If it weren’t the fruit bowl, if could be YOU taking a foul mouthed tirade against your very existence!

My pineapple is by no means alone in taking my seemingly uncalled for wrath. The television, or rather, the stupid people I happen to see on the television, are also very firmly in the firing line. You would think that I would avoid such televised horrors if they reduce me to fits of convulsive swearing but I find it utterly delicious. In short, I enjoy venting uncensored venom at things that are in no way going to hold it against me at a later date or call the domestic abuse help line.

My day-to-day existence involves being generally helpful and pleasant to those I encounter and a general sentiment that I would like to avoid making people cry but there are moments in all our lives when we just want to let off some steam and those who claim to have no steam to let off are huge liars or don’t work in an industry that exposes them to contact with the general human populace.

Now, let me take you back to the hatred aimed at those on television (the pineapple obviously had it coming – no fruit has need of 12 seeds in just one slice. It’s just plain arrogance!!!!). There are certain televisual abominations I actively seek out for a good dose of venting. The likes of wedding related shows or those based around weight problems are perfect; Don’t Tell The Bride/Four Weddings/Bridezillas and Fat Families/Biggest Loser/I Was A Massive Fatty (I may have made that last one up but it covers a plethora of offerings within the pie-muncher genre).

The scorn, hatred and general abuse that I direct towards these televised cretins isn’t because they’re brides and isn’t because they’re clinically obese, it’s because they’re stupid. The brides issue statements such as “it’s not YOUR wedding, it’s MINE. You just have a role in it” to their intendeds and therefore deserve not just my contempt but that of society as a whole, and the fatties? Well, it’s hard not to shout obscenities at the screen when these people fail to grasp the direct correlation between the quantity of cake they just shoveled into their faces and the lack of pounds shed from their sofa-dwelling posteriors. The fact that these people then choose to parade their idiocy in front of a TV camera for a whole nation to see, gives me full permission to judge harshly and shout horrificaly spiteful things at my flat screen.

That I shall never (please dear lord) meet these people and that they have no way of knowing what truly dreadful tourettes-worthy outbursts they have drawn forth from me means that I’m not a bad person. Fact. My rage has been directed, not at real people, but at a television set in the corner of a room, hundreds, if not thousands of miles from these vile specimens of Darwinian failure. No one gets hurt (sometimes I wish it were otherwise).

There are many things in our daily pursuits that quite rightly induce feelings of extreme violence but now isn’t the time to go into each and every one. These are things which are logically frustrating and it would take an entire encyclopaedia to catalogue each irksome encounter. The London Underground deserves an encyclopaedia of hatred all of it’s own as anyone who travels on it daily will testify, but that rage is wholly justified and therefore not nearly as amusing as yelling at the wind. Seriously, that change-in-pressure puff of air leaves me no excuse but to curse it and wish it a world of gusty pain. Leave my hairstyle alone and stop trying to flash my knickers at a passing bus, you Beaufort scaled bully!!!

A word of wisdom to those of you tempted to unleash your repressed passive aggression in a physical manner on inanimate objects. Mobile phones make a lovely smashing sound as they hit the wall, then they don’t make very much sound at all. Also, if you pull down the curtains, you only have to put them back up again.  *ahem*. Just saying. Not that I ever did that. Ok, it was a very long time ago. I was young.

The benefits of these little outbursts are many. Not only are you diverting a toddler-esque hissy fit from less appropriate moments (imagine likening your boss to female genitalia because they ate the last chocolate biscuit during a performance review meeting – wouldn’t it be better to verbally assault at a packet of chocolate biscuits later on in the privacy of your own padded cell living room?), these tirades also provide a cracking bit of cardio.

If you get a really insanely stupid and self-absorbed bride shrieking to her mother  “I WANT CANAPÉS!!!! What are canapés?” (actual quote), you can get quite a good boost to your heart rate and all that leaping out of your seat gives those thighs a better tone up than a military fitness boot camp. Maybe the contestants of the fatty TV shows should watch the brides…

Another benefit to expressing one’s deep hatred toward the computer/coat hanger/pepper grinder is that it can be highly amusing, not just for yourself (yes, I’m one of those sad individuals who laughs at their own witticisms) but those around you can also share in your eye wateringly creative vocabulary and rib ticklingly cutting asides, and that’s sharing, which is a good thing.

So there you have it. Venting rage at nothing in particular is fun AND good for you. It’s best kept to the privacy of your own home though. Abusing the pineapples in Tesco is reserved for the mentally ill and they can get quite territorial of the fruit and veg aisle.