Cease And Desist Notice

128773478691263236 Right. That’s it. I’ve had it up to the proverbial here with you lot. I mean, it’s by no means all of you, some of you are nice, caring, specific individuals but there are lots of you, so many of you, who are painfully non-specific.

I still like you. We can laugh,have fun,watch films together and pig out on Ben & Jerry’s while mocking the way in which people think the world is going to end on May 21st, October 21st (or is it December 21st 2012 – what’s with the 21sts of the month?) but oh my word please think before you ask me things.

You all know I can talk. I can talk for money and should my life ever depend upon it, I will live to a ripe old age. Give me a topic, just say a noun, and I’ll be away for the next 20 minutes spouting useless but nevertheless interesting facts about said subject or questioning you about it if I don’t know enough random crapola to keep you on the edge of your seat.

But please, PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU, stop with the unspecific questions.

“Tell me about yourself” Tell you what? I’m not trying to be especially big headed here but there is quite a lot about me to tell and I’m guessing you don’t have all day. Do you want to know about me growing up? Do you want to know about what films I like? Do you want to know where I live? Do you want to know what I do for a living? Do you want to know about where I see myself in five years? (Ask me that and I will most likely laugh in your face and give you a long rant on how ludicrous future plans are) Do you want to know what kind of food I like? WHAT DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT ME?

When people ask non-specific questions, I freeze up. There is literally too much to tell you in the finite amount of time we have here.

“Say something in French” Say what? You’ve literally just asked me to give you a sentence of unspecified length and content which you won’t even understand anyway. Where do I begin? I’m quite tempted to pre-prepare a long French sentence about how I hate non-specific questions and how I think that those who ask them have small brains and are lazy and without imagination. Ask me to say a specific English sentence in French and I might just oblige you. Might.

“What have you been up to since I saw you last?” I’m sorry but I might have even found the cure for cancer and perfected time travel but if it was any less than five minutes ago, I’ve probably forgotten. If you were to specifically ask me – about what I tend to do – “How’s uni?” I’ve finished! “How’s your new job?” Manic but fun and it pays well. “Seen any good films lately?” Why yes – Brokeback Mountain, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada and I re-watched Mulan just for the fun of it. – then I’d probably have a very good answer or two for you. But because everything that has happened simply gets filed in the ‘Stuff That Happened Somewhere Sometime Ago’ (my mind, like my room, is quite cluttered) then I probably won’t be able to give you a coherent answer.

So there you have it. The reason why I will give you a frosty and unimpressed stare when you ask me a stupid question. I might even begin answering with bizarre answers. After all: ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Bugs Bunny taught me that.

P.S.V.
This. Is. Awesome.

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