Dumbledore wants his damn pork fried rice.

Sometimes I'm really judgmental of people. And I look at them like this:

Or this:

Or maybe even this:

But only on special occasions. I like to think I'm generally a pretty nice person, though, so I try to keep an open mind. Some people, though. If you:

• Wear pajama pants out in public, I will judge you. Especially if you're over the age of eight, because that shit ain't cute, man. It's not that hard to throw on some pants, dude wearing ratty old South Park pajama pants in Newbury Comics. I know pants are just a major hassle enforced by society to prevent public indecency; I feel ya. Hell, if you refer back to This Post, you'll see that even in my own list of Things That Shouldn't Be Necessary But Are, wearing pants is in there, but do I look in the mirror when I'm wearing my fuzzy Mickey Mouse pajama pants and think, "Gee, I look totally presentable right now?" Absolutely not. What if you see like... your future mother-in-law or something out in public while you're sporting those super classy pajama pants with penguins all over them? No way are you marrying her daughter, now, buddy. You. Are a bum.
• Wear Crocs anywhere but in your garden, and you are over the age of ten, I will judge you. There's holes in them, pal. Miss, there are holes in your shoes. What are you supposed to do with that? Shoes are not meant to be rubber and lime green... or shaped like that... Ever. And if you put those little rubber button whatever-they-ares on your Crocs, go stand in a corner; no one likes you anymore. I'm sorry, that's a little harsh. Go home. Please.
• Look like Albus Dumbledore, I will judge you. I'm talking to you, old man eating Wonton soup in that Chinese restaurant. Please don't cast a spell on me.

• Have a picture of Edward Cullen or Jacob Black on your shirt, I will judge. Actually, if you have a Twilight shirt of any kind on, I will judge you. Don't advertise that shit, man. It's already popular enough; wouldn't you agree? Oh, what's that? You're team Edward? Well then, I'm team Jacob. Yeah, I love werewolves. They're sooo cool. I'm sorry, what? You're team Jacob? Oh, that's cool; I just remembered that I hate all of them. Every last person in Twilight. That's right, I'm talking to you, Kristin Stewart. 

P.S.- Super big thanks to my pal Rafa over at The RudeBlog for putting Pork on a Fork in his list of bloggity blogs that he likes to read. Check out his blog. Now. It's funny. Guaranteed laughs or your money back; just kidding, I have no money for you. It's funny, though.

Another P.S.- Pork on a Fork has a Facebook page, now. You can like it on Facebook from the sidebar right here on this crappy looking snazzy blog of mine. Go like it, so I don't look like a loser.

Excuse Me, Waitor, There's Flies in My Everywhere.

Beach? I'd rather just swim in a pool, thanks. Honestly, I don't understand the appeal of beaches at all. I mean, sure, it's (sort of) fun to build things out of sands... like piles, or "mountains" as I like to call them, because I'm so innovative and artistic and also because I can't build anything else because the damn sand falls apart every twenty seconds. Other than that, the only things that stand out to me are flies all over the fucking place (sorry I said fuck), hairy old men in uncomfortably small speedos, and five hundred pound women in floppy sunhats and Crocs flailing their flabby underarm skin every time a wave hits them... Okay, that was kind of funny, but still mostly just disturbing. Why I hate the beach the most:
1. Sand... Everywhere
It's on my towel. It's on my feet. In my hair. In my bathing suit. In my everywhere. Who the HELL designs women's bathing suits? I would like a word with them, please, because putting a pocket area in the crotch of women's bathing suits is just super unneeded. What are YOU keeping there? I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep my important belongings out of the water and away from that area, thanks. I don't care how innovative and ingenious it seems to you when you come up with it. Don't do it... bitch. Oh, and those "convenient" openings in bathing suit tops that the padding comes out of? No. Negatory, you fucking moron creative gem of a person, you. Stop doing this. I don't need sand in those areas. Thanks, but no thanks.
2. Salt Water in My Eyes and in My Ears and Up My Nose
Why would I want to swim in an oversized body of dirty salt water that has basically turned into a large wading pool for little kids to pee in when I can swim in a normal sized, clean pool? I understand that some people say a pool doesn't "give you the same experience as the beach," or whatever they like to say to defend their choices, and if getting hit in the yapper with a -10 degree wave every thirty seconds is your thing, I apologize. However, I'll pass on the getting tangled in seaweed and stepping on what I can only guess is countless numbers of rotting corpses and rusty nails laying on the ocean floor. I'll swim in a pool, where I can see what's in the water right in front of me, thanks.
3. People... I Hate Them More at the Beach
There's always the same crowd of people every time I go to the beach. There's:
-The leather lady who's been out tanning way too long... About fifteen years too long.
-The older, aspiring Arnold Schwarzenegger with peeling sunburn, flabby skin and tan lines from his "super cool" sunglasses wearing a speedo two sizes two small. There's just some things I wish I could unsee.
-The group of seven year olds screaming and throwing sand at each other three feet away from your towel. Have fun laying on piles of sand all day.
-The previously mentioned five hundred pound woman wearing bright blue Crocs that match her unflattering sunhat, flapping her arms like she's trying to take off every time a wave knocks her down.
-The group of obnoxiously disgusting teenagers who think blasting Lil Wayne from their crappy iPod speakers makes them the greatest thing on the planet. Unless you're listening to that one song that says, "Bitch, real G's move in silence like lasagna," I don't want to hear it... That one line is really friggin' clever, though.