Slamming the Stroller-pushers

07/27/2013 by J. Nelson 2 Comments

When the term “stroller-pusher” becomes a derogatory label

When Stroller-pusher is used as a snide reference, it’s usually directed at some self-righteous adult pushing not just a stroller, but a holy-stroller, a classist war-wagon, if you will.

I also call it steering a child-hero or driving a trophy-trolley, (too often while forcing a 10th-grade wardrobe to conform to a 10th-grade-was-a-long-time-ago body). Certain Stroller-pushers have a pious air of expectation. Some Stoller-pushers rove in gangs, flying yoga colors, and they’re impatient, entitled, and predominantly white. Stroller-pushers believe it’s their privilege in life to express themselves, yet they demand the sanctity of their own comfort zones and short circuit like malfuctioning toasters when challenged. The woman in this cell phone footage (we’ll call her “Bananas”) exemplifies what happens when a self-important crybaby’s low tolerance for difficulty collides with not getting what she wants. She exemplifies a lack of patience and bearing. Read more

Happy Holidays – They’re On You

12/25/2012 by J. Nelson

How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

12/02/2012 by J. Nelson

I flip people off when I shouldn’t. I flip people off in traffic, when I’ve been wronged. I flip off friends and vice versa, or when it’s the only way to get the last word in. In public, it’s dorky and potentially risky, since Dirty Harry Hyundai could shoot my face off, but I even frequently use both hands – double barrel. Whenever I flip someone off, I claim to feel justified. But I confess I don’t have to: it’s fun. I’ll flip off Lana Del Rey eventually.

I’ve been flipping people off my entire life, and I doubt I’ll ever stop. I’ve tried the proper palm-back British “V” or “Bowfinger,” but in L.A. traffic? Meh. It’s awkward. Plus, xenophobes might not comprehend the affront. And although I admire the French, I love that the Bowfinger’s origins are said to lie in taunting them in battle. Probably to counter having farts blown in their general direction.

I’m saving my last great series of one-finger salutes for when I’m in a rest home, provided I make it that far. The downside is that I’m criticized for this unapologetic bird abuse – but mostly by hypocrites to whom all of the above applies. You see, everyone likes to fly their middle fingers once in a while, and I think repressing it is as silly as holding in a turd longer than you have to.