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Here is a truncated list of things I can’t fucking stand:

• People unable to differentiate between “their,” “there,” and “they’re,” despite graduating from high school. We should redirect the public education budget to construct gas chambers for these moronic scum.
• High-fiber oatmeal that makes my sphincter hemorrhage like it would if a ninja sodomized me with a katana. I wanted seven whole grains, Kashi, not severe hole pains.
• The overuse of antibiotics. Way to doom our species, hypochondriacs! Why don’t I sneak into your house and release aerosolized pandemic into the ventilation system? Oh, you’d have a problem with that?
• “Have You Seen This Child?” ads on milk cartons (STOP LOOKING IDIOTS THEY’VE BEEN DEAD FOR WEEKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HUNGRY VULTURES SCATTERED THEIR BONES ACROSS NORTH AMERICA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

But these minor annoyances are nothing compared to the horrendous crushing pox of inflation. Prices used to make sense: $1.00 for a soda, $5.00 for an Extra Value Meal, and $10.00 for a movie ticket. Now prices are more confusing than bloody (oatmeal-provoked) diarrhea in a urinal: $1.85 for a soda, $6.40 for an Extra Value Meal (not such an extra value now, McMotherfuckers) and a month’s wages for a goddamn movie ticket because the "D" in 3D actually stands for "default," ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha FUCK.

Look, I don’t mean to sound like your grandfather. And I don’t want to fear-monger about a swiftly approaching fiscal apocalypse like Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck—I’m not a jackbooted propagandistic crypto-fascist, merely a greedy prick—but the National Inflation Association “projects this rate will rise above 10%” next year. And you know what that means, aside from the fact you should stockpile a decade’s worth of dehydrated foodstuffs and a brigade’s worth of ammunition in your zombie-proof underground bunker?

Gumballs will no longer cost a quarter.

You know how the price of gold is supposed to predict the health of the economy? Well, screw that, because Chiclets is our most stable natural resource. (For some reason “Chiclets” is singular, not plural. Go fuckin’ figure.) Ever since 1906 Chiclets has given the world affordable chewing pleasure. And they’ve cost twenty-five cents for a handful since the ‘80s. But those handfuls are shrinking. You twist that knob but hardly receive any candy—a pittance—whereas you used to receive an overflowing fist’s worth. This is more disappointing than discovering that your favorite hooker is a transsexual, but you already paid a quarter so you cram it in your mouth anyway and savor the fruit-i-licious flavor.

The transsexual hooker, I mean. You just toss the Chiclets in the garbage.

A lot of experts have theories about what causes inflation: unemployment, national debt, printing too much currency, and the Semitic race. (Just kidding about that last one! We’re an ethnicity, not a race!) But these conjectures are bullshit; the answer is whoever owns those change-counting machines at convenience stores—you know, the ones that turn your coins into bills and charge 9% in the process—because no one else logically stands to benefit from zillions of extra pennies, nickels and dimes flooding the marketplace.

We need to smash these monstrosities exactly like how Jesus Christ smashed the change-counters back in his day. We can even carry wooden crosses on our backs and scream incoherently about the End of Days! That would scare the oligarchical plutocratic swine! Because it will be the End of Days! For THEM! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I don’t want all this useless pocket change, you thieving pig bastards… I WANT CHEAP SHIT AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!