At least you got that, QYB.

This rant is a bit mature with some mild language, you’ve been warned.

Aggravates me when I am on the train or some place suitable for chatter and I hear people venting over something high superfluous. Jump into my time machine and see what I mean.

The year? 1998. For those not born before this time, we had pogs, Japanese Pokemon cards and the biggest political concern in the school yard is the card/electronics ban so we can’t talk about catching all 151 Pokemon. The iPod was just a celebrity accessory at the cost of 200+ for something the size and heft of a wallet. The internet speed at the time was emerging into DSL speeds and here I am, in class on a sweltering heat. A bit pudgy and growing to be a bit slimmer. A loner like always, I’ve mastered the art of just absorbing ambient audio into my ears. We are getting our math test back and as you look over my shoulders in your ethereal form to peek at the mark. “C+”, pretty average and you see me content. The kid in front stands and walks over to the teacher’s desk and he starts chatting up a storm. Last about 5 minutes, but feels like an eternity. He sits back to his desk.

“What’s wrong?” A child squeaks beside you, he doesn’t care but wants to know the drama.

“I only got an A” He replies in disdain.

Time’s up, back to the present!

The punk got a freaking A and he’s complaining for an A+. This wouldn’t be the last time I would hear such things. I experience it over. And over again that in this day and age I have an acronym that suits the purpose; you read it in the title, QYB. Quit your bitching is very universal in terms of field where you have to express the minute point the subject is attempting to make. In high school, I used the phrase at least 7 times a year and usually drive home the point; that doesn’t matter so stop complaining. “This class is boring, I can’t drop it because I want a perfect record.” QYB, you are here and your exhalation of stressed stupidity will not get you out of class. 

I once walked into a Pizza Pizza at 2 am for a walk-in pepperoni pizza special. Lady in line after me order something huge involving fries, chicken wings and pizza. So about 10 minutes,  I see the cook, take the chicken out of the fryer and the metaphorical shit hits the fan. She goes off about how she doesn’t want cold chicken. Then she starts to cancel her order as her pizza and fries exit the kitchen about 10 minutes after while all this time in my head I take note of the employees getting frustrated. If you ever made food while pissed off, you will notice two things about. First for looks, it’s a messy pile of food; messier than usual. Second is the taste and texture, its too bland or not cooked the way you want. Back to Whiney McLardlady, she throws a hissy fit and just start getting all angry. Angry like you would likely kill someone. I felt bad when I brought my pizza home. First, it was more like a meat pie than a pizza. Almost no cheese and the sauce turned the sausage to something close to a salsbury steak consistency. I couldn’t return it since the employees would get pissed to the point where it would be awkward and likely someone would get more cut up than the pepperoni slices. So to that lady was there if you are reading this, here a lesson about bitch tickets. You can only complain once before it becomes insulting, when you use up your bitch ticket the receiver will be pissed. Every bitch ticket cumulative but if from the same dumb cunt, it’s exponential to the point you are robbing others right to a bitch ticket. So rather than one receiver, more people get pissed of because you stole their right to complain. Next time you want the same order, QYB and take the opportunity to learn what oven is.

Recently I had a discussion about people’s relationships. And ladies, we also do complain about you. This moment in time, the discussion of female talents arose and it go to the point where my celebrity crush got involved; I’ll let you guess my crush in the comments. So here we were thinking of this crush’s ex-boyfriend’s complain about her talents and how she can write about them for everyone to listen. My response is if they do complain about a sweet adorable girl like her, QYB because no girl has never wrote a song and performed it to the world. If anything, they’re lucky to have a song and another if she wrote one about during and after the relationship. I’d do what I can to treat her right just so I can get some satisfaction that she wrote a song about me and it’s pretty freaking awesome.

So the next time someone:

  • Complains about losing a grade point
  • Complains about their loved ones
  • Complains about quality of service or product
  • Whines about something without substantial proof 

I want you to to tell them or yell at them “QUIT YOUR BITCHING”. Life is hard, no need for it to get harder.


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