Although the details always change slightly, there is undeniably this incredibly weird little voice which lives inside each of us, coming out always in the most professional/formal/inappropriate moments, and longs only to see everything be ruined. Who hasn’t been sitting in a business meeting or particularly boring lecture and become overwhelmed with the desire to do something absolutely insane, such as light your neighbor’s beard on fire, or flash your genitals and wave them around a bit, or scream “penis” at the top of your lungs? There is just something almost… itchy about being in reserved, organized, quiet social situations which brings out the disgusting animal in each of us who wants chaos and loud noises and life-ruining behavior. I suppose we now have to work on channeling our inner Steve-O into a little voice which wants us to clean our shower, or file our taxes, or call our grandmother. At least put all that impulsiveness into positive behavior.

When it’s just screaming endlessly, and no one’s doing anything about it, and you’re just trying to enjoy your meal, and you know that your rage would be much better directed to the spineless parent who is allowing this to carry on, but you just can’t even think about them with the screaming in your ear — sometimes you just want to punch the baby. It is ruining your day, and being such an asshole, and even if you spend 99 percent of your time being a Mary Poppins figure who hands out dandelions to round-cheeked toddlers and whistling showtunes, you are not immune to the baby-punching. Just one swift uppercut to the face and they’d be quiet for a while, and you could finish your meal in peace. We are all terrible.

How much are your coworkers making? How about your friends? Your frenemies? Your cousins? Where are they geting that nice new blazer, and those fancy throw pillows? What kind of money are they making? They should be paying for my drinks with all this money they’re throwing around. If you could just get, like, an estimate within a 5,000-dollar range, that would be perfect. Just enough to know that you shouldn’t be seething with jealousy.

Whether standing on a subway platform or on the rooftop of a building which would definitely flatten you immediately if you fell, there is always that terrifying moment of “What if I just tipped right over and ended it all?” You’re not sad, you don’t want to die, and you’re not the kind of person who even goes for an adrenaline rush, and yet — it’s all you can think about it. Even the most even-keeled person is guaranteed to get a rush or two of “Maybe I would just break all the bones in my legs and still make it out okay” when looking over the railings of a long stairwell. It’s human nature, and yet it never gets any less unnerving. Because what are you going to do? You can’t just turn to your friend and be like, “Don’t mind me, I’m just contemplating my mortality for a hot sec. I might jump, but probably won’t. You can have my XBox just in case I do.” I mean, you could, but I would discourage it.

I’m sure they are capable of being nice people, but I am not trying to get my buzz ruined by some Polly Party Pooper who just wants to look at me condescendingly while I sip my Mad Dog like a lady and talk about how she’s high on life and doesn’t need to intoxicate herself to see all the ~beauty and joy of being a citizen of this earth~ or whatever New Age smugness she has been smoking these days. We all know that it’s the worst, and yet no one works up the courage when told “I don’t need to drink to have fun” to rip the cork out of a bottle of wine with their teeth and be like “WELL I DO GLUG GLUG GLUG.” Someone should really take one for the team and do it.

It’s not even necessarily that this couple is particularly uggo, although that happens quite often, too. Hell, there are some couples that are not at all your cup of tea physically whom you could still picture slapping away like one of those plastic clappy-hands toys kids use at parties. But there are just certain couples who, for whatever reason, are as asexual as the bodies of Barbie and Ken dolls. The idea of them getting it on is at once impossible to imagine and slightly unsettling to consider. They’re just kind of gross in any sexual context, and you’d rather not see them holding hands, lest your mind wander to where else those hands have explored.

I don’t know, man, sometimes a baby is just unattractive. You want to be nice, but you’re just like, “Yikes, 2/10 at best.” And it’s bad enough when it’s just some random baby crossed in the street, but sometimes it’s popping up on your Facebook news feed or coming to family functions and then you have to be repeatedly confronted with its presence and forced to muster up some half-hearted lie about how cute it is. Can we just be honest and be like, “Hey, some babies have great personalities. Yours is one of them.” Please?