This Is The Title, Ya Know What I’m Sayin’?

Something annoyed me today. I bet you can’t guess where I was when it annoyed me! I’ll give you a hint:

I WAS ON THE FUCKING BUS!

AGAIN!

Why do I keep doing this shit to myself?! Why the don’t I just become an agoraphobe and never leave my house. Every time I get in that damn tin can of despair known as public transportation, something happens that makes me lose even more faith in humanity. I started out with no faith. I now have a negative million and six faith units of faith, a unit of measurement I invented just to give you a tangible figure for my plight. That’s a lot of faith units lost thanks to a bunch of poor fucks on wheels.

And what happens on buses to drop my humanity-faith stock value even lower? Cell phones. Cell phones, as I understand it, are a physical representation of Satan’s COCK! When you grip one in your hand, he ejaculates evil all over your face. A hell-sent money shot of pure, unadulterated fucktardedness. You are just a whore in the eyes of the underworld, and thou shalt taketh it all, bitch!

So, I hear it all take place in the seat directly behind me, because… why would it be far away? It has to be close to me. It has to be right there, in the back of my head, like the barrel of a hate-gun ready to blow hot anger directly into my gray-matter.

*ring* (not an actual ring, one of those annoying-ass cell phone ring tones that make you want to murder children when you hear them)

“Wud up!”

That was when I knew things were about to go awry. “Wud up”. If I were to translate that into a literal language, it would mean “The following conversation is going to make you wish you were deaf”.

“Wud up!”

And away we fuckin’ go!

The conversation that followed was pretty timid. It wasn’t the subject matter that bothered me this time. No, no, it was one simple little thing. Ya know what I’m sayin’?

Do you? Do you know what it is that I am currently speaking of? “Ya know what I’m sayin’?” Now, in and of itself, it’s harmless. Quite a few people say it every once and awhile. No, no, not this guy. It might as well have been a form of punctuation to this cock for brains. Like a comma. Repeating, over and over, as if he himself was curious what he was saying.

Now, I’ve heard offenders of this speech crime before, but never to this extent. It was as if he had “Ya know what I’m sayin’?” tourettes. A nervous tic that comes out as an inquiry to the nature of the person on the receiving end’s listening and comprehension skills. Ya know what I’m sayin’?

Over and over. How could it possible get worse?!

And why does that kind of question always lead to an answer in the form of a harsh reality that it can get worse. I heard something that, up until now, I figured to be impossible. Something that baffles my fragile mind even now.

“Ya know what I’m sayin’… ya know what I’m sayin’?”

Oh shit. Did he just say it twice in a row?! I quit. I retire. I’m done. Bye. This wasn’t even a “repeating the same question because the person didn’t hear it” kind of repeating. This was a dumbfounding reasonless repeating.

It reminded me of those multiple stabbings you hear about in the news. “So and so was found dead today with 326 stab wounds…”. And there you are, sitting there, thinking to yourself: “…well, that’s a bit excessive, ain’t it?” And excessive it was.

So, as my sanity was repeatedly stabbed for no apparent reason, I began to wonder how this phenomenon came into existence. What was the origin of “Ya know what I’m sayin’?” I would assume at some point in time, people had to check to make sure other people understood shit. That’s the only explanation I can find. There was a time during the development of human speech, when other people just flat-out didn’t get anything.

“So, it turned out it was a double donger…”

“…I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying…”

“You know, a double donger… it’s got a dickhead on both sides, so two people can enjoy it. Or one person if you bend it in a C shape…”

“Oh, right! Thanks for taking the time to explain that! Now I completely understand the message you were trying to convey to me about your girlfriend’s choice in sexual enjoyment equipment!”

Well, this kind of thing continued for too long, so someone decided: “Why don’t I just check to make sure the listener understands!”

“So, it turned out the vibrating egg wasn’t supposed to go ALL the way into your ass, do you understand what I’m talking about?”

“More than you can imagine, dear friend, more than you can imagine…”

And over time, as is the case with just about every useful statement, it was stripped down, turned into a nearly unintelligible manglement (Well, that’s a word NOW fuckers!) of its original self. It became more habitual than useful. It became a pile of verbal feces. Warm and steamy.

That brings us back to our friend, our splurge-rag for Satan. “Ya know what I’m sayin’?”‘s flying every which way. I had to find a way to turn what he was doing to me, the equivalent of violently and repeatedly raping my mental well-being, into a form of mild entertainment. So I closed my eyes, and let the twisted imagination-machine in my mind churn out some home-spun enter-sane-ment.

I began to apply his disorder to historical speeches. I wanted to see just HOW much damage the misuse of “ya know what I’m sayin’” could do to once spectacular achievements in vocalization.

Let’s begin with Martin Luther King Jr., shall we?

“I have a dream, ya know what I’m sayin’? That one day this nation, ya know what I’m sayin’?, Will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed, ya know what I’m sayin’?: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’ …ya know what I’m sayin’?”

How about a little FDR?

“So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, ya know what I’m sayin’? Nameless, ya know what I’m sayin’? Unreasoning, ya know what I’m sayin’? Unjustified, ya know what I’m sayin? Terror which paralyzes, ya know what I’m sayin’? Needed efforts to convert retreat into advance, ya know what I’m sayin’? Ya know… what I’m sayin’?”

It hurts, doesn’t it. Like salting a paper cut on your testy sack. Every “ya know what I’m sayin’?” a slap in the face of evolution itself. As if we’ve de-evolved to a point where we actually no longer understand our own speech patterns. We’ve lost verbal communication, and pretty soon our opposable thumbs! Then, it’s just a matter of time before we’re shitting in our palms and whipping it at each other. And to be totally honest… that sounds a fuckload better than this.

Ya know what I’m sayin’?