I have a lot of pet peeves.
I have so many pet peeves that I should have a peeve zoo. I spend a fortune on Peeve-kibble for all of these pet peeves. I am the Doctor Doolittle of pet peeves.
The fact is that I have the number of pet peeves a 90-year-old man could have. I might as well spend my days standing on my front porch, screaming at anyone who dares to touch my front lawn and hollering about the level that the neighbor kid’s pants often hang.
Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m irrational and should let some of these pet peeves go, set them free into their natural peeve environment.
More likely, though, it is all other people’s fault. People can be incredibly obnoxious.
I guess I can’t entirely blame people. They don’t know when they are doing something that is setting off my peeve-alert. They…
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