Now that I have your attention, I'd like to explain how things are going to change once I become dictator.

When I run things, folks are going to have to start chewing with their mouth closed.  When did the basic rules change?  I don't want to hear your dinner and I damn sure don't want to see it.  Shut your yap to chew.

TV commercials during the noon hour.  "Got genetal herpes"?  No.  And I don't have my chicken sandwich anymore after that informing drivel.  What ever happened to old age insurance and housecleaning products?  No laxatives, no herpes meds, and no, I mean absolutely not one single diaper commercial of any kind from noon to one.

Of course, this won't be a problem when I become ruler of the world because one of the first things out the window will be tv's in the work place.  Guess what?  No one takes you seriously if they come in to discuss a $12,000 machining order only to find you're watching "One Life to Live" while you chomp, chomp, chomp on your reheated meatloaf.  And they will think you're fucking looney toons if they notice that not only are you watching a soap opera-- you're also talking back to the characters as if they actually exist!  No.  TiVo that sucker and watch it at home.  Or better yet, don't; the brain cell you save just might be your own.

Baby talk.  It's annoying in little girls of 4.  It's downright frightening in big girls of 40. To borrow a phrase from Dorothy Parker, it makes me want to fwow up.  No, I think I'll borrow a phrase from Groucho Marx: "If icky girl keep on talking that way, big stwong man's gonna kick all of her teef wight down her fwoat." I'm no big strong man, but I'll bet I can do it.

People who laugh when things aren't funny.  "Your mother died?  A-heh-heh."  I know it's a nervous habit when people (and let's be honest here: it's usually women) don't know what to say, but it's got to stop.  And I'll extend this to the man at the repair shop who smiles when he tells me how much it's going to take to fix my car.  That's nothing to smile about, friend.  Cut it out.

Fad diets.  Absolutely outlawed.  Your cabbage soup, your no wheat, your grapefruits, your food combinations, your eating by blood type,  your no carbs, your no fat, what the fuck ever.  Eat whatever you want.  I don't care.  Just don't tell me about it.  And don't even dream about telling me what I should or should not be eating.  We have a special circle of Gayle Hell for those folks.

If I order a breakfast taco with no egg, I don't want to hear about it.  I do it on purpose because I don't like runny, slimely, wet, snot-like, slithery, uncooked eggs.  If I make them, they can bounce.  If restaurants make them, they verge on the raw.  So no.  I don't want any of those nasty, nasty eggs.  And if you put those nasty eggs on my breakfast taco, your tip jar will know the difference.

I'm sure there are more.  I won't be shy about bringing them to your attention.