Accents

Is there a drug that can prevent me from being so easily annoyed? The only cure I can find requires earbuds, dark sunglasses, and nose plugs. It seems people can tune me out easily enough, so why can't I reciprocate? Ugh.

I was in my office (yes, a bar) last night, sitting next to tourists. How did I know they were tourists? No, not suitcases. Not even the pasty white skin. It was their damn country bumpkin accents. Annoying.

"We bought us one dem spraaay guhns and I done spray'd me half duh house fore it runned out paint. Y'aint gots to worry none 'bout it likes you do rollers. Jus go bouts yer bizness o’ paintin’."

What fucking grade school in which cousin-fucking state permits their little hayseeds to talk like that?

Sure, I have a slight Jersey accent. It usually rears its ugly vowels after my third empty glass.

"Hey, Vito."
"What?"
"What's the name of that hot black fluid people drink in the morning?"
"Cough-ee."
"Ah, ha ha ha!"
"Jim Beam?"
"Oh, you're killing me. OK, how about that clear stuff that that's refreshing and life-giving?"
"Wuht-er."
"Eeh, hee hee hee!"
"Blueberry vodka?"
"No, you were right the first time."
"What's so damned funny, Dickweed?"
"Your accent, Vito. Fagettaboutit."
"OK, why don’t you answer a few questions, Genius. What's that brown spot that grows on your flesh and eventually kills you?"
"Melanoma?"
"When you can’t pay your mortgage and your house loses its value, what does the bank do?"
"Foreclose?"
“When your wife starts banging your best friends, what do you call her?”
“Huh? What?”
"Nevermind. Here’s an easy one: When your buddy leaves you to pay his tab, what do you call him?"
"Cheapskate?"
”Nope.”
“Jew.”
“Racist and wrong on both accounts.”
“Thief.”
“Incorrect. I'm hitting the restroom. You think about it.”
“Make sure you warsh your hands ... ha ha ha.”

Naturally, I took my Joisey accent straight out the door and gave my buddy the East Coast one-finger salute as I drove away.