As human beings evolve, doesn’t it make sense that things should get better? Then why are there still so many annoying things annoying us? Well, we’re putting an end to all things annoying RIGHT NOW. Here’s our list of things from 2005 that AREN’T invited back to 2006!

Vancouver, WA

Take a drive up I-5 north at rush hour, and tell me if you notice anything strange. Invariably, seven out 10 vehicles will have WASHINGTON license plates. That's right; while we weren't looking, residents of Vancouver have been sneaking into Portland, stealing our jobs, molesting our children, and even more sickeningly, clogging our freeways! Then, after dumping counterfeit bills into our local economy, selling crack to the elderly, and taking HUGE steaming dumps in our bathrooms, they dash back over the bridge to their pristine million dollar mansions. WELL, NO MORE. Vancouver, as of January 1, 2006, we're raising the bridge permanently—because you're not invited back! WSH

Downtown Parking Meters that Don't Take One-Dollar Bills

Okay—SO HOW FUCKING SIMPLE IS THIS, CITY OF PORTLAND? Do I carry around coins? No. Why? Because no one fucking does anymore—it's like carrying around gold doubloons. Do I like charging one measly goddamn dollar to my debit card so I can park for two minutes downtown? No. Because that's a big pain in the ass—if I'm going to use plastic, I'd like it to be for something that's over a goddamn dollar in worth. BUT! Do I have paper dollars? Why, yes. Yes, I do! So why don't our fucking parking meters take them? Huh? Is there any good reason? (Don't say yes, whoever's in charge—because there isn't. THERE JUST ISN'T.) It's bad enough that it costs so much to park downtown that it's not even worth going there anymore. So how about you make it just a little easier, huh? EH

Napoleon Dynamite Merchandise

We'll admit it: We laughed when we saw that first homemade "Vote for Pedro" shirt on some kid at the Tube. But that was, like, 60 YEARS AGO! Who would've thought a movie about retards in Idaho would spawn ridiculous abominations like the Napoleon Dynamite Halloween mask that Target(!!!) was selling back in October?! That shit made you look like a drooling, nerdy, child molester! Enough already! It's not funny anymore, and YOU killed it. No more Napoleon Dynamite key chains! No more pins! No more posters, coffee cups, condoms, novelty straws, top hats, mayoral sashes, ski boots, kitty litter, ring tones, shotgun shells, and diapers! And no more Napoleon impersonations while we're at it; drop another "Ligers are pretty much my favorite animal" and we'll kick you in the heart and you will die. AG

The Dada Ball

Look, if you want to invite me to an over-the-hill drag party where people my parent's age wind up half naked, sloppy drunk, and tongue-boxing, just let me know. But don't call it the most enormous, performance artsy, best party in town. Expensive-ass tickets, overpriced drinks, and for what? To have some dude in a sheepskin loincloth "bump" up against me nine times on the stairs as I watched—Clockwork Orange-style—local art dealers down Lemon Drops and try to remember their Lambada dance moves? Thanks, but if I wanted to see that, I'd go to the infamous monthly swingers party held in the back room of a noted posh Pearl District gallery. CB

"It Lists" That I'm Not On

Portland Monthly magazine recently featured their "It List" of 2005—spotlighting the top 25 people who make and shape Portland—and I'm left asking one question: Where the FAWK am I?? Apparently hovering somewhere around #47, because unbelievably, I didn't make their list! I guess these monocle-wearing fuddy-duddies didn't get the memo, but I fucking RULE this town. Who destroyed Jim Francesconi's life and career? ME. (Once again, sorry about that, Jim.) Who uses their prestige as a columnist to tap more tail than Wilt Chamberlain? ME. And when the Portland Business Alliance has their annual meeting to decide which local pain-in-the-butt will be sacrificed to their dark lord Satan, who is always on the top of the list? YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS IT'S ME. So remember the name, chumps: WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY. As far as you're concerned, I'm the #1 "It" and the rest ain't shit. WSH

Young Men with Beards

You know, 30 is going to come barreling around the corner faster than you think. You should be spending these precious years taking advantage of the fact you are still dressing like a college kid at your job, dancing, drinking, staying out late, and most importantly, attracting members of the opposite sex. But you, young dude with a beard, you look like my dad, and therefore I'm less likely to ask you for your phone number than I am for an advance on my allowance. Although I wouldn't say that to your face, because I'm too afraid you'd ground me. MS

Designer Dogs and Their Owners

Remember Jeff Goldblum in The Fly, when he tried to play God and instead ended up as a monstrously grotesque, cesspool-dwelling abomination? That is exactly what the creators of fancy mixed-breed dogs have done, but with far more tedious consequences—for example, "puggles" and "labradoodles"? No, I get it. You wanted the brains of a Golden Retriever and the hygiene of a Dalmatian. Well guess what? Your re-animation just puked up a tampon and smells like a rotting corpse—and is humping the paper shredder. Meanwhile, untold millions of perfectly un-fucked-with mutts go abandoned at shelters every night. But don't let that stop you from plotting your next million-dollar canine combo platter, like the Rottihuahua. Just know that we've created a special place for you in our custom-made hell, where Satan is a mix between Hitler, Pol Pot, and George W. Bush. And you can take your Bishobermanadoroodle with you. SM

Bluetooth Headsets

Hey yuppie! I hope you didn't enjoy yammering away on your Bluetooth cell phone headset—because it's not invited back! All I ask is that you look at yourself in a mirror, and tell me what you see. That banana-shaped mechanism with the fancy flashing blue light that's stuck to the side of your head makes you look like you've been ear-fucked by a Borg from Star Trek. No one—not a single person in the world—is impressed with you. Girls are laughing behind your back, and the cell phone companies are laughing even harder because they now know you will buy the most ridiculous looking piece of shit in the world—AND THEN STICK IT IN YOUR EAR. WSH

Smokers in Bars

Yo, smokers in bars, I have a great New Year's resolution for you: Take your little burning cancer stick and get the fuck outside. Hell, I'll join you; I like burning the late-night nicotine as much as the next guy. But what I don't like is sitting in an otherwise cozy little bar and being forced to breathe in clouds of your acrid lung remnants. And if I, by no means a bar regular, don't like it, think how the bartender feels, who has to breathe your disgusting tar puffs every night of her working life? She might not be a smoker, but she's in even more danger of getting emphysema than you are because of a little thing called secondhand smoke that your unfeeling ass refuses to acknowledge. Get that ass out of its chair and invest in the 10 seconds it takes to step outside and have a cigarette. You're welcome to kill yourself all you want; just stop killing those around you. Or do you like killing people? JWS

People Who Complain About Smokers in Bars

Yo, people who complain about smokers in bars, I have a great New Year's resolution for you: Take your little, whining, shit-eating face, and get the fuck out. You don't like smoking in bars? Then don't come to a bar that allows smoking. Or do you want to tell someone how they should run their PRIVATE business? Is that the kind of person you are? Or maybe it's just that you want people who would otherwise smoke in the bar to go home and smoke in their homes and make their children breathe it. Is that what you want? Do you like killing children? JWS

Bald Genitalia

Waitasecond. "Bald genitalia?" What the hell is wrong with bald genitalia and why is it on this list? What are you—a hippie? For the love of God, please do something with that unruly bush inside your pants. When I go to the movies, I'm there to see the screen, not the curtains—know what I'm saying? What's this paper going to promote next? Genocide and slavery? If anybody else is up for arranging an Underground Railroad for our clean-shaven, exiled brothers and sisters—mostly sisters, thanks—email chas@portlandmercury.com. We shall overcome. CB

Vegetarianism

First off, I was a vegetarian/vegan for the last 15 years. Being aware of the quality and origin of the foods you eat is just plain common sense. However vegetarianism/veganism is out. The movement helped launch widespread attention to issues that inspired it, creating consumer demand for all things organic, local, and sustainable. Congratulations, we won. Now we can eat what our bodies crave (healthier physically and psychologically), and purchase it organically/locally/free rangedly/non-hormonally even at the local Safeway, plus this will stop making you a pain in the ass at dinner parties. Because seriously, at this point it just makes you seem hysterical. MS

Dandy Warhols Singer (and Former Mercury Owner) Courtney Taylor-Taylor

Having a rock star as a boss was fun at first, but Courtney Taylor-Taylor really blew it. Examples: Not filling the coffee pot back up. All his endangered species frozen microwave lunches. Spackling the office toilet with his explosive diarrhea. (After which he'd say "Whew! Welcome to my monkey house!"—and he wouldn't even spray the orange-scented deodorizer!) Then there was the "Taylor-Taylor Double-Double Day," where we had to have TWO identical editorial meetings, TWO identical stories written on each subject, and TWO frickin' identical eight hour work shifts! Thank God, CT-T only lasted one week-week. Good riddance-riddance! AG

Faces of Meth

We get it, for fuck's sake: Meth makes people ugly. But you know what? So does a lot of other stuff—like, say, smoking, or being poor, or me kicking you in the mouth. So where are those galleries in the Oregonian? Where's the gallery of smokers with yellow teeth, or huffers with droopy eyes and pendulums of drool? We get it: Everyone in Gresham and Beaverton does meth, and it's really bad and all, so there's no need to print yet another goddamn gallery of uggos on the front page to remind us not to do it. All right? Right. Now leave me alone with my half-empty can of Reddi-Whip until you want to take my picture. EH

VICE Magazine

It's time to put the sacred cow of cool out to pasture. Although initially everyone went deservedly bananas for the magazine's mercilessly abrasive, urban tone, now I just read it to watch them run out of ideas. The only good thing they've done recently was the "VICE Guide to Killing Your Parents," but most of it is desperate crap like the Rainy Day Issue. Even the Dos and Don'ts are only sporadically funny, and the extended empire of stores and record labels makes it seem like a Delia's catalogue for hipsters. (BTW, you can buy Dos and Don'ts action figures now. Can't you tell when you're being insulted?) MS

Leaf Blower Abuse

I hate those air-polluting, noise-polluting jetpacks with a passion I can't convey, and don't believe they do anything that a proper raking or sweeping can't do in half the time. But hey, let's face it: Leaf blowers are here to stay. It's the douchebags who abuse them that I hope leave and never come back. Nothing infuriates me more than watching some smirking lout waving his hose around, spewing exhaust and angry noise and burning up our hard-won gas reserves, as three little leaves float about in the air in front of him. If you're going to torture people with a leaf blower in 2006, let's at least have a good reason to do so, okay? Like, say, when there are actual leaves to blow? JWS

The Suicide Girls

Miraculously, someone let them slip their way into 2004, and look what happened. A coffee table book, a documentary, a tour... They do realize that the crux of their image (heavy tattoos, piercings, excessively punky hairdos) has been gradually going out of style for at least half a decade, right? And aren't you sick of the attitude? It's like they think they reinvented sex. So what, now aging businessmen can fulfill their "urban street gutter-rat fantasy" electronically, along with their "woman eats horse cock," their "watch another man's wife jack-off," and their "chicks with dicks" fantasies? I stand in awe. MS

Willamette Week's PGE Lightbulb Cartoon

You've seen him. That goofy lightbulb-with-a-baseball cap character the Willamette Week slaps onto its regular yawners about PGE. Around here, we call him "Bulby." Man, Bulby's busy! He's been on the cover with his pants on fire (because he was lying. Get it?? Get it??)! He's been inside the paper, with money flying out the pockets of his little lightbulb jeans (because he was pocketing taxpayer money. Get it?? Get it??)! He's even given a presentation to the city council, while his nose grows like Pinocchio (because he was lying. Get it?? Get it??). Oh, WW, what will Bulby do next? Here's an idea: how about smashing him under your foot, and firing the clearly retarded fourth grade "artist" who drew him? What, you can afford a fancy new office in the Pearl, but not a decent illustrator? AJ

Your Segway

Maybe it's because you single-handedly developed the Pearl District into Yuppie Nirvana that nobody ever told you the truth about your cherished little Segway—you look like a rolling douchebag on that thing! Are you so starved for attention that you had to buy a $4,000 rolling pogo stick to get your lazy ass around the Pearl? They gave Arrested Development's Gob a Segway because Segways are retarded, you dope! I wonder which is faster: your lame monoscooter, or the women who flee your path, doubled over in laughter at the sight of a chain-smoking 60-year-old riding a futuristic nerdwagon? CB

Bono

Bono just won Time magazine's "Person of the Year" (an honor he shared with actual philanthropists Bill and Melinda Gates), a decision that makes about as much sense as me beating out Matthew McConaughey for People's "Sexiest Man Alive." You're an asshole, Bono. Sure, you're trying to do good, but it's all so fucking self-righteous with you. What, being the world's biggest rock star wasn't enough? You had to find a way to get even more publicity? And you're crawling on the backs of starving war orphans to do it? Just shut up and sing us another Tomb Raider theme song, jerk-off. "U2's lead singer made debt relief the thing to do!" proclaims Time—and I hereby proclaim the thing for everybody else to do is to punch Bono in his sanctimonious face. C'mon, Melinda—you know you want to. EH