A genetic disorder

Sometimes I worry about offending people. You know, like the blog, Facebook posts and comments, pretty much everything I say, almost everything I think. But then my real self kicks me in the face. No, I don't. Reasoning, go.
1. It's my sense of humor. It's for the reaction and any and all comedic relief.
2. I'm mean. I actually prefer the not nice description... She's not mean, just not nice.
3. Someone else, not me, is too nice. And they can't bring themselves to be honest. To these nice people I say, move out the way sister, let me tell you how it goes.
4. You deserve to be made fun of. You probably did something stupid and now I have to laugh at you. Not my fault.
And, 5. My most compelling argument. I was raised this way. I'd say born but my momma is a saint. I blame my dad. The man has NO filter. Here's a little proof. On the way to Texas, a woman a few rows back was smacking her gum. Side note: Dad has super sonic hearing, like when we were kids we were never allowed to have chips when he was home because he could hear us crunching 2 rooms away. It goes without saying but, gum was strictly forbidden. Ok, back... So my dad spent the entire time he was awake turned around in his seat glaring at the woman. Finally we land and my dad had decided he must say something to this lady. Now Troy being the loving person he is not has perfected his method of being insensitive and speaking his mind. For the gum chewers he will tell them they look like a cow chewing cud. Sometimes, he'll shorten it and tell a woman, chewing gum makes your face look fat. Or, just fat. Well in this particular instance, after hearing the lady chomp for the better part of 3 hours, had put my dad in a very sour mood. So while waiting to deplane my dad starts telling this woman how smacking gum is rude, annoying, unpleasant, unsanitary, and on. And on. This poor lady was so shocked the gum fell right out of her mouth, the 2 flight attendants were doubled over trying not to laughing, and me, hand over mouth, praying it would be over soon. Then my dad, as if I wasn't mortified enough, says to me, "Right? Rachel? Isn't that gross?"
Oh. My.
Obviously this is some kind of genetic disorder.

But, I say it all to say, if you don't like what I'm writing, don't read it. Seems pretty easy to me. It is what it is, so don't subject yourself to my ramblings if you're going to be offended.