Archive for June, 2007

Manticore, hardcore soft-drinker 

Once upon a time you could purchase a bottle of your favorite soft drink, look under the cap, and realize that YOU’RE A WINNER. With the occasional disappointment of a PLEASE PLAY AGAIN you had fairly good odds of at least winning a new soda, or maybe even a discount towards a new soda.

Now it seems like many items (and not just soft drinks) give you a ‘special code’ that you can enter onilne to unlock wondrous prizes and earn points!!!! You go to the website, give them your information, promise them your first born child, and then you can get a piddling number of points towards your points total. And then once you have enough points, you can have them MAIL you a coupon.

The bottle cap? Trash. The envelope? Trash. The money they spent on the stamp? Gone (at least to them). Wouldn’t it be far simplier to just let me win by opening the danged bottle? The cap has a dual purpose – cap and prize!

Only after drinking a gerbillion drinks could you use your points towards anything that wasn’t just another soft drink. I find the whole premise of giving me some number that makes me look something up online that is just a ploy for you to get my mailing address and to send me stupid junk mail idiotic. I just want my free drink! Or even nothing, really, the tempation to jump through these stupid hoops just isn’t worth the eventual free drink I may one day get if I ask for the coupon to be mailed and then actually use it.

Rantasaurus Says: Dear Manticore, here at Cola Corp, we hear and understand your frustrations. That is why we’ve enclosed the following customer service request form, to be detatched and mailed back to us. After this, we will mail you a customer service problem description form and you will be one step closer to have your voice heard! Thank you for drinking Cola Corp, goodbye.


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A Clueless Co-Worker

Illay, is too busy to come out and play 

Why does the fresh-out-of-college girl working in our department insist on having conversations that include the most miniscule of details?

I, for one, do not need to hear verbatim conversations involving your ex-boyfriend’s brothers tuxedo for your friends wedding (!) or the detailed process you went through this morning to set four alarms so you would wake up on time.

Nor do I want to “listen to the voicemail” from you new flame so I can hear how “weird” he says “see ya.”

Are you kidding me?

Instead of running to my office every time you think of something else about your new boyfriend, how about turning inward and asking yourself, “Do I really need to tell EVERYONE about how weird he kisses, or how his schedule interfered with our date and I had to go home, sleep for 1.5 hours, then wake up so he could call me?”


Also, we are here to work. Stop getting mad at me if I won’t run to your office to show you how to use a simple HTML tag after you’ve phoned and emailed me for advice on how to put pictures on your MySpace.

Google is your friend.

Rantasaurus Says: Okay, okay, I know you said you were working but come here… look at this e-mail. She signs it “love, Kristen.” What does that mean? Does she love me or… is it like friendly love?

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DarkPizza, maven of MySpace

Make sure to read to the bottom. I’m in a ranty mood.


MAR.- iM A LOVER!!!!
***Repost in 5 Min***”


I know I probably sound like a hyporcrite right about now. BUT GUESS WHAT? The reason I repost them…is to see what fucking idiot will repost them next. And to laugh at them. That’s it. I do not claim to be anything but an idiot, but I will say this:


If you don’t know what “eviscerated” or “sarcasm” means (and I have met people who haven’t, and they happen to be MEMBERS of MySpace, so don’t roll your eyes at me), look it up. I’m in way too shitty of a mood to explain it or dumb down my vocabulary for the more illiterate MySpace users. You know who you are.

To the brain-deficient MORON who originally wrote this: I hate you, and everything you stand for. You are one of those people who promotes shows like…I don’t even know what. You are a person that nobody loves, ever has loved, or will ever loved. The very thought that an actual human being was stupid enough to create this atrocity disgusts me.

And for that matter…LEARN TO FUCKING TYPE. “ur” is not a word. “Don’t” requires an apostrophe, the absence of which makes it a non-word, and therefore not appropriate to be used in civilized conversation, VIRTUAL OR OTHERWISE. “Gangsta” is not a word, and I highly doubt that everyone born in January is one. Actually, I know that the person who posted this a moment ago is NOT a “gangsta” and isn’t fooling anyone.

I could go on about every single one of the other months in this message, and if you would like me to, feel free to send me a message.

And anyone who believes in MySpace or other virtual “curses” and “bad luck chain mail” is a fucking idiot and deserves to be, as I stated before, strung up with barbed wire and eviscerated. If you’re just “covering your ass”–don’t. You’re wasting precious moments of your life. And we both know that you feel stupid every time you do it.


Rantasaurus Says: wtf, ur just jealous, dont h8 u biznatch

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Not So Happily Ever After

Jack, rudely awakened by Cosmopolitan

Just last week we sat in the pub with friends, drinking trendy beer with bit of lemon in the neck of the bottle. Everything seemed so rosy in the garden, she, my so called wife was gushing on about our marriage and how chuffed she was that our relationship thrives because it contains no secrets. She even gave me a kiss in front of every one. What a devious cow, how could any one be so cold hearted, never mind the bloody woman I gave my soul … my all to.

Last week my heart nearly leaped from my ribcage, bursting with pride. Now, it feels like its been ripped clean out by those cold callous bare faced lies she spouted and I don’t think … no I know forgiveness will never come.

Six years of what I thought was blissful marriage, and all the time she was lying. How could she? I’ll never be able to look at any of our so called friends in the eye ever again, they knew, the bastards, they knew and they let me think everything was all right.

All the effort I put into this shallow relationship now seems so stupid and pointless. What I thought was adequate quite simply wasn’t. Six fucking years the cow has been saying, ‘Oh honey your the best. Your a stallion and a sex machine.’ and for six fucking years the bitch has faked every single orgasm .What a fucking cow, I simply cannot believe it.

It was as if someone had stuck a knife through my heart when I read that survey she had filled in Cosmopolitan magazine. Would it not have been simpler to say, Jack you are rubbish at sex, you need to read some books, watch some videos for tips, oh and by the way, plastic surgery … apparently it only costs a thousand pounds an inch.

Rantasaurus Says: Apparently, from what I’m reading in my various girlfriends’ Cosmos, I need to have mine shortened an inch or thirty. Wink.

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Another Crush Gone Wrong

Vampire Faust, watchin’ the player get played

In high school, I thought I was doomed to live a life of celibacy. My “friends”, however, were throwing poon at every boy that came sniffing around. They’d already lost their virginities by Junior year. The sad part was that I had to explain what a broken hymen was to one of them, and I was always the one they called when they were freaking out because they were pregnant.

My first job was flipping burgers at BK. I had been working there for about a month when M. started working there. Tall, wiry, dark hair, dark eyes, funny, silly, liked the same kind of music as I did…I was swooning in my french-fry-scented uniform shirt. He quit before summer started because he was going to California to visit family for a month. He asked for my number the day before he left.

A month later, he called. He wanted to meet up with me at the local arcade. I went out of my way to look pretty. I made sure my combat boots were clean and I had a nice tee to wear with my skirt. (Hooray for grunge.) I was nervous as all hell. We sat on the stoop outside of the arcade, smoking Marlboro Reds and talking about music and high school and college, the typical 16-year-old discussion. Then he said he had to get home, and he kissed me. This was a real kiss, not just a smooch on the cheek or a peck on the lips. I floated back into the arcade where my friends were and giggled about him for the rest of the night.

Fast forward a week later. B. and C. came into my work looking like someone killed their dog. Apparently, the night before, they had gone to the lakefront to hang out, and they ran into my “friend” A. She was with M. Yep, the same guy who kissed me less than 7 days ago. She met him at the arcade when I wasn’t around. C. mentioned to A. that I was interested in M. Later on, it was revealed that she screwed him in the back of her car a couple of hours after meeting him.

There is nothing sadder than a sobbing 16-year-old heartbroken BK employee.

I confronted A. at the arcade the next day. She claimed that she didn’t know that was the guy I kept talking about. I told her she was a filthy liar. I told M. that he was less than a piece of shit in the gutter, and if all he wanted was to get in a girl’s pants, then why did he just kiss me and leave? He hung his head and shrugged. I let it go. What else was I supposed to do? I certainly wasn’t going to be the other woman. And I most certainly wasn’t going to give it up to him NOW. They started dating, and I was still single.

They broke up before she went into the Army. Why? She cheated on him. I’m not ashamed to say that when he told me how heartbroken he was, I laughed.

Rantasaurus Says: He got what he deserved twice, heartbreak and no more chances with you. Double damn! You can flip my burger anytime.

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R. Rhemus Reefer, offering to help S and CC

Is there someone making your life a living hell? No longer will you have to take it! Even if you grew up as the school yard pussy your day has come! That’s right folks, you’ll be singing “Oh Happy Day” when you can finally get back at those losers who have taunted and bullied you since the 2nd grade!

Ghost Writer Inc. is proud to announce our new line of Personal Threats.

Is your husband still screwing the slut from next door? Is your wife still banging that rich asshole from the office? Do your co-workers still smirk when you arrive in your big American ride with the V-8? Does your boss, mother-in-law, or pain in the ass co-worker need an adjustment of the personal kind?

Threaten them! They are guaranteed to shit right in their pants when you unleash the fury of a Ghost Writer Personal Threat.

They will piss in their shorts with panic! They’ll cry tears of dread and terror! They’ll be hobbled with horror! Their doom will do double duty! They’ll be frigid with fright! Never again will they know a moment of peace as they look over their miserable shoulders, never knowing how or when you will strike! Night after sleepless night the “Menace of You” will haunt their very dreams! They will crawl at your feet and beg for your kindness but your sympathy has gone the way of the dodo bird. It’s extinct! Their intestines will turn to jelly and they’ll make the projectile vomit scene from The Exorcist look like child’s play! Their doom will be real!

Let the Ghost you trust the most customize a threat to fit your personal needs. Blood will run cold all over the neighborhood when your friends and family realize you are now in charge. And just in case one of your intended scumbags is “vision impaired” or they can’t read, Ghost Writer Inc. can now offer you a fearsome Audio Threat on 8-Track, cassette, or CD! Your worries are over when you make a selection from Ghosty’s “Graveyard Gallery” “Cemetery of Fun,” “Tomb of Doom,” and “Cold Cocked Co-workers” collections.

You’ll be able to terrorize even the heartiest soul. But wait because there’s more! Along with your paid order at the regular price, you’ll receive a complimentary “Letter to Satan” to announce their arrival in Hell! That’s a $30.00 value! Even if you decide not to carry out your “Day of Dread” keep the Letter to Satan as your free gift!

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Howdy folks. Here’s a small personal rant:

Why’s my mailbox so lonely? Why aren’t rants flowing in bountiful like before? Do you guys think these rants just grow on trees? Like there are freakin’ rant trees lining the sidewalks around my house? I can just go out in my bathrobe every morning and harvest some rants? No! Rants come from submissions!

Hint hint, nudge nudge, wink wink.

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