Archive for the ‘Contest’ Category

Mr. Brady,Was that you I saw getting ready to pass out (surprise, surprise!) in a bar? It brought back quite a few delightful memories and I’d like to share them with you, as I’m sure you don’t remember –what with your constant drunkenness (how DID you manage so often to be intoxicated around school-aged children without notice? Do Tell.)

I am a lover of English, and I feel like your love of the sauce is the only reasonable explanation for the things you did as my 8th and 9th grade English teacher.

I wonder if your hazy memory might recall the time that you actually dribbled in your pants a little whilst screaming at the top of your lungs– I think because someone had belched under their breath during your recap of the previous night‘s Chicago Bears game. You were so adorably worked up that your scarlet face actually highlighted the broken blood vessels all around your nose.

Anyway, you always wore very tight sweatpants to school and I vividly recall a large wet spot appearing in the general vicinity of your “junk”. We sure did love that full-on-leave-nothing-to-the-imagination view of your “junk”.

I believe this was sometime shortly before you, in the midst of a defaced chalkboard-related tantrum, shoved a TV-VCR combo down the stairs and STILL managed to retain your teaching position! Remarkable. I think St. Patrick’s Day (on which you made little or NO effort to conceal your intoxication, up to and including ACTUALLY hitting on some of the female students) was my favorite though. That’s the day you became SO enraged at someone’s suggestion that St. Patrick’s Day was created by the Lucky Charms Leprechaun– you actually fell to the floor and had a seizure!

Thank you so much Mr. Brady, for igniting my passion for the language–and especially for making ALL reading material sports related, because I don’t know what I would have done had I never had the privilege of reading “Brian’s Song” 3 times in two years (you silly, forgetful man you!).

Much Love,
The Very Traumatized Girl In the Front Row


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Don’t forget to submit your most awful, embarrassing and hilarious school memories and woes. Our Rantsplosion contest ends in 10 days and the theme is: school woes

Head over to our Submitasaurus page to make it happen!

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Don’t forget our monthly Rantsplosion contest! The theme for August, just in time for back to school is: school memories.

Head on over to the Submitasaurus page and submit away!

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Our August Rantsplosion is going on all month. Submit your regular rants but make sure to think of any extras with the theme: school

Dig back into your childhood for those gems and send them to us on the Submitasaurus page!

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This month’s Rantsplosion is dedicated to Back to School.

The theme: school woes.

Whether you’re in school right now or you’ve got stinging memories from back in the day, we want to hear your most hilarious school stories! The deadline is September 3rd and you can get crackin’ on the Submitasaurus page!

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Amy, goddess of decisiveness. 

I have had this conversation or one almost identical more times than Scott Stapp has been called a douche, and if I have to have it again my head may explode. I have had this conversation with ex-boyfriends, first dates, workplace lunch pals, friends, and brothers. I am officially taking a stand and refusing to participate ever again.

Me: So, where do you want to eat?
Other Person: Um, I don’t care, wherever…
Me: Chipotle?
Other Person: No, I hate Mexican.
Me: So, El Vacero is out too?
Other Person: Yea.
Me: Subway?
Other Person: No, I had a sandwich for dinner last night.
Me: House of Japan?
Other Person: Too expensive.
Me: City BBQ?
Other Person: Gross!
Me: Chick Filet?
Other Person: I don’t go there on principal remember?
Me: Oh yea, they put that church flyer in your bag that one time. Hummm… BW3?
Other Person: No, I’m boycotting them.
Me: Okay, so McDonalds again?
Other Person: Sure!

If anyone ever asks you where do you want to eat and you say “I don’t care” you relinquish all veto rights when a suggestion is made!

Rantasaurus Says: Yeah dude, wherever you want. Oh. Actually. You know what? I’m thinkin’ delicious Arby’s. No. I don’t want to go anywhere else. Actually, shit. I had Arby’s a few days ago. How about… oh. I think I actually have to meet my Mom for dinner anyways.

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Dear McDonalds’ down the street,

CURSE YOU for your irresistible summer special of 69 cents for a 42 oz. soft drink. I would not grace your terrible facility with my presence for any other reason, but you SEEMED a quick and convenient stop for an extra-large “Pibb Xtra” on my way to a friend’s.

When the young woman in front of me waited over a minute to place her order, I should have known. However, at the time I believed that the mistake was hers: she was driving a mini-cooper and I thought perhaps she had not pulled up fully to your insidious order-placing speakerbox. When she started saying “Hello??” angrily, I thought that was it was her fault.

However, the joke was on me, because after your dim-witted employee took her order and then mine, I waited an additional FOURTEEN minutes while your sorry excuse of a staff, even for a shithole McDonald’s, attended to the orders of a stupid-ass truck who needed eight of those minutes, then a mini-van full of bouncing rug-rats, and eventually Genius Miss Mini, before I handed over my $0.74 and received my beverage.

These people in front of me actually wanted McDonald’s for dinner in the first place, so they’re not expecting anything of quality – you don’t have to throw-away-and-remake their food just because some shithead high school dropout working the french-fryer couldn’t help but drool all over… Just give me my fucking drink.


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