Archive for the ‘Hygiene’ Category

To the barista at my favorite caffeine refilling station:

Had you not been consuming so much of your own creations or snacking on Vita-Slim you snarf in desperation to shed the excess weight from the two gallons of double fudge ripple ice cream you inhaled while watching infomercials about losing excess tonnage last night, maybe the tremor in your hand would not have been so pronounced. I first took notice that the cup you were offering exhibited eddies from a Richter 4.5 happening in San Francisco when you placed the cup on the counter and a single sip slithered over the rim to spolsh upon the counter. That would have been fine for you to offer me the cup with an apology for the mess.

What you did next was an injustice to my taste buds let alone my immune system. Taking the rancid rag that had no doubt been used to swab up the last twenty of your mishandled creations you used it to lick up the misguided mouthful from the counter. Then you added the final and unforgivable injury to the proffered beverage. You used this bacteria and disease ridden towelette, this cloth that a sewer rat from New York would shun as too defiled to touch, to polish off the rest of your error from the side and place where my lips would have eventually come to rest on its porcelain surface. Then to my abject horror you offered the tainted device to me with an innocent smile.

When I objected and asked that sanitize my container an prepare another unsullied beverage, you had the audacity to wonder in your single celled brain why I would not accept the monstrosity. I did not ask for your hands to be amputated for the insult, as was my right. I asked for a beverage in my preferred customer’s platinum member cup to be presented with the honor it deserved.

Now give me a fresh coffee before I drain your blood by sticking this stir stick in your neck.



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Dr. J.A.M. DDS

How many times will I have to endure the patient whining: “I hate the dentist! Oh, but not YOU! It’s not personal.” How about this: Then don’t say it. Think before you talk for once in your pathetic, soft, privileged life.

Yes, I know shots hurt. Yes, I know Dentistry is expensive. Funny that… floss is actually inexpensive and if you used it once a day you would not be in this sad, neglected, painful state. YES, I KNOW YOU HAVE UGLY TEETH. But come now. Isn’t vanity one of the seven sins? You don’t really NEED bleaching or veneers or braces. Most people wouldn”t mutilate themselves to be “beautiful” and frankly if you want to be “beautiful” maybe you should start with some larger parts of your body.

And how smart is it to say “I don’t like dentists” when I am about to work on you? Have you considered that I may now dislike you because you are a self-centered, thoughtless @#*? An instrument may slip or I may not be so gentle with that molar you never brushed or flossed…

Dentistry is all about neglect, vanity and trauma, which are all the patient’s responsibility. I only care about doing a good job, so don’t make me forget to do it by saying stupid things.

Rantasaurus Says: Okay, so… who’s officially terrified of going to the dentist now?

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Dear Lonely Psycho Patient,

I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please stop stalking me?

I’m a professional. I understand it’s common for patients to form crushes on nurses they see on a regular basis, but seriously, dude, it’s not a date.

Gently rebuffing you hasn’t helped, so here are some tips:

  1. Just because I’m not wearing a wedding ring doesn’t mean I’m available. I live with my boyfriend and I made this clear the first time you caught me off guard and asked me out on a date (note to self: go buy a cheap wedding band to wear to work….might save me some trouble in the future…)
  2. Staring at me for 4 solid hours, three days a week does NOT make you seem more attractive, it does NOT make me want you, and quite frankly, it just pisses me off. Go to sleep, read a book, or watch TV, for Christ’s sake!!
  3. Stop calling me at work for stupid stuff. I’M BUSY!! If you need something, tell me while you’re there. And stop “dropping by” the unit (especially while you’re high) on your off days.
  4. In case you haven’t noticed, I have other patients. I don’t care what you did “in the service” 10 years ago. Oh, and if you intend to pursue this LIE, pick a branch instead of saying “Oh, you know, for America”. Even I know it’s the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, etc. Put in a little effort, idiot!!
  5. I know what your car looks like. How many times are you going to wait for me to get off work and try to follow me home? Haven’t you figured out by now that I’m going to drive straight to the police station if I see you? If you really want to know, borrow a car and stay back a little. Jesus! Didn’t you learn how to use stealth in the service? Oh yeah, that didn’t actually happen…..my bad.
  6. Stop telling me every day that I look pretty. I already know that.
  7. Just a recommendation: re-direct this wasted energy you’re spending on me to get a haircut, shave, and, oh, shower, maybe? Perhaps move out of your parents house? Then you can get a real girlfriend that’s NOT ME!!

In closing, I’d just like to say that even though you’re twice my size, I’m not scared of you. I’ve been a nurse for 14 years and faced up to bigger, meaner, and smarter than you. That “penlight” in my pocket is a taser and I’m aiming for your balls if you get too close.

Back off, and fast, before I get you a prescription for one foot up your ass…..mine.


Your Dialysis Nurse, Rio Brown

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Dear America,

I want to live in a country where women and men wear robes that cover all that bulging flesh. Here is a list of things that are not attractive to see when you’re walking down the street, sitting in a restaurant, shopping in the grocery store, etc.

  1. Butt crack. No one is so attractive that they need to show this. Just say no to crack!
  2. Muffin top. By no stretch of the imagination is your big fat roll of blubber bulging over your too tight pants sexy. It’s even less sexy when you have a short shirt on and we all get a view of your stretch marks.
  3. Overly short skirts. If we can see your panties or lack there of when you make the slightest forward lean, you need to stop wearing that tube top as a skirt. Seriously, I don’t care if you shave down there or not.
  4. Tank tops. This one is for those men who are thickly furred everywhere and insist on sharing their sheddings with diners at the local McDonalds. I’ll take rat hair over sweaty armpit hair anyday.


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I found this note stabbed into my dog Hagrid’s crate this morning. Apparently my cat Ellacution likes the jumbo butcher knife.

Hagrid — you’re a louse ridden slimebag. You’re a shithead. You come tromping in the house, bouncing around, flinging that monstrosity you call a tail everywhere. Tail whore.

It isn’t enough you have to knock things over, stick your nose in my sandbox (filthy pervert) and eat your own vomit. No. Today, you had to eat my favorite catnip toy.

Yes, I’m happy the Food Buyer got it back from you, but you SOILED Mouse. CONTAMINATED him. SULLIED his little toy existence. I couldn’t pick my little honey up in my mouth because you had slobbered all over him. I hate you. No amount of Food-Buyer’s washing will bring back Mouse’s nose or little felt ear.

Rear-sniffing retard! I hope you die. Touch Mouse again and I’ll rip through this crate and cut you.

Goddess of this House
Mistress of your Craptastic Existence

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Catherinette Singleton, TWO TIME RANTSPLOSION WINNER! Stop it, you minx!

I live in a nice little house, in a nice little neighborhood, next door to a family that belongs in a van down by the river. At first, I thought them merely a little off, now, I want to beat them with hammers whenever I see or hear them. And it seems to me that I hear them more often than I see them. It’s gotten so bad that I can’t stand being outside when they’re around. If I’m in my backyard and see any of them come outside, I immediately run back inside under the pretense of having to go do something really important – like stick my head in the oven or throw myself down the stairs. Let me introduce you to these upstanding members of the community:

The Single Mother (who we shall call Ms. Travesty): is a recovering alcoholic, recovering drug addict, and full-time nurse. Ms. Travesty enjoys wearing light colored blue jeans and stained white shirts. She’s in her mid 50’s and has an 8 year old daughter – she met the father in AA meetings (he’s on methadone). When she’s not picking up single bachelors from her AA meetings, she’s calling the cops to have them dragged out of the house, and/or trying to tell me stories about how she’s gained weight.

My favorite story about Ms. Travesty happened last summer: she had met this real winner and had been dating him for about 6 weeks. Mr. Winner had no job, no driver’s license and had pretty much moved into her house. Suddenly, they start fighting like cats and dogs. On a Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting in my den watching TV, when I noticed that there were 3 cop cars parked outside my house. I immediately called my friends and family to share the drama that was unfolding. 20 minutes later, out comes Mr. Winner in a pair of handcuffs, his cut off jean shorts, and the dirty white wife beater. It was just like being on an episode of Cops! The officers put him in the back of the cop car, and then he started yelling all sorts of crazy stuff. Since then, I have tried my best to avoid Ms. Travesty at all costs. It’s gotten to the point that when I see her standing in her driveway, I whip out my cell phone and pretend to be on a very important phone call. This ploy seems to work pretty well, I highly recommend it to you.

The Daughter (who we shall call Little Tragedy): at one point I thought she was cute, now she makes me want to kick her when I see her. She and all her little friends love playing in the neighborhood. That’s all well and good, but why must they do it on my front lawn? Don’t they hear my dog going nuts in the house? Seriously, I’m surprised that my dog hasn’t jumped out the window and eaten her and her little friends. My dog, a St. Bernard, loathes and despises her. I know this because he decided to biter her one day, twice. It was not a pretty scene, though it was an extremely effective way to ensure Little Tragedy never came into my house again.

She used to drop by my house all the time, when she was hungry and her mother had left her alone with her grandfather – who would pass out on the couch and not even realize that she had left the house. As Little Tragedy has grown up, I’ve noticed her imminent progression into soon-to-be-school-hussy. What 8 year old do you know that wears cropped tops and glitter eye shadow? It’s sad to Little Tragedy her go down this road, but I know she’ll end up pleasing the boys in the men’s’ room sometime really soon.

The Dogs (lovingly referred to as the Hounds of Hell): I hate them with a passion that burns to my very core. I wouldn’t hate them so much, but Ms. Travesty thinks it’s a good idea to let them out at 4:00 in the morning. Fine, release the Hounds of Hell, but please let them back in when they start barking. Oh no, not Ms. Travesty. Instead, the Hounds of Hell bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, and bark, for 2 hours straight, directly underneath my bedroom window. What’s really super is that sometimes she lets the Hounds of Hell out right when I’m attempting to go to sleep. There seems to be no limit to her disregard for her neighbors.

I hate you Ms. Travesty, I really do.

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Creative Freakin’ Genius-a-saurus, on to your resume fluffing

It’s a sad fact. We’re in the midst of a crisis known as an “employees market”. Everyone is hurting for staff. Unfortunately, this atmosphere of desperation has bred a new generation of people who basically expect the world on a platter, only to complain about the platter.

The worst part is that Managers are getting lazier and lazier. Why fire a warm body when you can just turn a blind eye to their antics (or lack thereof)? Then you’d be forced to get off your ass and actually screen applicants for the job.

There’s a reason that you give a new employee 3 months probation. So that if they are incompetant, unskilled, unqualified, lacking in personal hygine, not capable of showing up on time, don’t comprehend that they have 60 minutes for lunch and not 90, don’t understand why asking for a week off 3 days after being hired may not be appropriate, feel that their job title is a license to load up on office supplies, don’t see a problem having a second job and doing it on company time – you can get rid of them, no questions asked. That’s the beauty of PROBATION.

There’s a reason why you should call a meeting with the people who work directly with the new hiree about 2.5 months into the relationship. Find out what the newbee has been up to over the last 10 weeks and how others percieve their work ethic, how they’re fitting in with the other employees, how well they’re doing the job, if they’re showing up on time, if they have allowed their bodily odors to slip. If there’s a serious issue, you still have 2 weeks to fire their ass and find someone else to replace them. This will show the good employees that you not only give a shit about the calibre of people working for you but that you also value those who do a good job.

People lie on their resumes. ALL THE TIME. Please stop acting suprised when (a couple months into the gig) the newbee has decided to behave in accordance to their true colors. Please stop kidding yourself by thinking that the behavior is temporary or that they are just hitting a rough spot or that, in time, they will improve.

The longer you keep their sorry ass in the building, the harder it’s going to be to get rid of them. The longer they stay, the more likely you are to lose good employees who are just sick and tired of dealing with someone who is a complete waste of time and space. Good employees have a hard time sitting next to slackers who make about the same salary yet have a gift for doing the bare minimum and being conveniently unavailable when there’s extra work to be done.

You hired them. You have the power to fire them. Please feel free to do so at any time.

Rantasaurus Says: When I’m out applying for jobs, I don’t even need a resume. People tell me I’ve got “a commanding presence” or whatever that means. Usually I take it with a grain of salt because they’re wailing in fear at the time.

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