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Archive for the ‘Insanity’ Category

So, like, wow, you have a myspace.

It just warms my heart to have you send me links to it, where I can see photos of you in various poses, pouting and finally being the fabulous international model you always hoped you would be.

And the blurb about you! The ingenuity! You say all these things that are witty and insightful, notions about life and pop culture, interspersed with things you love that make you somehow more unique and interesting than the 2 million plus other fools on the web right now. It is as though you are pointing that telescope right back at yourself, not taking yourself too seriously, when really you are just trying desperately to be cool so that you can get 15 more people to be your “friend” and litter your page with their equally inane comments on life and how hot your hair is right now.

Don’t forget to include a few well-chosen videos of yourself doing things and laughing, so that people will know how much fun you are to have around. And most importantly, have a music player that gives the website visitor no choice, but blasts out a song at high volume. It is akin to aural rape. It is downright rude.

After all your efforts to make yourself appealing, individual and hipster on your little slice of the interweb, you just come across as self-obsessed, self-absorbed, over-rated, desperately unfunny, shallow and – terribly sorry to say this – average.

Enjoy your mediocrity!

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To my rude neighbors (and any other parking impaired dirtbags),

The lines are painted perpendicular to the curb for a reason… It’s to guide your sorry, oxygen burning, completely distracted, lazy excuse for a human being into the parking spot. Why must you park diagonally in a straight pull in spot? Are you that self-important that you can’t take the extra .7 seconds and additional steering effort to put your car STRAIGHT IN to the parking spot?

Do you think that because you managed to somehow dupe the driving examiner into giving you a driver’s license, you are entitled to park anywhere/anyway you want?

And for the guy (or girl) that can’t park in the middle of the space… What in God’s name is wrong with you? How utterly impossible is it to split the difference between the lines? Yeah, I know how important it is for you to get to where you are going and how world peace will somehow be affected if you take a couple extra seconds and put forth the 0.0002% extra effort it would take. I do realize that it’s all about you, but come on, show the rest of us that you have at least an inkling of respect for others.

I think I’ll trade my 2003 Ford truck for a 58 Willy’s, you know the kind with the really sturdy doors… and the next time your sorry existence encroaches on the empty spot… Whack! I’ll make sure you get that lovely door ding that you are so begging for!

Sincerely,

DingBringer

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Dear Cell Phone Company,

In the next few days you will be receiving a package from me containing the
remnants of my cell phone. You see, I ran over it with my car today and
thought you would appreciate the pieces. Please feel free to place them in
whatever uncomfortable orifice you feel is most appropriate at the time.

At last, I’ve reached the frayed end of my very short patience with your lack
of competency in the technological advancement department. I realize that
my apartment is located over a direct portal to the underworld, but I should
not have to turn into a Verizon commercial every time I need to make a call.
I grow weary of having to stand in one particular corner of one particular
room, stand on one leg, raise my arm over my head, on the peak of the full
moon and keep the antenna at a 45 degree angle at all times. And now it is
not only my apartment, but the grocery store, the mall, the interstate, the
bar, and apparently the drycleaners.

People are beginning to talk about my screaming into the phone. “Do you think it’s turned on?” They whisper. “Perhaps we should call the police?” Is this your not so subtle way of
telling me that I should go back to a landline or that I talk on the phone
too much? That’s a little passive aggressive, if you ask me. My mother
would be proud of your tactics, but I’m not amused. So, since you find no
fault with your little piece of slave-labor-assembled, imported plastic and
mysterious alloy piece of crap I am returning it to you.

Don’t bother trying to reach me. I’m currently on the phone with Hell to arrange for a
better service plan.

Sincerely,
Can You Hear Me?

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Hey idiot,

What the hell, Mike? It’s not like you’re ever on time either, so shut your crap hole. Your son doesn’t do anything around here either (which is still better than you), so who fucking cares if he’s late? Really… shut… up. You probably have a gazillion price quotes to do, so get out of this room you lazy-ass old fart. Leave the support room… this is where the intelligent people sit.

It’s like the cool bench at school, except you’re so not cool that sitting anywhere on campus is too good for you. Get the hell out of here and do some work or just freaking retire you freaking moron. You really want to know why we’re losing clients? It’s because you’re a moron and you keep lying to them, making promises you can’t keep, insulting them, trying to explain things you can’t, failing to clearly explain things a 2 year old could, rambling on about how you want to change the world but can’t, making prejudice comments, offering them our services for free, and being so nice to the lead programmer here that he has never once felt inclined to listen to a single thing you’ve said.

About 10% of your ideas are good ones at best, but you don’t have the management skills to put their development into action – you own the damn company, for the love of potatoes, just tell your employees what you want them to do. Telling your son to pick up food from McDonald’s on the way because he’s already late is not managing your employees. It is, in fact, making your employee later. Why are you so incompetent?

Go away, and never come back. A vast vacuum of space could fill your seat more appropriately than you do. Frick off.

Richard

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Lindy, a loyal FedEx customer 

I’d like to give a big ol’ shout out to UPS!

It starts with “FUCK” and ends with “YOU.” Wait, well I guess that would be the entire thing. FUCK YOU!! There, don’t I feel better.

This is the SECOND time in a row that I have used thier online package pick-up and deliver service (at work). And for the second time IN A ROW no truck has shown up.

I called this morning to see wtf and I followed my usual rule of being polite and cheerful because I know that it’s not the fault of the lady on the phone. I calmly and professionally explained that we were supposed to have a truck come yesterday, one never showed up and that I needed some assistance in getting one here.

The lady on the phone then proceeded to tell me that my package had already been picked up. Gee. Ummmmmm, well that’s funny because I’m LOOKING AT IT RIGHT NOW! But I know she was reading from a screen telling her so. So I politely informed her once again that no, I’m sorry it’s still here.

At this point this bitch (why yes, she is a bitch now, not a lady) proceeded to give me a lecture about being careful when we put multiple packages out on the dock because it can confuse the driver and they might take the wrong one – which she is sure happened yesterday.

What? WHAT THE FUCK??? I only had ONE FUCKING PACKAGE in the first place you SKANK! And if I DID have more than one package those fuckers JOB is to differentiate between package A and B. Gosh OH NO!!! What if there is a package C!!! What will we DO?!?! The sky will fall!!!

No! You dumb bitch. Those drivers do a damn good job, they can figure this shit out just fine thank-you, it’s your company’s STOOOPID fucking worthless website that fucks things up. Your website that didn’t forget to CHARGE us even though it was never going to send a truck.

So FUCK YOU and your panty-waste, whored-out, syphilitic website!

Rantasaurus Says: One time I tried to send a T-Rex egg UPS. It hatched in transit and now I’m blacklisted. So be thankful, Lindy. Thankful!

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Interesting. Now Jess is here to have it out with a woman who commented on her previous rant: An Open Missive to Mia the Omnivore.

To the Self Righteous Tw@t, Chrissy:

I invite you to come and meet my dog. Really. Actually take her for a week… no a day… and then come talk to me. You’ll be singing a different tune, I assure you. She’s a crated dog. She manages to do these things when I’m, say, washing the dishes or tossing in a load of laundry. I assure you she doesn’t troll around the apartment unwatched. On no no – quite to the contrary she is watched like a hawk. In fact, she keeps her harness and leash on in the house so when she makes a break for it behind the couch with something in her mouth I can simply stomp down on her dangling leash and stop her in her tracks.

No, it isn’t a lack of vigilance that allows my dog to do what she does so horrendously well. It would be the total lack of effort from her last 3 owners and her veterinary-diagnosed ADHD. Yeah, that is correct, my dog needs to take Ritalin in canine form. So before you preach you seemingly holier than thou morals allow me to kick that soap box right out from under your “perfect” little feet. I am not an irresponsible pet owner, you wicked little bi$ch.

In fact, I am far from it. I hold more responsibility, kindness, and compassion in my big toe than you could possibly wish to know in your life. Not only did we RESCUE Mia from being put to sleep, we took her to obedience classes (which she was promptly expelled from for an unruly and untamable personality). We take her for all her vaccinations and check ups on time, keep her groomed and nails clipped, feed her the special diet that the vet prescribed for her, pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars to keep up on all the medicine she requires for her allergies, arthritis, ADHD, frequent urinary tract infections, and acid reflux.

So, tell me… how in the WORLD is that irresponsible? The fact that I don’t saddle my dog up and ride her around the house to make sure she doesn’t eat some random thing on a table some where does not classify me as irresponsible. It classifies me as sane. Take your self-righteous theories and shove them up your snooty little ass.

Kisses,
Jess a.k.a. Mia’s Mommy

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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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