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Archive for the ‘Violence’ Category

Dear Stupid Cashier at the Clothing Store,

I know you don’t remember me, seeing as it’s been 6 months since the last time I entered your store, can you blame me?! Last time I was there you tried to make small talk (which I hate enough as it is) and I had to, very politely, explain that I was going to be late for work if you continued with your sob story about how you are just working here temporarily to make some extra cash and they don’t pay you enough, on top of that they keep moving you from location to location and blah, blah, blah…

You must have mistakenly thought that I was inviting you to continue our (and by “our” I mean “your”) small talk, just on a different subject. WRONG! Now, when you asked me where I worked I didn’t know what hell was going to be unleashed when I answered, if I had known I would have said something like “the morgue” just to keep you silent. “I am a salesperson at the local dealership”, I told you. Then it began. I could see it as soon as the words left my mouth, your eyes got real big and the “OOOOOOOHH” that formed on your lips indicated that I must’ve sparked a memory that I SO wish I could’ve left hidden away in the very dark corners for your teeny weeny brain.

You start rattling off some random question about how much it would cost me to have an extra key made for your 2005 Toyota Rav4 because you let your best friend borrow your car and his 4 year old son swallowed the key. My smile (and I say smile, but really I mean evil death stare with a grin that could kill) must have interrupted your story. I smile, not because I think you’re cute, nice, funny, smart and definitely not because I am enjoying our conversation (or your company for that matter). I smile because right now I am imagining myself reaching my arm out as far as possible and bitch-slapping you across the damn face.

I WANT to tell you to go kill yourself and how much I despise “your kind” but instead I contain myself, give you the number to call and demand that you ask for yourself. This must’ve made you very sad because you finally decided to shut the hell up, give me my merchandise, and let me go on along my merry way. You obviously missed the part where I said I was a SALESPERSON not a CUSTOMER SERVICE GRUNT RESPONSIBLE FOR MEMORIZING EVERY PRICE FOR EVERY MINISCULE ITEM IN THE ENTIRE DEALERSHIP just in case I run into some curious bimbo that’s too lazy to call and find out themselves. Give me a break lady.

Note to self: next time someone asks where you work, lie, just down right lie.

Very sincerely,

The rude annoying customer that hates your guts

P.S. Thanks for making me late to work, by the way.

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Dear Painfully-Idiotic Coworker,

I would really like to know exactly how people like you are born. So I could put a nationwide ban on the procedure. Honestly, we’re going to be seniors in high school now, you’d think you could have absorbed a tad more knowledge than you actually have. Does it ever seem like a good idea to throw rocks at dogs? Does it? Because really it’s just going to make them pissed off and (hopefully) claw your eyes out and bite your arm off.

We work at a dog kennel, where there is ALWAYS work to be done. So while I slave away cleaning kennels does it seem the best idea to chat on your cell phone for a half an hour? Really, the more pressing question is: do you like getting bleach sprayed in your face?

And bossing me around when I’ve worked here a year longer than you and happen to have an IQ double yours is probably not a good plan, sweetheart. I didn’t get a 34 on the ACT to have you try and tell me how to give a dog a bath (which, by the way, you do poorly – I didn’t even think that was possible).

And another thing… I don’t think it’s a coincidence that half the dogs here growl at you as you walk past. Just saying, I don’t think it’s the dog that’s the problem and yelling at them to stop is definitely going to help. Oh definitely. Let me bow down to your amazing and ingenious tactics.

I’m Sorry St. Francis,
Laura

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Dear Rent-A-Deputy,

I know that you think your store-bought badge makes you something special. I have to agree. It certainly qualifies you for Special Education classes based on your Inbred Mental Status. The sheriff’s department really caught an awesome guy when they finally threw out those anti-obesity rules.

You must feel incredibly brave protecting your Weight Watchers eschewing wife and your biting, barking, tree humping (also inbred) German shepherd from my elderly golden retriever mix. I know Shiloh can be terrifying when he’s trying to play. Especially when he flops down on the ground so you can rub his tummy. Fearsome. I bet you had to hold your hand steady when you nailed him with a snout full of pepper spray.

Next time you feel the need to protect Tubby and Humpy with pepper spray, I have some simple instructions for you.

1) Waddle to my front door and knock. When I answer, ask: “Ally, Shiloh’s in my yard. Could you please come get him?” I will gladly retrieve my arthritic, heart-diseased retriever.

2) Enjoy your calorie loaded breakfast with Tubby and go about your day without participating in animal cruelty.

If, in the event you choose to ignore instructions 1 and 2, bypass to instructions 3 and 4.
3) Retrieve your pepper spray. Point nozzle directly at your eyes to make certain it isn’t clogged.

4) Activate spray nozzle, maintaining eye contact with it at all times.

Following these instructions will prevent you from pissing me off.

Thanks so much,

Ally

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Dear Mister Finch,

I do remember with distinct clarity the day you appeared upon my window sill. It was the last hard rain of April, a brilliant full-arc rainbow materialized upon the verdant green hills surrounding my home, then, as if from some romantic line of poetry or sweet lyric from a song, you landed outside The Number Two Window (of Four) which lines my home office vista.

Beautiful and Poignant: a small brown and gray bird, sharing my space. Peering at me. Even Charming. So much so that when I told my father, he commented that you must be a Messenger of some kind, here to tell me some tale. A friend said that you appeared to mark a new path in my life, a true Harbinger.

That was the first day we were together: me pecking away at my keyboard, and you joining in, pecking away at the glass like something out of Mary Freakin’ Poppins.

It is now almost July.

Please go away.

Or for the love of God, stop your infernal rapping in the middle of my slumber! And tell me why and how you discovered the location of my bedroom window?! On the opposite side
of my house?!

The only one which I cannot open, for if I indeed could open it, i would lace bread crumbs with poison for you to mistakenly feed on!

Go away!

Do you migrate?

Please don’t tell me I must wait for winter.

Please don’t tell me that was you who did that on my windshield either.

I don’t want to get a cat.

I hate cats.

R. Dario

Rantasaurus Says: Our very talented graphic artist, ladies and gentlemen, has quite the poetic streak. Nice use of flowery language, Rob, to mislead us as to the true nature of your hatred for the finch. Good work. You get an English major stamp of approval.

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Dear MySpace world,

I am posting this because I am absolutely disgusted, and I believe that you should know. I don’t care if you think I’m a terrible person, but I think that this is absolutely horrible.

I saw a bulletin headed “girl raped in [my city]….” and was instantly worried. Was it true? Of course it must be. Why would someone post such a horrible lie? Was it someone I knew? Even worse–what if it was a friend?

I opened the bulletin, and to my dismay, was confronted with a story I had seen before (very likely fictional) about a young girl named Diane who is saved from being raped because she prayed to God. Unfortunately, the woman following twenty minutes after Diane was apparently not quite as pious and was brutally raped. Next comes the tale of how Diane was inspired by the grace of God to go to the police station and identified the man that would have raped her, had God not been on her side.

At the end of the story comes a message:

“Amazingly, whether you believe or not, you’re never alone. Did you know that 98% of teenagers will not stand up for God?

Repost this as A GIRL RAPED IN (your city) if you truly believe in God..,

PS: God is always there in your heart and loves you no matter what
“If you deny me in front of your friends, I shall deny you in front of my Father”
STAND UP FOR HIM

93% won’t repost this.”

I highly doubt those are factual statistics, and if they are, you know WHY? Because most people have a sense of decency. Rape is not something to joke or make glib bulletins about.

To everyone who read it and found the story in the message inspirational, good for you. More power to you, I have no issue with a message that many people may find uplifting.

But to anyone stupid enough to repost this under that Subject heading…shame on you. I don’t personally know anyone who’s been raped, but I at least have enough common sense and empathy not to post a bulletin that is so blatantly insensitive.

Tyree

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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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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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