first a disclaimer. i wear a suit every day. but in my defense, when i eat ice cream while wearing my suit: i do it in public, i slurp in a vulgar manner when children walk by, i always ask people if they'd like to share, and when they say yes i tell them it's penis flavor - now at least. but back to your point D, you're right. don't trust us. i can't tell you how many mothers cry at night due to my sins. too much?
i'm not sure what the point of the porn rant was but i guess i'm old fashioned. i don't need anything more than a lesbian gang bang, squirting, the occasional midget, and my new favorite: tribbing. look it up.
JNCO. honestly, i didn't that that brand even existed. i thought it went the way of my Bugle Boys and my Member's Only jacket. and where did it go...? i'm wearing them now. JNCO is what 'bad boys' in Utah suburbs wear. you know, in their rebellious phase when they think about feeling up their Napoleon Dynamite worthy girlfriend.
lastly an excuse. i don't post because i spend 12 hours a day a job that would fire me in a second if they found this on my computer. i can't wait to get fired.
is it weird that i want to fuck half the women on the Food Network? yep. paula dean is on my list.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Fuck it, I hate this shit too.
With every day that passes I find it harder and harder for me to maintain interest in conversations of any sort. The worst and most common example of this is when I’m approached at the bar and asked something about the weather, the sporting event or what kind of classes someone is taking. For future reference and as a general crutch to make this endeavor easier, please understand that to successfully converse with me there are some very simple pointers to follow. Just remember to think of your conversation with me as a movie script and realize that this program must contain V, GL, N, R, DU and of course NBR (Necro-bestial rape). When I was 13 I was more than happy to suffer through an entire movie for a glimpse of BN but having been exposed to footage of milk being funneled into someone’s ass and sucked out with a straw only to be spit back into the receiver’s face, girls blowing horses, zombie porn, midget porn, nunsploitation and a number of other truly inspiring uses of the imagination, it’s kind of difficult to go back to Playboy. So please go ahead and keep your ML and BN to yourself, it’s fucking boring.
Next order of discussion is men in business suits. I don’t trust you; you are probably a serial killer. Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t think there is much in this world that gives me the creeps quite like a guy in a coat and tie eating an ice cream cone. This is disturbing to the core, don’t do it. Keep your pedophile shit to yourself and your own living quarters or better yet, get your tie stuck in some machinery and die.
Hey Bizkit guy, you are way too old for this shit. Your stupid baggy JNCO pants and crooked flat brimmed hat makes you look like a god damn clown. This was barely tolerable in high School but now that you are my age this is just downright ridiculous. You should know better by now, for the love of god please just stop. Fred Durste and Kid Rock were retards and so are you. You’re a dick, you make white people look stupid and I hope a plane flies into you.
Lastly, Tibet is cool and all and I would totally be fine with it being free. The problem I have is all of these bumper stickers that say “Free Tibet” and then right next to them “War is not the answer”. Fuck you! To free Tibet you would have to go to war with China which I might add is the largest army in the world. So seriously, fuck you or join the services.
Next order of discussion is men in business suits. I don’t trust you; you are probably a serial killer. Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t think there is much in this world that gives me the creeps quite like a guy in a coat and tie eating an ice cream cone. This is disturbing to the core, don’t do it. Keep your pedophile shit to yourself and your own living quarters or better yet, get your tie stuck in some machinery and die.
Hey Bizkit guy, you are way too old for this shit. Your stupid baggy JNCO pants and crooked flat brimmed hat makes you look like a god damn clown. This was barely tolerable in high School but now that you are my age this is just downright ridiculous. You should know better by now, for the love of god please just stop. Fred Durste and Kid Rock were retards and so are you. You’re a dick, you make white people look stupid and I hope a plane flies into you.
Lastly, Tibet is cool and all and I would totally be fine with it being free. The problem I have is all of these bumper stickers that say “Free Tibet” and then right next to them “War is not the answer”. Fuck you! To free Tibet you would have to go to war with China which I might add is the largest army in the world. So seriously, fuck you or join the services.
Her Name Was Exodus??
Seriously?
You named your kid "a mass exit" and are surprised she lived passed 3?
Tragic? Yes. Funny? Gotta say it is. Kids are stupid. Parents are worse.
You named your kid "a mass exit" and are surprised she lived passed 3?
Tragic? Yes. Funny? Gotta say it is. Kids are stupid. Parents are worse.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I Can Be Anything I Want To Be
I got an email from a former boss of mine the other day.
He wanted to congratulate me on my new role at my current job. He also wanted to mention how he once told me I "could do whatever I wanted" in my career, in a justification of his support of me.
I have a couple issues with this.
1.) Throughout most of our professional relationship, I had no respect for the guy. This is because he can't make a decision and drags other people into his chaos while also managing to string them along with empty promises. The point at which he gave me his incredible advice was long after I had learned this about him.
2.) I, being who I am, am not really capable of much:
a.) I've worked jobs in sales, both on the phone and in person. It was physically draining and I was too honest with myself and respectful of others to try to manipulate people into buying something from me.
b.) Support roles were fitting up to a point, then monotonous. I did learn I could help people and get loose cannons to focus. Often by being louder than them. But it wasn't that I was particularly good at support, just that I knew how to ask questions, use Google, and point people in the right direction so they could help themselves.
c.) As a manager, I suck. When people start asking too many questions and can't do their jobs without lots of direction I just want to show them the door and bring in someone who can sit down, shut up, and do their job. Effectively making my job easier so I can focus on the bigger questions we have. Even when I setup reminders to give Jon and Jason an attaboy, I got annoyed with my computer constantly interrupting me.
d.) I can't multi-task. I've read a few books on how the brain works and multi-tasking makes people dumb. And I'm no good at it. I get frustrated with the constant topic shifting and it puts me in a bad mood.
e.) I could lie in bed or ditch work to spend all day, with my wife (and now the kids), and not think once about work. Given the opportunity, I do. I'm convinced if my former boss had his priorities straight he wouldn't have been going through a mid-life crisis. Again.
f.) A job is a job is a job. Just give me my paycheck and stop trying to persuade me to help build a corporate culture. Successful small businesses are focused on revenue and service, cost-cutting, and are otherwise boring to everyone else. I am not a Disney cartoonist. Just tell me what you need, I'll tell you the facts, then I can go home and worry about whether my job is worth the risk. Maybe if we had focused on our actual jobs instead of corporate culture, payroll could have cut us some decent sized checks and made everyone happy - successfully implementing a positive culture.
So I have to say it: I can't "do anything I want." Hindsight being 20/20, putting myself first set me back 5 years - a good chunk which was spent around some of the worst advice and empty "you can do it" statements I have experienced so far. Shame, guilt, and failure are natural and motivating. Feeling good about my role in the corporate environment sure as shit didn't feed the kids and send them to school. Nor did it justify the flailing about trying to pawn off work and blame to each other in a pathetic attempt to rid ourselves of the "negative feelings."
Nope, I'll take failure, shame, guilt, and a good old lesson learned over a fake pat on the back any day, and bask in a sense of pride & worth while doing it.
He wanted to congratulate me on my new role at my current job. He also wanted to mention how he once told me I "could do whatever I wanted" in my career, in a justification of his support of me.
I have a couple issues with this.
1.) Throughout most of our professional relationship, I had no respect for the guy. This is because he can't make a decision and drags other people into his chaos while also managing to string them along with empty promises. The point at which he gave me his incredible advice was long after I had learned this about him.
2.) I, being who I am, am not really capable of much:
a.) I've worked jobs in sales, both on the phone and in person. It was physically draining and I was too honest with myself and respectful of others to try to manipulate people into buying something from me.
b.) Support roles were fitting up to a point, then monotonous. I did learn I could help people and get loose cannons to focus. Often by being louder than them. But it wasn't that I was particularly good at support, just that I knew how to ask questions, use Google, and point people in the right direction so they could help themselves.
c.) As a manager, I suck. When people start asking too many questions and can't do their jobs without lots of direction I just want to show them the door and bring in someone who can sit down, shut up, and do their job. Effectively making my job easier so I can focus on the bigger questions we have. Even when I setup reminders to give Jon and Jason an attaboy, I got annoyed with my computer constantly interrupting me.
d.) I can't multi-task. I've read a few books on how the brain works and multi-tasking makes people dumb. And I'm no good at it. I get frustrated with the constant topic shifting and it puts me in a bad mood.
e.) I could lie in bed or ditch work to spend all day, with my wife (and now the kids), and not think once about work. Given the opportunity, I do. I'm convinced if my former boss had his priorities straight he wouldn't have been going through a mid-life crisis. Again.
f.) A job is a job is a job. Just give me my paycheck and stop trying to persuade me to help build a corporate culture. Successful small businesses are focused on revenue and service, cost-cutting, and are otherwise boring to everyone else. I am not a Disney cartoonist. Just tell me what you need, I'll tell you the facts, then I can go home and worry about whether my job is worth the risk. Maybe if we had focused on our actual jobs instead of corporate culture, payroll could have cut us some decent sized checks and made everyone happy - successfully implementing a positive culture.
So I have to say it: I can't "do anything I want." Hindsight being 20/20, putting myself first set me back 5 years - a good chunk which was spent around some of the worst advice and empty "you can do it" statements I have experienced so far. Shame, guilt, and failure are natural and motivating. Feeling good about my role in the corporate environment sure as shit didn't feed the kids and send them to school. Nor did it justify the flailing about trying to pawn off work and blame to each other in a pathetic attempt to rid ourselves of the "negative feelings."
Nope, I'll take failure, shame, guilt, and a good old lesson learned over a fake pat on the back any day, and bask in a sense of pride & worth while doing it.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Did You Know I am NIFOC and a PIR? NALOPKT.
FMLTWIA.
As proof to myself that I am not going insane, I have started using Google Trends to remind myself just how moronic the average Internet user is - which I use to protect myself personally and professionally.
Every once in a while I run into something that's actually funny. Like a religion-inspired group suicide. Or Helen Keller jokes. Usually, though, it's chicks that aren't really hot and sports-related nonsense which I have safely positioned myself and family to avoid.
I guess I'm not really surprised to find a FOX News fear story - on some of that damn slang the kids are using these days - #6 today, behind celebrity idolatry, snake oil, and "senior skip day."
Sweet Banana.
I'm not surprised anymore that the masses buy into this shit. It's only after spending a lifetime trend-watching to become perfectly happy sitting in my house trying to 8 my Man Kitty and learning how not to be so Q2C. Yes, I'm that good.
Are we so stupid as not to understand our language and use of it evolves within every generation?
Well, yes. Look at the pointless, mind-numbing noise everyone is searching. The proof is there.
But to be surprised at the same situation you did as a teenager only leaves you NIFOC - and reminds me just exactly why it is 182.
As proof to myself that I am not going insane, I have started using Google Trends to remind myself just how moronic the average Internet user is - which I use to protect myself personally and professionally.
Every once in a while I run into something that's actually funny. Like a religion-inspired group suicide. Or Helen Keller jokes. Usually, though, it's chicks that aren't really hot and sports-related nonsense which I have safely positioned myself and family to avoid.
I guess I'm not really surprised to find a FOX News fear story - on some of that damn slang the kids are using these days - #6 today, behind celebrity idolatry, snake oil, and "senior skip day."
Sweet Banana.
I'm not surprised anymore that the masses buy into this shit. It's only after spending a lifetime trend-watching to become perfectly happy sitting in my house trying to 8 my Man Kitty and learning how not to be so Q2C. Yes, I'm that good.
Are we so stupid as not to understand our language and use of it evolves within every generation?
Well, yes. Look at the pointless, mind-numbing noise everyone is searching. The proof is there.
But to be surprised at the same situation you did as a teenager only leaves you NIFOC - and reminds me just exactly why it is 182.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
From Patriarch to Matriarch's Bitch
Rest assured I will be buying this book:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124243950942426191.html
This is something I've been debating with other fathers the world over. We, as men over the last generation or 2, have stepped up and decided to be more active, involved, and overall better parents than our fathers.
Women still want the same. But, because of various reasons having to do with generational entitlement issues, daddy issues, the failed women's "liberation" movement, and tv commercials that portray men as idiots (most commonly seen in prime-time and daytime tv) women have entered a role where their husband is a tool.
This is proven by the poor fuckers with "Honey Do" lists that can be found on any given weekend at Home Depot.
I'm not saying we were better off when fathers were self-righteous pricks that didn't owe their family anything other than a good paycheck & 2 weeks of "vacation" time. That's not progress.
We still expect our kids to do better than us, be better fathers and mothers than us, and we still work the same (if not more hours) than what was already emotionally possible 50 years ago - all while putting in just as much time & work with our families and homes as our wives.
And what do we get out of it?
Condescension. Emotional games. Chastised for not doing things the way someone else decides (Oprah & Cosmo, aka popular trends, anyone?). We're ridiculed and exhausted. Cratered into an entitled mass of insanity. Left wanting. And fucking offended.
Stronger, but not better.
So, Guys, the next time some chick hands you a list of shit to do, do what I've been doing: point out what's realistic, then tear the fucking thing up and put it in the trash where it belongs.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124243950942426191.html
This is something I've been debating with other fathers the world over. We, as men over the last generation or 2, have stepped up and decided to be more active, involved, and overall better parents than our fathers.
Women still want the same. But, because of various reasons having to do with generational entitlement issues, daddy issues, the failed women's "liberation" movement, and tv commercials that portray men as idiots (most commonly seen in prime-time and daytime tv) women have entered a role where their husband is a tool.
This is proven by the poor fuckers with "Honey Do" lists that can be found on any given weekend at Home Depot.
I'm not saying we were better off when fathers were self-righteous pricks that didn't owe their family anything other than a good paycheck & 2 weeks of "vacation" time. That's not progress.
We still expect our kids to do better than us, be better fathers and mothers than us, and we still work the same (if not more hours) than what was already emotionally possible 50 years ago - all while putting in just as much time & work with our families and homes as our wives.
And what do we get out of it?
Condescension. Emotional games. Chastised for not doing things the way someone else decides (Oprah & Cosmo, aka popular trends, anyone?). We're ridiculed and exhausted. Cratered into an entitled mass of insanity. Left wanting. And fucking offended.
Stronger, but not better.
So, Guys, the next time some chick hands you a list of shit to do, do what I've been doing: point out what's realistic, then tear the fucking thing up and put it in the trash where it belongs.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
It Tastes Like Get The Fuck Off The Stage
The last 48 hours have been a painful wash of highs and lows. I love to see people graduate and move onto bigger and better things. Especially if they've struggled more than the status quo bound morons we tend to compare ourselves with. I'm a sucker for success after horror. It sounds cheap but plays better in the long run, and that's all that matters.
I digress. I tend to.
Meh.
Fuck you, Mandy. I just watched my daughter gracefully accomplish the dances we pay you to teach her - all while she noticed her sucker-eyed father taking her picture in the front row with a tear in his eye. She managed to smile, wave at me while jumping up and down and the entire auditorium laughed at her cute antics.
I waved back. Life was good.
Then, Mandy, you talked.
Every fucking gawd-awful frequency that came from those speakers erupted into my ears like my cum after a 3 egg omelette. Even my 2 year old son covered his ears. Do us a favor. Don't ever pick up a microphone and speak. Your voice is annoying enough without 1000 watts of amplification piercing my kids' eardrums.
Next in line is the college graduating class of 2009. Thanks for watering down what was a struggle for the previous 16,054,572 generations. It's time to move on from feeling special about it. After listening to the president's speech last night and combining that with ASU's marketing plan it's safe to say that a college education is what a high school diploma was 50 years ago: normal. So sitting through an hour of hearing every graduate's name called out is not special anymore. You got your name in a book. So did I. There's bigger and better things to worry about than your sense of entitlement. I felt guilty when I got my degree, because I was lucky. Not because I was deserving or special. Get in line.
Being an adult today means realizing how lucky you have it. If you weren't lucky and made it, more power to you & good luck. But for the majority of you college grads: piss off. You haven't earned my respect enough to even hear your name.
Congrats, kids & grads. Welcome to hell.
I digress. I tend to.
Meh.
Fuck you, Mandy. I just watched my daughter gracefully accomplish the dances we pay you to teach her - all while she noticed her sucker-eyed father taking her picture in the front row with a tear in his eye. She managed to smile, wave at me while jumping up and down and the entire auditorium laughed at her cute antics.
I waved back. Life was good.
Then, Mandy, you talked.
Every fucking gawd-awful frequency that came from those speakers erupted into my ears like my cum after a 3 egg omelette. Even my 2 year old son covered his ears. Do us a favor. Don't ever pick up a microphone and speak. Your voice is annoying enough without 1000 watts of amplification piercing my kids' eardrums.
Next in line is the college graduating class of 2009. Thanks for watering down what was a struggle for the previous 16,054,572 generations. It's time to move on from feeling special about it. After listening to the president's speech last night and combining that with ASU's marketing plan it's safe to say that a college education is what a high school diploma was 50 years ago: normal. So sitting through an hour of hearing every graduate's name called out is not special anymore. You got your name in a book. So did I. There's bigger and better things to worry about than your sense of entitlement. I felt guilty when I got my degree, because I was lucky. Not because I was deserving or special. Get in line.
Being an adult today means realizing how lucky you have it. If you weren't lucky and made it, more power to you & good luck. But for the majority of you college grads: piss off. You haven't earned my respect enough to even hear your name.
Congrats, kids & grads. Welcome to hell.
happy happy joy joy
I'm in a good mood for no damn reason. I know all you other ass-holes will probably rip on me but I really don't give a fuck. My day at work was mediocre at best. Everyone fucked a bunch of stupid shit up that I had to fix. My day was twice as long as it should have been. I got some extra lousy news from my work partner that means I'll most likely be working a lot more but not making dick. Speaking of dick I haven't gotten laid nearly recent enough. I spent all my money on alcohol last week and don't get paid until next Friday. For some damn reason I'm psyched on life.. that or delirious. Whatever, I'll take it.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
D's bucket list
I was so inspired by that movie The Bucket List that I decided to get started on my own. I have a feeling that this is going to take some time to complete but here is the first several agendas that came to mind.
1. Grab a photo radar van operator by his throat, drag him out of the van window, beat the shit out of him and light him on fire.
2. Catch a meter maid giving me a ticket, knock him/her out, tie him/her to the meter, shove the ticket up their ass and piss on his/her face.
3. Shit, sneeze and cum at the same time.
4. Follow the jock asshole that was just tailgating me in his Grand Jeep Cherokee complete with CU Buffs bumper sticker and obnoxious Dave Mathew’s racket blasting from his stereo and shoot him right in the face. No questions, no second chances, he failed and doesn’t deserve to live.
5. Lock the Pope in a room with an AIDS ridden Jewish nymphomaniac, tell him that this is the part where he plays the role of altar boy for once, give him a condom and see if he uses it or just chooses to continue being an asshole.
6. I am not certain how to penetrate someone with an American flag other than wrapping it around a giant crucifix but once I figure out how to do that with complete efficiency…those Bush twins are going to have some sore rectums. We’ll see if Papa George is so quick to be a flag waving, bible ranting jackass after that event.
7. Hog tie Barbara Streisand to the ceiling of a grocery store; force her to listen to her own music and then charge everyone 10 dollars to throw the food product of their choice at her.
8. Make fuck with the girl from the television show extreme 4x4. Yes, I know she is kind of boyish and I seem to be the only one I know who finds her attractive…I don’t care. The bitch can weld and that is fucking hot, deal with it!
9. Lay a tarp out on my front lawn, strip down to nothing but a diaper, use my hands to eat a giant birthday cake that is topped with a number 1 candle and make assorted baby noises and grunts at all of various shit bag couples, joggers and bicyclist that perpetually wonder past my house.
10. Bake Jesus tear cookies, lace them with laxatives and sell them at the church bake sale.
11. Place “out of order" signs on all of the bathrooms at the church bake sale.
1. Grab a photo radar van operator by his throat, drag him out of the van window, beat the shit out of him and light him on fire.
2. Catch a meter maid giving me a ticket, knock him/her out, tie him/her to the meter, shove the ticket up their ass and piss on his/her face.
3. Shit, sneeze and cum at the same time.
4. Follow the jock asshole that was just tailgating me in his Grand Jeep Cherokee complete with CU Buffs bumper sticker and obnoxious Dave Mathew’s racket blasting from his stereo and shoot him right in the face. No questions, no second chances, he failed and doesn’t deserve to live.
5. Lock the Pope in a room with an AIDS ridden Jewish nymphomaniac, tell him that this is the part where he plays the role of altar boy for once, give him a condom and see if he uses it or just chooses to continue being an asshole.
6. I am not certain how to penetrate someone with an American flag other than wrapping it around a giant crucifix but once I figure out how to do that with complete efficiency…those Bush twins are going to have some sore rectums. We’ll see if Papa George is so quick to be a flag waving, bible ranting jackass after that event.
7. Hog tie Barbara Streisand to the ceiling of a grocery store; force her to listen to her own music and then charge everyone 10 dollars to throw the food product of their choice at her.
8. Make fuck with the girl from the television show extreme 4x4. Yes, I know she is kind of boyish and I seem to be the only one I know who finds her attractive…I don’t care. The bitch can weld and that is fucking hot, deal with it!
9. Lay a tarp out on my front lawn, strip down to nothing but a diaper, use my hands to eat a giant birthday cake that is topped with a number 1 candle and make assorted baby noises and grunts at all of various shit bag couples, joggers and bicyclist that perpetually wonder past my house.
10. Bake Jesus tear cookies, lace them with laxatives and sell them at the church bake sale.
11. Place “out of order" signs on all of the bathrooms at the church bake sale.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
excuses are like assholes...
...they are the preface to shit. be it fecal matter or bullshit spewed from the mouth. anyway, i'm in that lovely time of the year where i actually have something important going on: finals. although this has given me many many things and people to hate, i have to step back every now and again because at my heightened state of stress i'm liable to kill someone for looking at me wrong. here a few examples of my recent lapses in judgment:
- told a pretty hot girl that i've been into (yep both ways) that her recent drama and bitching ranks about as high with me as the skidmark in a pair of underwear
- told my landlord he is an asshole and that i looked forward to spending my entire summer fighting him for my $300 security deposit in small claims court
- made a "you people" comment to a minority in Circle K. i'm gonna have to leave that one pretty vague as the guilt may cause me sleeplessness
lastly: i come to the library so i'm NOT distracted. i didn't come here to talk to you. i've ignored you all semester for a reason. you have nothing of value to add to any conversation in which you partake - and there is absolutely nothing short of 'hey, i got an advanced copy of the exam and i'm gonna massage your dick while i photocopy it for you" that i want to discuss with you.
please check this out: www.whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com -- really, it's life changing.
- told a pretty hot girl that i've been into (yep both ways) that her recent drama and bitching ranks about as high with me as the skidmark in a pair of underwear
- told my landlord he is an asshole and that i looked forward to spending my entire summer fighting him for my $300 security deposit in small claims court
- made a "you people" comment to a minority in Circle K. i'm gonna have to leave that one pretty vague as the guilt may cause me sleeplessness
lastly: i come to the library so i'm NOT distracted. i didn't come here to talk to you. i've ignored you all semester for a reason. you have nothing of value to add to any conversation in which you partake - and there is absolutely nothing short of 'hey, i got an advanced copy of the exam and i'm gonna massage your dick while i photocopy it for you" that i want to discuss with you.
please check this out: www.whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com -- really, it's life changing.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Screw the Perfect People, Fuck They All Look The Same
I enter a mall about 3-4 times a year. Once for my yearly re-supply of socks and underwear. Another for an adjustment in warm clothes. Once for summer clothes. And then there's x-mas, which I usually manage to do all online but still end up suffering (albeit minimally) through the idiocy that is the last minute x-mas shopper maze.
I've gotten older though, as one is wont to do, and there is a new day which requires a certain need to go to the mall. To shop. In lieu of spoiling the surprise, let's just say it involves severely over-priced yellowish shiny objects that women and fucked-in-the-head rich guys covet.
If there was no one in my way, I wouldn't mind. But throughout the retail filled monetary disaster there is a sub-culture of our society that is growing faster than the funk in my son's trash can:
The old woman who's had some work done, then covers it up with too much makeup and perfume.
Let's call them "monsters." It is obvious why.
You're not fooling anybody. When you get old you gain weight and turn ugly. Your parents and anyone who has ever existed has told us that would happen. So what's the fucking deal? You're giving me and my kids nightmares with your tribal mask, and all those plastics and chemicals are filling the air with...taste. Air shouldn't taste!
And your clothes don't help. Wearing dark, baggy clothes and glittering jewelry on your hands doesn't draw attention from the fact that your elbows are sagging. In fact, dark clothes make it worse because we all know you're just trying to hide your shame. Keep your shames for the bedroom. Guys like that. They don't like it when you make yourself look uglier.
And so it happened today. After...shudder...shopping, I was confronted with several of the monsters in their desperate plea to take my money after checking out their make-you-look-like-a-whore products. Miraculously, I didn't buy anything other than the product I was intent on buying before I entered the complex and was happily not suffering through the sensation-fuck that is the modern retail experience. I bought it from an overly sarcastic, obvious loser (who earned my love after admitting he's just landed an easy commission since his plastic co-worker was out getting him lunch). I attest my win as a result of having enough moral fortitude to not buy anything from people that look like crack-whores, or saggy mannequins.
So if you're thinking you need work done or are already spending more than 3 minutes putting on makeup every day, do this instead:
Go home, take a shower, tell your husband(s) he's fat & ugly too, cry about getting old, laugh about it, then get on with your horrible, pathetic lives. Stop eating so much, get some exercise, and fucking grow up before your kids get hurt (assuming you haven't done enough damage to them with your insecurities already).
You can then get a real job that, you know, does something good for society and helps people.
Either way, get the fuck out of public and into something less horrendous.
I'll have my baseball bat ready in case you need some more work done. Just call. I'm available anytime.
I've gotten older though, as one is wont to do, and there is a new day which requires a certain need to go to the mall. To shop. In lieu of spoiling the surprise, let's just say it involves severely over-priced yellowish shiny objects that women and fucked-in-the-head rich guys covet.
If there was no one in my way, I wouldn't mind. But throughout the retail filled monetary disaster there is a sub-culture of our society that is growing faster than the funk in my son's trash can:
The old woman who's had some work done, then covers it up with too much makeup and perfume.
Let's call them "monsters." It is obvious why.
You're not fooling anybody. When you get old you gain weight and turn ugly. Your parents and anyone who has ever existed has told us that would happen. So what's the fucking deal? You're giving me and my kids nightmares with your tribal mask, and all those plastics and chemicals are filling the air with...taste. Air shouldn't taste!
And your clothes don't help. Wearing dark, baggy clothes and glittering jewelry on your hands doesn't draw attention from the fact that your elbows are sagging. In fact, dark clothes make it worse because we all know you're just trying to hide your shame. Keep your shames for the bedroom. Guys like that. They don't like it when you make yourself look uglier.
And so it happened today. After...shudder...shopping, I was confronted with several of the monsters in their desperate plea to take my money after checking out their make-you-look-like-a-whore products. Miraculously, I didn't buy anything other than the product I was intent on buying before I entered the complex and was happily not suffering through the sensation-fuck that is the modern retail experience. I bought it from an overly sarcastic, obvious loser (who earned my love after admitting he's just landed an easy commission since his plastic co-worker was out getting him lunch). I attest my win as a result of having enough moral fortitude to not buy anything from people that look like crack-whores, or saggy mannequins.
So if you're thinking you need work done or are already spending more than 3 minutes putting on makeup every day, do this instead:
Go home, take a shower, tell your husband(s) he's fat & ugly too, cry about getting old, laugh about it, then get on with your horrible, pathetic lives. Stop eating so much, get some exercise, and fucking grow up before your kids get hurt (assuming you haven't done enough damage to them with your insecurities already).
You can then get a real job that, you know, does something good for society and helps people.
Either way, get the fuck out of public and into something less horrendous.
I'll have my baseball bat ready in case you need some more work done. Just call. I'm available anytime.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Coprophagia
Dear Dr. Laura - Eat my shit, seriously, eat it! The only reason you’re not a giant whore like the rest of the world is because you are hideous. It’s not hard to live a life of “values” and “morals” when you are a repulsive wretch who probably can’t even bring itself to rub one out because even you don’t want to have to clean the cob webs out of your decrepit antique gash. It would be like a 4 year old receiving praise for not being a meth head…it’s just not that hard. So pucker up and gulp down my Guinness squirts like a nice refreshing glass of Ovaltine.
Why we’re at it,
Jerry Falwell - Rest In Piss.
Rush Limbaugh – What better way to wash down pharmaceuticals than with a tall glass of my shit?
Benny Hinn, Bob Larson, Oral Roberts and Celine Dion…Eat my shit.
Ted Haggard - Don’t bother eating my shit because you might enjoy it. Go ahead and stick to meth, prostitutes and dying.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot - Take that fucking bindi off of your forehead. You are not enlightened and you have not opened your “third eye”. Just because you dropped a lot of acid back in your Grateful Dead days and or at Burning Man, DOES NOT mean you have any extra insight, you just took drugs and your visions of another plain of existence were generated by a chemical so go fuck yourself. Eat my shit.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot parent - Isn’t it bad enough that you are a moron? Don’t drag your kid into this too by making it walk around in Tie-Dye clothing and convincing it that it enjoys the same brainless nonsense you do. Also, not letting your child watch so called “violent” television shows such as G.I. Joe or Power Rangers and or banning toy guns from your house is only going to ensure that your kid is going to be a giant twat with no concept of reality. One generation of dildos was enough so don’t make me go on a killing spree. Suck my diarrhea.
Dear plastic playground set inventor – You may also go fuck yourself for making children a bunch of pussies. Eat my shit.
Dear waste of oxygen – I still don’t like Basketball so stop talking about it. Eat my shit.
Torry Spelling and Sarah Jessica Parker – You’re unsightly and dreadfully unattractive so quit pretending you’re not. Yes, you too can feast on my shit.
Dinner is served bitch's!
Why we’re at it,
Jerry Falwell - Rest In Piss.
Rush Limbaugh – What better way to wash down pharmaceuticals than with a tall glass of my shit?
Benny Hinn, Bob Larson, Oral Roberts and Celine Dion…Eat my shit.
Ted Haggard - Don’t bother eating my shit because you might enjoy it. Go ahead and stick to meth, prostitutes and dying.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot - Take that fucking bindi off of your forehead. You are not enlightened and you have not opened your “third eye”. Just because you dropped a lot of acid back in your Grateful Dead days and or at Burning Man, DOES NOT mean you have any extra insight, you just took drugs and your visions of another plain of existence were generated by a chemical so go fuck yourself. Eat my shit.
Dear middle aged Naropa idiot parent - Isn’t it bad enough that you are a moron? Don’t drag your kid into this too by making it walk around in Tie-Dye clothing and convincing it that it enjoys the same brainless nonsense you do. Also, not letting your child watch so called “violent” television shows such as G.I. Joe or Power Rangers and or banning toy guns from your house is only going to ensure that your kid is going to be a giant twat with no concept of reality. One generation of dildos was enough so don’t make me go on a killing spree. Suck my diarrhea.
Dear plastic playground set inventor – You may also go fuck yourself for making children a bunch of pussies. Eat my shit.
Dear waste of oxygen – I still don’t like Basketball so stop talking about it. Eat my shit.
Torry Spelling and Sarah Jessica Parker – You’re unsightly and dreadfully unattractive so quit pretending you’re not. Yes, you too can feast on my shit.
Dinner is served bitch's!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
No. Really. Shut the fuck up. Where's my cocktail?
hey all, don't you just love people from the restaurant industry complaining as if what they do actually matters? in support of this bold statement, please see my prior posts regarding you wretched children of the earth that will forever live on the razor's edge of volition in regards to spitting in my drink or not. really, people suck. and the only people who haven't figure this out yet have collectively decided to work in the one business that requires seeing them the most. guess what? the world needs ditch-diggers danny. get a new job. so here's my list.
dear douche-tender/waitress slut:
1. i can see my food wilting under the heat lamp. get off your sidekick and bring it to me
2. acting pissed to your next table because the prior table left you 10% is a great way to ensure the cycle continues
3. i'm way too distracted to finish this list because 2 hot chicks are looking at the vacant apartment next to mine. gotta run.
i love you all. and by love i mean hate.
"build a man a fire, keep him warm for a night. set a man on fire, keep him warm for the rest of his life." - edgar frog
dear douche-tender/waitress slut:
1. i can see my food wilting under the heat lamp. get off your sidekick and bring it to me
2. acting pissed to your next table because the prior table left you 10% is a great way to ensure the cycle continues
3. i'm way too distracted to finish this list because 2 hot chicks are looking at the vacant apartment next to mine. gotta run.
i love you all. and by love i mean hate.
"build a man a fire, keep him warm for a night. set a man on fire, keep him warm for the rest of his life." - edgar frog
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Yes, your job sucks... That's why we pay you.
Why the hell doesn't this make sense: There are shitty jobs in this world, but they need to be done and you agreed to do it for a set rate. Please do not complain to me about it, I don't fucking care and you're wasting my time. If you don't want to do the job, then quit; there are plenty of other people who are willing to do it for less pay. The reason I don't care is because you have had the same job for the past 5 years, and other than what appears to be estrogen based whining coming from a fully grown man and the frequent hangover caused absences, all of your actions show that you enjoy your job and are completely content.
The only reason why I am here talking to you now is because you are too incompetent to follow extremely clear instructions. For fuck's sake, there are pictures and everything! At this point, I am positive that if I gave you a child's Lego set, not only would you fail to complete the "pirate in a solid-fucking-plastic rowboat," but I am sure you would have broken the oars after trying to insert them into the gaping neck hole you created after removing the Lego man's head. You should just be happy that I would be watching you so I could give you the Heimlich maneuver once you started choking on the little plastic pirate hat.
It just so happens that it is 11:15 PM on Friday night, and the only reason I am here is to watch you perform a process. At this point, don't make jokes about how much more money I make than you because I am salary. If you didn't have a reputation for fucking this up, I could be out with my friend who visits from a foreign country only once every three to four years. As I mentioned, it is 11:15 PM on Friday, you get a weekend pay differential of 7%, a grave-yard shift differential of %13, and you are getting over time which is an additional 50% on top of that. At that rate, if we do the math on my extra hours and your extra hours on a yearly basis, you make more than me for fucking shit up.
Simply put, don't say a word that does not relate to exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I have a head ache, I have been here since 8:00 AM, and I have to wake up early so i can come back to work on my weekend so I can verify that you fucked up $50,000 of product once I left...
The only reason why I am here talking to you now is because you are too incompetent to follow extremely clear instructions. For fuck's sake, there are pictures and everything! At this point, I am positive that if I gave you a child's Lego set, not only would you fail to complete the "pirate in a solid-fucking-plastic rowboat," but I am sure you would have broken the oars after trying to insert them into the gaping neck hole you created after removing the Lego man's head. You should just be happy that I would be watching you so I could give you the Heimlich maneuver once you started choking on the little plastic pirate hat.
It just so happens that it is 11:15 PM on Friday night, and the only reason I am here is to watch you perform a process. At this point, don't make jokes about how much more money I make than you because I am salary. If you didn't have a reputation for fucking this up, I could be out with my friend who visits from a foreign country only once every three to four years. As I mentioned, it is 11:15 PM on Friday, you get a weekend pay differential of 7%, a grave-yard shift differential of %13, and you are getting over time which is an additional 50% on top of that. At that rate, if we do the math on my extra hours and your extra hours on a yearly basis, you make more than me for fucking shit up.
Simply put, don't say a word that does not relate to exactly what you are supposed to be doing. I have a head ache, I have been here since 8:00 AM, and I have to wake up early so i can come back to work on my weekend so I can verify that you fucked up $50,000 of product once I left...
For you restaurant folks
Little things about working in a restaurant.
1. Telling people very politely that the restrooms are located behind the giant glowing sign that says “RESTROOMS” while pointing at the sign as they try to walk into the kitchen.
2. The couple that have been the only customers in the restaurant for the last hour and a half enjoying their shared glass of house cabernet at 12:30 AM asks what time we close. I inform them, while thanking them profusely for their business, that we close at 10 PM.
3. Pouring water from the bottle sitting on the table into the glass sitting in front of them for a guest that asks me to bring them a glass of water.
4. Obscene food allergies. You’re not allergic to salt, gluten and dairy. You don’t have a corn intolerance, it comes out in everyone’s shit. You are just another rock climber that needs an excuse to be anorexic.
5. We open in 15 minutes. Seriously, 15 minutes. No you cannot come in. Fucking deal with it.
6. A group of bitches. Ignore me while I’m trying to take your order. Try and get my attention to order while I’m talking to another table. Take 20 minutes to do different modifications on our happy hour margarita. Ask what the special is after I just recited it to your table then not order food. Sit for 2 hours sipping your one damn modified happy hour margarita then tip 12%.
7. Ordering water with lemon then not touching it.
8. Paying with change.
9. Splitting a 25$ tab 4 ways.
10. Requesting a taste of every wine we pour by the glass then ordering the cheapest one on the menu.
11. Obscenely waiving down the server or bartender, often accompanied with ooh ooh ooh… (pause, turn to your friends)… do you guys know what you want? Still having no idea what YOU want to order .
12. Ordering a STRONG Jack and Coke. I’m pouring the same damn drink or you’re paying for a double.
13. Telling the bartender, “You take care of me, I’ll take care of you.” (so 14% instead of 10.)
14. We don’t carry Bud Light just to offend you. Quit being so dramatic and get a fucking cocktail.
15. Just because you ate at a restaurant once doesn’t mean you know enough to post your bad experience on yelp when you have successfully pulled off #1-14 on this list.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Things that fill me with murderous rage
1. Bums asking me for money as I leave work.
2. Old asian ladies hitting my parked car 3 times while trying to parallel park their lexus in the two open spots in front of me... then shaking their head at me like it was my damn fault they're incompetent.
3. College girls wearing ugs and mini skirts. If you're cold put on some damn pants. The only exception is if you are a communications major or go to Naropa, then we know you are actually mentally challenged and the fact that you managed to get dressed all by yourself is impressive.
4. Women with way too much plastic surgery. You don't look any younger, you just look like you wasted a lot of money on plastic surgery and now everyone knows that you're insecure and think you're ugly... If you weren't before you are now, way to seal the deal.
5. 3.2% beer
6. People moving slow... anywhere. In their damn car, in the grocery store, taking your sweet ass time walking down the street with your two other fat ass friends. I don't have time for you to enjoy your life. Get the fuck out of my way.
7. I work in a restaurant. Don't ever make a joke about money coming out of a tip... ever. Did you forget we are serving you things that you plan to eat or drink? Don't fuck with us.
8. The Boulder Homeless Shelter having a giant plasma screen TV. I can't afford any TV and you're asking me for money?! See #1
9. The giant fat ass bitch wearing v-neck tank top and short shorts several sizes too small ordering her 9th diet coke after eating a whole burger with extra bacon, cheese and mayo in addition to a large side of fries as ketchup still sticks to her face. Don't kid yourself with the diet coke.
10. Children in public.
More soon...
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