Archive for October, 2007
no reservations, no kidding… »
Friday, October 12th, 2007
He’s known for his brash, unapologetic style. It’s why I watch his show. Here, he proves, once again, why he’s the shit. It seems that if I were to have heroes, they’d be lanky, graying, sarcastic television personalities. I agree with him on the obesity and evil counts. Cheers Tony. Cheers.
courtesy reminder »
Friday, October 12th, 2007
Office drones,
Do any of you have someone in the office that is talkative? Who speaks at the volume of a rock concert, no matter how absurd and unimportant their comments? Who repeats their what they think are hilarious stories incessantly to anyone within visual range? Whose voice makes your dermis itch? Who, by just walking by, make you tense on the off-chance you may have to propel your elbow into their eye socket?
I may have gotten a little carried away I apologize to the children, because they matter most of all; they are our future, and blah blah. Around here there are those I will refer to as the Lunch Ladies. It’s a group of about five in rotation, so between two and four meet at any given time. The time they meet changes by the day. There is no set time in which to avoid.
They congregate to infest the kitchen area as they ingest whatever food scraps they’ve arranged for themselves. The Lunch Ladies are old, with many years of experience and insight under their proverbial expanded belts. Yet, their stories don’t stretch beyond the latest doctor’s appointment, the perils of menopause, their probably just as annoying children, or what was on television the night before. Though only inches apart, they speak at intolerable volumes. The kitchen has no walls, rather acoustic reflectors of stone, glass, and appliances that amplify their bore.
This morning I opened my inbox to a “Lunchroom Courtesy Reminder.” Recently, a closely affiliated company has moved into empty cube space here. Those cubes happen to be located directly behind the kitchen those poor, poor kids. The courtesy reminder reads:
With the addition of staff in the cubes close by, please be mindful of the noise and chatter coming from the lunchroom. Since not everyone takes lunch and breaks at the same time, keeping the commotion down will allow those still working to better focus and do their jobs.
I realize that everyone tends to be loud in the kitchen. I know that the Lunch Ladies are not the sole offenders. But do you think this could be directed at the aforementioned boisterous bunch of blabs? I do. If only because they fit the description so consistently.
If it is, it’s futile. These women read passive aggressive like George W. reads Dickens.
a perfect match »
Thursday, October 11th, 2007
Some of you read: one of you may have heard about the chick that got lambasted on craigslist. It’s all over the blogosphere. If you didn’t read up on it here among other places; thanks for the heads up echo. That box was knocked back by a banker. Ouch. If she had basic brain function, she’d probably be hurt or disgusted which is why I’m sure she’s just fine.
But it’s not all lost. After some more blog reading I found her ideal mate. This guy is a douche like William Shakespear was a writer, like Neil Armstrong was a pilot, like Hugh Laurie is an actor, like Jessica Alba is attractive, and like Brett Favre is a quarterback.
Both of them would bore a microwave in light conversation, both would be completely satisfied, but neither would care for the other. Like two peas in a pod. If peas were self-obsessed which they very well could be; pompous green bastards. Their children we must assume that two people swimming in such a shallow intellect pool would have to fill the boredom somehow would come out anorexic and cry without end until a mirror was placed in front of his/her pale, misshapen face.
This assknuckle’s I can call you assknuckle, right assknuckle? listing of his many endearing read: pathetically desperate to impress qualities rivals the Bible in Holy shit. Just two of any of these items mean an express pass to eternal fire mailed promptly to your over-priced doorstep. He actually listed his Hot or Not ranking first. unreal!
This is a response from a generic form email notifying him of a mismatch. I’d hate to hear him respond to women politely refusing his pathetic advances “in the middle of the Buckhead nightlife district.” They would cry blood tears in response to his listing of douche traits without the benefit of being able to close the email window.
I don’t really want them to get together, though. This is purely in jest. Please, no one tell him where that anonymous Craigslister is. If they were to engage in coitus the Earth would implode to the size of a grain of sand instantaneously. Everything on it would remain, floating above it, while the atmosphere dissipated and the oxygen in our blood exploded.
Why? Because, if God made the Earth and many of our leaders think he did, He would have created a catch-all point. A marriage between assknuckle and Craiglister Box would let him know His experiment failed. It would spark a rinsing of the petri dish, so to speak. Better luck next time, right chap?
candy corn »
Thursday, October 11th, 2007
What the hell is with this stuff? Every year it’s around en masse. Jerks buy it in bulk and throw it in bowls that sit just at arms reach. It glares at you menacingly. They’re all orange and white and brown. You don’t like it. You never really have, but you ate it as a kid. Has the recipe changed? Maybe last year you didn’t have enough to really taste the candy corn. You can’t help but grab a handful.
Too much. You suddenly remember to eat in small doses. It’s the only way to endure the candy corn.
And as soon as you’ve chewed, you’re filled to your eye lashes with deep, soul-punching regret. It always tastes like shit. You always wonder why the hell you ate them in the first place. They’re all chewy, then gooey, and finally give you an odd pain at the top of your skull like you’ve just taken a deep breath from a garbage bag filled with pesticide.
Maybe that’s just me. Impulse control isn’t in surplus with this guy. Why do I bring up these demon cones? Because I just tried and am eating flavored candy corn. What the hell? First, because you’re curious, it’s not good. Second, I hate myself a little bit.
I don’t even know the flavor. Raspberry, cherry, or strawberry; with the chocolate base I can’t tell the difference. I don’t eat fruit and, considering humans still eat and find necessity in it, there’s no way it can taste this shitty, so I’m at a loss.
It gets me every time. Fucking candy corn.
haha »
Thursday, October 11th, 2007
Ok, so this in itself is not funny. Quite the opposite really. But what if America had traditions such as these? “Honor killing” would probably be the leading cause of death after obesity-related something-or-other. And how would you like to be the dick haha that bled to death? That’ll learn ya: flirting is murder; eye for an eye.
And big ups to the hometown. If any of you know this 20-year-old dipshit, please drop me a line. I don’t know if it’d be interesting, but I’d love to live blog a reenactment of those morons smoking up that kid. Thinking a two-year-old should toke up is like thinking a sledge to the face will fix a headache. The chances of hypertension at that age are slim.
Sidenote: if you do in fact think a sledge will cure your sore cranium, by all means do so. It’s the best cure I’ve heard of yet. Please do your part by writing a statement and distributing your belongings beforehand though. It helps everyone involved.
In other news, Minneapolis still thinks street cars are the wave of the future. Aren’t they supposed to finish up a rail to St. Cloud, add to the existing in order to meet up with said rail, and build that bridge (this or this) a few folk were talking about a minute ago?
Why are street cars, which will be underutilized and expensive, even being considered? To be more like Portland probably. Because when it comes to city planners, Portland is your buddy’s big brother that you always looked up to for being such a playa.
It’s just money right?