A pit thread for everyone who doesn't deserve a thread of their own

If we cared that you are an architect, we would have said something by now.

Is that really what you told us to do? Our copy of that document (with original signature) appears to suggest otherwise.

When you bump into me, I don’t have to apologize.

You are a very nice woman and all, but please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, shave that goatee.

Ah, ding-dong ditch. You goofy kids. Oh, wait. You were putting flyers on the door. Lucky for you you’re a fast sonofabitch because I answer the door with a machete in hand.

Yes, I know I’m tempting death when I walk into the crosswalk. Yes, I know that you are very important and have places to go. Yes, I know it’s silly that you’d use the stop sign with a cop right behind you.

Yes, I know that you are very important and have places to go. Yes I know that there are other things you could be doing. Yes I know that it’s silly to expect you to pull over someone who just ran a stop sign and almost killed me right in front of you.

To all y’all and all you’re friends, I should like to say, “fuck you you fucking jagoffs.”

Thank you.

Feel free to add your own.

Make a plan and then stick with it, asshole. If you keep changing things everytime I talk to you I’m going to 1) lose all interest in helping you, 2) spend time on things you no longer consider worth doing, and 3) delvelop a really big urge to ram a sharpened ruler into your eyeball.

And use the spell-check G-d and Bill Gates gave you! If I have to spend another 30 minutes trying to puzzle out that fucking 133tspeak or whatever the martian-code it is you are writing in I’m going to put the sharpened ruler in your other eyeball!

The double yellow lines are there for a reason, asshole. They mean no passing. The “30 mph” sign is there for a reason, too. And the next time you run someone off the road, at least have the courtesy to stop and see if they’re okay.

The stopping to see if people are okay goes for all you other drivers who didn’t stop, too. Thankfully, hubby and I (and our unborn child) are all fine.

Fuck you, supervisor, for waiting til one of the two people on my team was on vacation til moving the other person to another team. We knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but you have the best timing ever. There’s no way in hell I can get all of this done by myself and those temps you gave me to help me? Um, they don’t know shit about mortgages or our weird computer system and training them took more time than it would have for me to do it myself and now that I had them trained you let them go. GREAT. AND we have our company picnic on Friday and we’re all supposed to leave early but there’s no fucking way I can finish this all so I hope you have a great time at the picnic while I’m sitting here working on this shit. Or maybe I’ll just go and leave it undone - god knows it appears you don’t care, since you left me with no resources to do the job of three people, so I won’t either.

Hmm, maybe I could start a thread of my own on this.

Yes, your brother is very nice. No, I don’t you to set me up on a blind date with him. Because I’m just not interested in him. No, I can’t say why; I’m just not, that’s all.

What part of “send me your entire file” did you not understand? When I call to ask why certain parts are missing (like the whole flipping correspondence section), and you say “oh, you meant the whole file,” I want to reach through the phone and slap you.

Do not lie to me. If I hear something under oath at deposition that you have denied to me previously, I will make it my mission to see that you wish you’d never met me.

No, I do not want to supersize it. If I wanted to supersize it, I would have said “supersize it.”

I leave you alone in the house everyday; why would you suddenly decide to eat my grandfather’s 1926 copy of Blackstone’s Commentaries? Do I not walk you twice a day? Have you not enough squeaky toys? You’re lucky you’re so damn cute or you’d be headed for the pound.

And, finally, to myself: Why’d you leave the Blackstone’s on the floor, dumbass?

When a car is backing out, don’t fucking walk RIGHT BEHIND it just because you can.

Parents, quit bringing your tiny tykes to PG-13 movies. They are too long and too violent for the kiddos to sit through.

Incoming college students: you might want to try reading a damn book or, you know, learning how to read before you insist on taking courses that involve hard stuff like reading. Oh, and writing.

Home Depot and IKEA: No, it’s not okay to treat your customers like crap. If you want them to spend their money in their stores, then stop giving them your contempt and ineptitude.

Answer the damn question. A simple yes or no will do. Talking about everything under the sun except what it is that will answer my question does not help, and may very well result in your getting bitch-slapped.

Could I have a pack of Merit Ultralight 100s? Yeah. Merit. No, not American Spirit. Merit. Mer. It. Yeah, those. No, I wanted the ultralights. The ones in the blue pack. Ah, I see, very clever. Yes, green is close to blue, but I’d prefer an exact blue, I’m just picky that way. Yeah, that’s them. But I wanted the hundreds. Yes, I still want the blue ones. Seriously, bitch, could you possibly make it any more difficult for me to give you six bucks?

Fine, go ahead and quit your job halfway through the summer just as I’m going out on medical leave. Sure, you make a dollar an hour less than your friend, but you’d be getting nearly 40 hours a week while I’m gone, and she will only get four hours a week. You don’t have another job yet? You’re quitting over money, but don’t have another job lined up? Try to find another 40-hour part-time summer job that will accomodate your schedule. So leave. We’ll be fine. We won’t have to put up with the pouting and the flashes of pudgy skin everytime you bend over, and that’s worth training a new person…who will wear shirts long enough to cover their waistband.

Dear yellow jackets,

I’m sure you love my doorframe. I’m sure it makes a nice cozy home for you, but it is MY doorframe. Ergo, not yours. Ergo, I have called the landlords and they are bringing the pesticides to evict you. From living.

And stop buzzing near my face, you little shits. I am not a tasty treat and you may not bite me to find out.

Flush the fucking toilet damnit!!!

If you fucking touch a beer at the wedding, I will have my big, burly uncles escort you out. You will not give my mother a hard time that day.

Either tell me I’m hired or tell me that I’m out in three months. I’m just tired of not knowing, especially when I’m kicking ass in my job.


Jesus, that SPOOFE guy gets on my nerves. Is he liberal? Is he conservative? Is he moderate? Or is he just cuh-RAAAAAAzy?!?

If you’re going to bitch me out for screwing up a case, and least make sure I worked on the damn thing first.

When you walk down the street, would it kill you stop spitting all over the place? And not just a little pfft! More like a huge, clearing your throat, loogy hawking. It’s really fucking disgusting.

Pick up your g.d. feet when you walk. The next time you scuffle by my desk, I will get up and stretch my arms out, “inadvertently” clotheslining you as you go by.

And quit pattering your little feeties on the floor as you giggle girlishly into your hands. Or I shall nail them there.

Instead of making quick little jabbing scrapes around your yogurt container with that stupid little plastic spoon, just stick your tongue in there and lick it! Those little scrapy sounds! Arrrrrrgh!


… a corollary of…

Moving to NYC from Buffalo is a fucking culture shock!

Fuck you, bossman. Would it kill you to get off your lazy, 2000 miles away, pompous ass to actually bother to LOOK at my experience before blocking my eligibility for that promotion? The guy doing the interviews and hiring for the job not only encouraged me to post, but also suggested to HR that I should. But nooooo, you have to be the fucking control freak piece of shit and make a completely ill-informed decision that I am somehow not qualified for the job. The guy who runs the team and interviews the applicants argues that I’m qualified. You don’t care. HR argues that I’m qualified. You don’t care.

Know the difference between them and you, asshole? They live here and work here and see my work on a daily basis. You live in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. I’m not qualified for my job? Well you’re not qualified to make that decision.

Go fuck yourself. I’m gonna find a new fucking job.

Those white squares on the pavement? The ones right in front of the intersection? Those are sensors for the traffic lights, not a trapdoor leading directly to the bowels of hell. It’s OK to stop on them. In fact, doing so will make the light change faster, shitforbrains. And then you won’t have to run the red light, because we all know you’re too fucking important to actually wait for the green light.

That’s assuming it is even possible to flush the fucking toilet. Why the fuck do you need to cover the fucking seat with half a roll of fucking toilet paper anyway?

No, I’m not kidding. Somone on my floor at work actually does this.