Hey complete stranger on the subway, I understand that I’m only a man, so you must know more about raising my kid than I do, and I even understand that if you have no kids of your own, you must know a THOUSAND times more about raising my kid than I do, but could you just suffer my stupidity in silence, please?
Hey, you fuckhead 20-somethings standing in front of Starbucks or Second Cup or the Royal Oak on weekends, do the 4 or 5 or 6 or so of you have to block the whole sidewalk and have a long conversation while thousands of people try to get by? Or should I just bowl you all over like bowling pins so there can be a path for the rest of civilization to walk through?
Also, when you are looking to turn right onto a street, and you see me coming down that street, take a moment to gauge my speed before pulling onto the street, so that I don’t have to pull the hand brake to slow down enough to not kill both of us because you’re too fucking stupid to understand physics.
Further to that, if you are looking for parking, DO NOT slow down and force me to slow down behind you because there’s no way for me to pass while you search. Get the fuck out of the way and look for parking when there is no one behind you, you worthless pile of clueless shit.
… and no, I don’t want cheese, please. No, no cheese. I already said NO CHEESE!. YES, I’M SURE!
Excuse me … can I see you for a second?
In the name of the Little Baby Virgin Mary and the late great Dale Earnhardt, G*d rest his soul … WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE CHEESE ON IT? I ALREADY SAID “NO CHEESE” FOUR FUCKING TIMES! DOES ANYONE IN THIS PLACE SPEAK ENGLISH? ENNNNGLISSSSH? NOOOOOOO CHEEEESE!!!
Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you’re qualified to be the editor of a magazine. The person in charge of a magazine, a ship at sea, or a chili cook off should have some basic knowledge of the field. You lack that. “You can do it all with computers” doesn’t mean it’s easy or can be done in an hour. And, Ms. Motivational Genius, this is not an appropriate thing to say in a staff meeting:
I know the concept of working for a living is alien to you, so I’ll spell it out for you: There are a lot of people who depend on this magazine for their livelyhood. Most of them are kids, fresh out of school. If the magazine fails, it will most likely be the result of your ignorance and incompetence. You will still be rich, so it doesn’t matter to you, but they will be out of work with the student loan nazis knocking at their door and nothing on their resumes but a failed magazine.
Absolute word brother. Absolute word. And oh. A well-timed hip check can be a thing of beauty. Just sayin.
Listen, you idiot, we all have AIM installed in the office for a reason - so no one gets interrupted when they’re on the phone or in the middle of intense coding. Because you know most of us are doing one or the other the majority of the day.
So when I IM you a simple question or remark, I expect you to IM me back, not trudge halfway across the office so you can interrupt what I’m doing and segue into chit-chat. If I wanted to fucking talk to you in person, I’d go over to your cube. And if I saw you were busy, I’d leave you alone unless someone’s job depended on my being over there that very second. Not fucking talk about whatever shit movie you just saw.
It’s called internet messaging because it all takes place over the freaking INTERNET! And if you’ve come over to get unnecessary clarification on a simple question (“Me: Are you going to use the blue logo or the red logo?” “Him: Are you asking me what color to use? Is this about the logo?”) it’s all I can to do keep from jamming my pencil in your eye.
Furthermore, we all have away messages for a reason. So don’t come into my office and ask me where so-and-so is when his away message says “out to lunch.” Moron. And when I say he’s “out to lunch,” don’t go and bother the folks in the next office asking where the dude is. He’s fucking OUT TO LUNCH!
You’re damned lucky I keep losing my pencils.
To the sub shop where I occasionally buy lunch:
When I say “light lettuce” I mean just a sprinkling of lettuce on my sandwich. I do not mean for you to take a metric ton of the shit and shove it into a wood chipper and bury my sandwich with it.
To my cow-orker who can’t figure out how to rip CDs and make her own mix disc:
I cannot fucking explain it any simpler than I already have without opening your skull and injecting the knowledge directly into your brain.
To people who use the “That’s my opinion and I’m entitled to it!” argument: Hey, you know what, you are. That doesn’t mean I have to respect your opinion. I could wake up tomorrow and announce that the moon is made of coughed up cat hairballs and shriek “That’s my opinion and I have a right to it!” whenever someone disputed this, but it still wouldn’t make my belief correct no matter what my rights are or how strong my feelings are on the subject.
Swamp cooler on my roof: Do you have to break down every freaking July? From now on, break in January when it isn’t 100 degrees and no one is using you
anyway.
To people in the neighborhood shooting off firecrackers: I love fireworks just as much as anyone, but in a climate like this a carelessly tossed firecracker can do a lot of damage. And the Fourth of July is so two weeks ago. Isn’t it about time to get ready for Halloween or something?
And that’s my opinion and I’m entitled to it.
Ow, you fucking sunburn! And you, the pink skin exposed as the sunburn peels: OW!!
(And before I get pitted for not using sunscreen, I did…just not on the back of my neck, which now fucking HURTS. :smack: )
Of course you’d be wrong. Everybody knows that the moon is made of spareribs.
The question is: would you eat the moon if you were starving?
As for my mini-pits:
Hey, stye on my eye: you suck.
Hey, boss’/friend’s dog: the bathroom is OUTSIDE on the DECK. Not INSIDE on the HARDWOOD FLOOR. And yes, I will keep banishing you to the deck (while I’m cleaning) every time you leave me a present on the kitchen floor until it gets through your little doggy brain that you should go to the bathroom outside like a big dog.
Hey sinuses: get this. We’ve moved. We now have air conditioning. And I like to sleep with it on at night. Don’t like it? Tough. Better get used to it. The days of box fans are over. We’ve moved up in the world. So quit your mucusfest, clear out my ears and return my throat to its normal color … or I’ll go to the ear nose and throat doctor and have you scraped.
Hey you. Yeah, you payroll company. I loved your little joke of changing my last name to a misspelling, effective this pay period. And who knew the B of A customer service phone rep was in on the joke with you… that silly boy telling me that I shouldn’t make the deposit through the ATM, but rather in person with a teller. Causing me to lose time from work this morning, as I wrote a check last night to daycare and didn’t want it to bounce. Then having the teller tell me that it wouldn’t have been a problem through the ATM. Haha, my sides hurt from laughing. Bastards.
Dear major car company. When I’m trying to write ads telling everyone how wonderful your cars are, it would help if every time I turned on the evening news or opened the newspaper there wasn’t yet another story about one of your vehicles suddenly bursting into flames on the highway, or one of your trucks losing their brakes and slamming into concrete walls, or another of your executives being arrested for falsifying safety reports. If you could maybe put a little more effort into not making your cars complete piece-of-shit rolling deathboxes, it would mean a lot to me.
Oh, and I’m sure the people burning to death in your cars would appreciate it, too.
One more.
I’m going to mount a meat cleaver on the side of my monitor, so that the next person who walks up and starts rummaging through my desk and flinging papers around is going to walk away minus a hand.
Goddamn it, I just lost my reply. Well, screw you, I’m not going to type it up again. So there.
Quit Throwing Your Fucking Empty Beer Cans Is My Front Yard!!!1111111
Dear apartment maintenance guys:
I am almost 100% sure that there is another optimum time besides 7:00am on a Saturday to perform lawn care. What is wrong with Tuesdays at noon?
Also, Yes, UPS guy, I did not appear to be home at 11:30am on a Thursday. Why you are picking then to show up I don’t know. Perhaps you must car pool with Inept Cable Repair Man Who Does Not Bring Any Tools or Cable Parts Anyway and you two wait outside in the bushes to see me leave for work in the morning before springing to action and putting obnoxious post-it notes all over my front door. I will find you and stuff your breathing passages with post-it notes, this much I swear to you.
Me: I can’t install any Windows updates.
Tech Guy #1: Oh, just get rid of your old wininit.ini file. Here’s instructions on how to do it.
Me: OK.
Later.
Me: Uh, I don’t have that file. I have about two thousand .ini files, but none by that name.
Tech guy 2: Oh, Tech Guy 1 is on his day off. I understand that your problem is…<six dozen pages of placations and “understanding” later>…Oh, just get rid of your old wininit.ini file. Here’s instructions on how to do it.
Me: But, I don’t have a wininit.ini file. If all that I need to do is get rid of it, shouldn’t that mean my computer works anyway, seeing as I don’t have it?
Tech guy #2: Since this is email, I can ignore your request.
If you don’t me to fax your direct line, why did you tell me that your direct line was your fax number?
Kitty, I love you, but quit crapping in the corner.
Lady Next Door, you are moving out soon, and I’m very sorry to see you and your 20 shrieking banshee-children go. I know this may be a stretch, but is there any possible FUCKING way you could get your darling ones to not sit in the car and honk the horn for 10 minutes on end? Even though this is your last week or so here? oh, I see, “they’re just children,” I totally forgot that that gives them the right to send everyone within a 5 block radius crawling up the walls. Carry on.
Boyfriend, you are wonderful. I adore you. But I’m trying to lose weight, and you insist on trying to feed me things that will make me ginormous, or at least feel it. Quit. I’ll try a bite of that once I’m skinny.
On a related note,
Body: what the fuck happened to you? I’m sorry that I started eating like a normal person and not starving myself all the time, but that’s no reason to throw a hissy fit and start getting huge. I’m looking at you, tummy. YOU WERE ALMOST FLAT A FEW MONTHS AGO.
Bathroom scale: I have nothing to say to you, you lying sack of shit.
Boss, quit sending me emails saying that some ridiculous amount of work needs to get done tonight! Or if you must, try sending it before 4pm! Actually, screw that.
Boss’ boss, or boss’ boss’ boss, quit fucking up the development plan! We haven’t had a release go into production without major bugs for two years, so maybe, just maybe, you aren’t giving us enough time to do our shit. And also, why are our deadlines so inflexible, but you can get the functional requirements to us whenever the hell you feel like it? If I hear one more time that “Oh, that’s undergoing some changes right now” when I’m supposed to be wrapping shit up, I’m going to smite you with a million paper-cuts. I’ll use your damn always changing requirements too, for ironic purposes.
Psycho team lead - when somebody is clearly on the phone and talking, that doesn’t mean you can start asking questions. I should have to stop the conversation and ask you if I can finish my friggin phone call. 
Tester guy, if I hear one more disparaging remark from you about the poor quality of my team’s work, we’re gonna take it outside. You may have noticed that this is my 13th straigh day at work? 10 to 11 hour days? You used to be a developer too. Kiss my ass, you smarmy bastard.
I feel better now. :o
AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
DON’T TURN THE WATER ON WHILE I’M TAKING A SHOWER!!! If you turn the hot water on I get frozen. If you turn the cold water on I get scalded. STOP IT!