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

The BBQ Pit
61

Dear marketing company assholes:

Please read a book about design for the Web. Just cuz your fancy gradient shithole designs look purdy on paper, they are a nightmare on the Web. Why don’t we just change the client’s site to all PDFs? You don’t understand how the Website works? Then why the FUCK did they hire you for design instead of us?

And also when I tell you I can get the page done by the end of the week “if I get the graphics by a reasonable time”, I only mean that if I get the graphics by say, Thursday at the latest. 3:30 on Friday is not a good timeframe for me to get things done by the end of the week. Cuz that already IS the end of the week.

Oh yeah and your boss shouldn’t say stuff like “gosh we don’t give these girls enough credit” when he’s on the phone with me [a ‘girl’] and my partner [a very protective guy]. Because if he tries doing that in person, he is guaranteed two black eyes and a broken nose. I know karate.

Dear Dad:
You are 54. You are not 21. You do not need to drink like a fish every day. You make alot of money. Your family does not suck. Your job does not suck. I do not suck. So you have no excuse for coming home drunk every day and spouting off about how you have to pay your goddamn bills (what, it takes you like an hour to make enough to pay the gas bill?). Because it’s 3:30 and some of us work till 5. And no I don’t give a shit that my brother doesn’t have a super-great job. Why don’t you take it up with your pal George Bush? Right “I’m not stupid and you’re not stupid.” Actually, you are. So go pass out somewhere else. Moron.

Dear Tummy Fat:
Listen, I lost 90 lbs in one year. Now I haven’t lost any of you in 3 months. I don’t like you, so go away. Stop clinging to me. Go away or we will have you forcibly removed from the premesis of my person.

62

Nicotine, please, please stop drawing in me back into your delicious yet deadly web, my lungs have had enough and I really want to quit but on leaving my body I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave behind a tetchy, quaking, easily aggrivated shell of a man.

To my (soon to be former) Boss, your vaguelly racist jokes and remarks are not funny hence the lack of laughter. Punching me in the shoulder and saying ‘d’ya gerrit?’ over and over in your irritating Brummie drawl makes it no funnier. In fact it makes it less so.

Brain, for gods sake what happened to you? You used to be smart and remember things like the names of your co-workers and the names of films from the 1980’s. Jesus I can barely remember what this rant is about…either way ‘WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!’

63

I gave you all the information you needed the first time. I know I did, because I thought my statement through before presenting it. Everything you need to know about the situation is encapsulated in what I have already stated. Is there a VERY good reason why you are asking me for the information you already have, in writing? I thought not. Carry on.

If you call looking for your report while the appraiser is writing it, you have a choice: you may leave a message; or you may talk to your appraiser and prevent him/her from completing the report you are so screamingly desperate for. I strongly recommend the former.

I told you I would follow up. I know your situation is desperate, because you left everything to the last minute and I must now fix it. I know you are concerned that I comprehend the gravity of the situation, but really. I already said I would follow up on it, and I cannot follow up on anything if I am still talking to you. Why are you still talking?

There are rules which your institution has required you to follow before you request the services of our company. When you contravene those rules, and our service contract requires that we not provide the requested service, it is not my fault. Call the lady at your Internal Credit Function; it’s her job to tell you that it is your fault.

In order to determine what happened to your order, I need the order number. In order to call you back, I need your name and telephone number. I do not need the whole sorry saga of how your mortgage deal is souring because you left it too late to request an appraisal. If that is the sum total of your message to me, and you fail to give me the pertinent details, I cannot help you, and I will not try.

64

Fuck you to hell, store ordering system. Thirty-five days to order a book from a New Zealand publisher? Thirty-five *working * days? It’s a children’s paperback, and you’ve priced it as $64.48? Why do you hate me? Why do you hate the customers? Gah.

Dear customers. I don’t determine the prices. I don’t have any say in anything. I make a little over minimum wage; I’m barely qualified to tie my own shoes. Don’t ask me if I think the books are little expensive. I’m not really allowed to answer that you couldn’t pay me to read the Paulina Simmons crap that you’re buying. Likewise, don’t comment to me about the ‘damm fags/asians/maoris’. I know I’m not allowed to lean over and slap you, and I’m not even going to pretend to agree with you.

65

Hey, you half-wit, dirt-eating, inbred asshole. Stop shooting our cats with BB guns. This is the third cat that you’ve shot. You have good aim, too. All of them are shot in the front leg. And what’s your obsession with orange cats? You only shoot orange cats. Why?

Two of the kitties are okay. One just bled and shrugged off the shot, the other got an abscess and had to be taken to the vet, but she’s okay.

But the third one, no, that’s the one that you’ve really messed up. He was 20 years old, asshole. TWENTY. That’s almost 100 people years. He was minding his own damned business, just strolling outside for a few minutes to get some sun. And then he comes inside, limping. We didn’t know he was shot, but then he got the biggest abscess ever.

The poor cat is terrified of vets so we had to dope him up to get him to the vet’s office, and it all takes a toll on him. He was old and creaky but hanging in there, but getting shot like that really made him go downhill. He’s tough so he’s hanging in there, but most certainly you’ve shortened his life and damaged his quality of life. Assholes.

We could almost form a theory that perhaps—perhaps—the other cats had done something annoying to you, which prompted you, (you inbred, dirt-eating, half-wit) to shoot them to shoo them away. Perhaps because they were shitting in your yard, or something. But when you shot the 20-year-old cat, who was absolutely in OUR FRICKIN’ YARD and was most assuredly not bothering anything of yours, well, that theory has been blown out of the water. You are an asshole. You shoot cats in their own yards, just for kicks, I suppose. I hope you suffer for what you’ve done. There is no excuse for your behavior.

And yes, we are keeping our cats inside now. We are looking into getting a permanent enclosure so the cats won’t be “outside-outside” anymore. We have a huge yard on a rather out-of-the-way street so up until now, the cats were okay and didn’t wander far. But forget it. Not after this.

66

:eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek:

Bad Neighbour. Bad Bad Bad neighbour. May his BB gun go off while pointed at his heinie.

67

Hey Roomie!

We have discussed the “don’t leave anything in the sink” thing before…when you leave your dishes in the sink, I have to move them to use the sink. THE DISHWASHER IS RIGHT NEXT TO THE SINK: PUT YOUR DISHES IN THERE! Sheesh!

Also, I just threw away a brand new frying pan because you burned it up on HIGH and scratched it to bits with metal utensils. I have 4, count them FOUR plastic spatulas in the container by the stove, yet you had to go searching in a drawer for the one metal spatula I own…I don’t even know how to address your the-stove-only-works-on-high theory. The frying pan fairy does not bring new cookware!

68

Fuck you, bitch.

Fuck you for sending me such a dismissive, condescending e-mail for no reason.

Fuck you for running to your boss and crying on his shoulder when I dared to reply curtly, instead of talking with me about it like a grownup.

Fuck you for then thinking that, because your boss offered to talk with me, it meant that I was somehow reprimanded and there was nothing for you and I to discuss. (Which is not what happened, not how our company works, and not anything your boss would ever do – I know because he used to be my boss – and it’s kind of scary that you believe otherwise.)

Fuck you for being so defensive and self-righteous when I tried to discuss the situation with you anyway – at your boss’s suggestion, you dipshit.

Fuck you for being in your 50s and yet a bigger crybaby than the company’s youngest employee, or anyone else I have ever worked with.

Fuck you for pissing off nearly every person you work with, and somehow making it our responsibility to tiptoe around your sensitivities.

Fuck you for repeatedly pushing one of my biggest buttons, the one that makes me doubt my ability to be a good leader and manager.

Fuck you.

69

God dammit, we can put a man on the moon but we can’t figure out how to package CDs in a way that allows the consumer to unwrap them quickly and easily??? Why the FUCK would I want to spend 5 minutes tearing at little pieces of shrink wrap and spitting tiny shreds of sticky tape out all over my car just so I can listen to brand new CD I just bought? FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!

70

He may be my cousin, but he’s your kid. You take care of him; he’s not my responsibility. And don’t get ticked off at people because they don’t appreciate your kid hitting and insulting them.

Self: you’re a pathetic wimp. You can’t even ask her to a friendly dinner, and after next month you and she will be a few thousand miles apart. Go cower in your corner, self.

71

Mr. Idiot-whom-I-work-with (“IWIWW”),

You are over forty years old. You have worked for this company for SIXTEEN YEARS. Will you please learn where the GODDAMN STAPLES ARE? Yes, they had the temerity to move the whole office THREE years ago. We are in a 3,000 square foot space, only one-third of which is used for storage. And all of the office supplies are in TWO 6’ x 4’ cabinets. And the staples are kept in a box that is clearly marked STAPLES. It stays in the same place on the same shelf in the same cabinet. The Evil Office Gnomes have much better things to do that go around moving the staples. I have many much more important things to do that run and get you some more fucking staples. [Or copy paper, mechanical pencil lead, and pens. ]

And you’re such a knee-jerk hard-core Limbaugh-lovin’ Republican that I can barely keep myself from laughing out loud when you start hollering about the damned liberal media when they slaughter your beloved W. You sound like a GI Joe that’s been programmed with six phrases. You couldn’t possibly have an original thought of your own. They’ve all been placed there by your daddy and your momma, who LOVE to send you horribly tasteless emails regarding the HORRORS of the Democratic party. [He’s such an idiot that they don’t let him have a laptop to take with him on the jobsite. Part of my job is to check his email for him, and he’s got it on preview.]

I HATE STARING AT YOUR BALDING HEAD AND SEEING YOU DO DUMBASS SHIT LIKE PRINT OFF EVERY SINGLE EMAIL YOU RECEIVE SO YOU CAN HAVE A HARD COPY. YOU’RE TOO FUCKING STUPID TO LEARN HOW TO CREATE FOLDERS IN YOUR EMAIL FOR FILING MESSAGES BY SUBJECT. THE DELETED ITEMS FOLDER IS NOT MEANT TO BE THE PRIMARY STORAGE FOLDER FOR EVERY SINGLE E-MAIL YOU HAVE EVER RECEIVED!!!

Dear God, I can’t wait to quit my job!

72

  • Attentnion Ikea customers, there is no need to watch where you’re going. Everything is OK. The people who are around you will get out of your way. If they do not, they deserve to have their ankles bashed with your $30 bookshelf that weighs almost 700 lbs. You have nothing to worry about.

  • By all means, the bags that are provided for you to pack your own items can also be taken home en masse for your personal use. Especially if that means that you take all of the remaining bags on the counter. Oh, you left two or three of the small bags. That was kind of you, please, forgive my evil stare.

  • I would like to inform you that Nosferatu is a silent movie. That means shut the fuck up. We know how clever you are. We know that you are funny. We know that you have painstakingly created these heckles over dozens and dozens of viewings of this film. I’m glad that you are using your inside voice, but if you don’t stop soon it will be your through-a-wired-up-jaw voice. See the way your girlfriend shrinks every time you say something stupid? Notice how it’s every time you say something? Dude, if only the movie were a few minutes longer, she’d be going home with me.

73

Knock it off with the car alarms, you dumbasses.