OK, this is a mini-rant because it really does not affect me, but for god sales folks if you put the treadmill on such a high incline that you have to hang on then lower then incline because you are defeating the purpose of it.
Sheesh .
(I hereby enter this into the 2012 Mini-Ranties in the category of Most Nit-picking Rant of the Year)
I want you to know, I mis-read that as Nose-Picking Rant of the Year. 
We’re selling a house. The price for the house is actually on the sign. When people call us up, they either want to know what we’re selling it for, or they offer less than half. Or they want to rent it.
Don’t even get me started on people who think that we’re gonna finance the sale, without the buyers putting ANY money down.
“Sure I’ll buy it. I can just move in and start making payments, right?”
My sibling has two sons. One of those sons is a great kid who is a joy to all who know him. The other one… well, he’s a complete tool. He seems to take great delight in making his girl cousins cry, and his ability to push their buttons amounts to a superpower.
Sooner or later someone is going to punch him square in the mouth, and I know it makes me a bad uncle to feel this way, but secretly I can’t WAIT for it to happen. I hope I’m there to see it. And if the puncher happens to be my daughter, well, I’ll make her apologize and then privately tell her that I completely understand and that there will be no punishment.
The other side of that coin…across the street from my house, on a plot of land that has to be 50 acres or so, is a sign that says ‘Call XXX for information, 555-55-555’.
One day my brother was over and got curious, so he called. This was the conversation:
Guy: Hello?
Bro: Yeah, I was calling about the property on 86th Street..
Guy: What about it?
Bro: Uh…what are you asking for it?
Guy: Well…I hadn’t really thought about selling it…
Wft? Calling for information about what, then?
I really wish you could post the real info…cause I know that I wouldn’t be the only one to call the number and ask for info about his land.
Not me. I’d be asking for info about the sign he’s so proud of.
Even better! You are SO smart 
Well, call back and find out!
Or post the number, if you want to have “your people” call for you, and get back to you.
For the last few months I’ve been sharing. The owner of the flat is a mileurista (makes about 1K€/month) with a 700€ mortgage (the original mortgage was with his SO, they split, he kept the flat on a much-worse mortgage and then lost his main job); at age 16 he hadn’t finished his compulsory education (8th grade) yet and dropped out, now he wants to go to college. He had ads up to sell the flat for an amount which is pretty ridiculously high given the current state of the local market. He got an offer for 10% less…
and that’s when he realized that if he sells it, where does he go? What, back to living with his father? What does he do with his stuff?
Some people you wonder why they’re in a bad situation. Some keep making it very clear, and this world isn’t nice to the dumb.
My book is coming out tomorrow and I still don’t have my author’s copies. Every single time the Fed-Ex truck goes by my brain starts to shout come back, come back!
How’s that for the minniest of mini-rants?
“As for YOU, we’ll talk about this later!”
<later, ‘the talk’>
“Bwahahahaha! THANK YOU for punching that tool. I’ve been waiting for someone to do it. Let’s go get some ice cream.”
Congrats on the book. Any way we can find out the title?
Thanks. My co-author (a fellow doper!) and I are crafting a statement for the marketplace. We’ll probably post it in the marketplace with an Amazon link later today.
You should probably have a talk with her before the incident.
Tightly closed fist with the thumb on the outside.
Wrist straight.
Do not punch directly into the mouth. Getting a cut from a tooth can lead to some really nasty infections.
Uppercut to jaw or a hook punch to the nose for a clean break. No, she can’t kill him by shoving bones into his brain. That’s an urban myth. Otherwise professional boxers would have careers measured in months or weeks.
I am currently in the middle of a business trip that I was and am really excited about. But today has really sucked. First, we got a late start and I couldn’t get any work done because the people I’m travelling with won’t stop talking about unrelated things. Then, we had a three hour drive and I fell asleep and was definitely snoring. We stopped for lunch and I had the worst pulled pork sandwich ever. Finally, we got to our final destination, I broke the underwire in my bra. And they still haven’t stopped talking. Gah!!
I sure wish you had given me this advice before I started getting into fights! slight hijack, one of my elderly neighbors told me a story about getting into a fight while he was in the Army…back in WW2. He beat the guy up and punched out a couple of teeth. A couple of days later, neighbor was in the hospital because of the infection. Times were hard and medical practices were not as good as they are now, so neighbor almost died.
After neighbor was out of the hospital, the guy he fought with started telling everyone that he had won the fight…he had only lost a couple of teeth, but he almost killed neighbor.
My rant: Tony. Again. I got a call from one of my friends in the Sheriff’s office, telling me to go home and deal with Tony. How wonderful is that? Part happy that I was called and part outraged that it happened. Tony is going to climb a clock tower someday and this is well known. I’m an untrained warehouse worker who just happens to be Tony’s only friend. If he really has snapped, he probably won’t kill me…but other people will get hurt and I will blame myself because I didn’t know how to talk him down.
Anyhow…one of his cats died a couple of days ago. I’d been trying to get the traveling vet to go to Tony’s house and euth the cat, but she is afraid of him, so I was going to take Monday off so I could be there for her. Said cat died Sunday night. Tony put his cat in a plastic container (that included a bed, food, toys and treats) and buried it in his back yard. About 10 inches deep. No rocks or anything over the grave. In the desert heat.
From what I know, this morning, one of his neighbor’s dogs dug under the fence and dug his cat up. Tony saw the dog eating his cat and went ballistic. He killed the dog with a baseball bat and then went to the neighbor’s house and beat stuff up with the same bat (the neighbor was at work) until a different neighbor called the police, who called me.
When I got there, they had Tony cuffed and in the car. He was totally out of control, kicking and screaming and crying. This is NOT his fault, he is mentally ill. After a lot of drama, I was able to go to him and he started crying and stopped fighting. Tony is now back in the hospital and I’ll be taking care of his cats. When it cools down, I will go to his place and dig a proper grave for what is left of his cat. I don’t know what to do with the dog, the owner isn’t home yet.
Mental illness sucks big time.
Here you go.
I bet if you took off the bra, removed the underwire and asked to borrow some duct tape, they might stop talking, at least for a while.