More, please, more!!!
I agree, you can’t make this shit up.
That’s true, as long as you don’t have to know about their sex lives. If they drag their sex lives into the office and spread it about in full view of everyone, the claim to privacy gets a little shaky.
This is starting to make sense.
Yes, it all makes sense now.
Except imagining Diana Riggs tiny and “pretty” - never would have described her that way.
Years and years ago I had a co-worker who had an extremely dysfunctional personal life (short version: abusive ex-husband, two sons brought up to be abusive and disrepectful to their mother and to all women everywhere, one of whom eventually went to prison for murder, yes indeedy) and we got to hear the horrible details of every single installment in this drama. It was awful, possibly the worst work situation I have ever been in. It went on and on. I tried to be kind to this poor, mentally and emotionally beaten down woman who couldn’t stand up for herself if her life depended on it. Finally I lost all sympathy for her when she claimed that her poor baby the murderer, who had killed his (female) drug dealer, really wasn’t to blame because “she was asking for it.”
Eventually she left our office because she had an opportunity to get a better-paying job in another office on campus. She either didn’t like that job or wasn’t learning her new duties very well; I think she failed her probationary period (where the new office can let you go if you’re not working out) and she wanted to come back. Our boss had the perfectly acceptable excuse that he had already replaced her, but I know he didn’t want her back either.
I never expected to encounter this sentence in my entire life.
nm
Is that what you kids are calling it these days?
The State Trooper story
One of my customers had a small cabin in a rural lake area about 90 minutes away he wanted like to get some simple work done on.
One of my salesmen was going up to his cabin, and on the way home would be driving somewhat near there-I ask him if he’d stop by, just to make sure there are no surprises with the job. Being the helpful soul, he says, sure, no problem.
Monday morning, 11:00, I get a call from one very pissed off State Trooper. After working a long overnight shift, he’s driving down his lake cabin road only to find some guy coming around from behind his outbuilding.
He calls for backup with his trooper buddies and the local sheriff’s department as he’s screeching to a halt. He jumps out of the squad car, gun drawn, yelling at the top of his voice in a very serious manner for the guy to “GET DOWN, GET DOWN, GET DOWN.”
My poor guy, severely hung over from 3 days of vacation, only trying to do a favor for the boss, is now in a nightmare he never anticipated.
Three other cop cars are now arriving on scene, dust flying, doors slamming, to help their buddy as my guy is trying not to piss himself.
The interrogation goes downhill, fast. My guy tries to explain he’s just measuring, his boss told him to come here, he doesn’t know the homeowners name, he’s sorry, he wasn’t casing/stealing/burglarizing/attempting rape/arsoning, really Officer. Officer believes none of it, and is threatening to kick his ass for trying to break into his home.
Yes, my guy had the unfortunate problem of not only going to the wrong cabin, but the wrong cabin that was owned by a State Trooper, that was also in a isolated rural area that been suffering from a rash of burglaries.
His only defense at this time is he’s driving a company truck. The trooper calls the office. Home office doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but thinks this is probably a good time to kick it upstairs to the boss and gives the trooper my cell number.
I pick up State Trooper Johnson’s phone call. He’s pissed. It takes about 3 minutes to get things figured out- that my guy went to the right address, just the wrong street. The difference between Dr and Rd- same house numbers, but the road forked, and he took the wrong one-remember this is real rural, and there is only fire numbers on a gravel road to go by. Even though I vouch for the salesman, it’s not enough.
Finally after about 45 minutes, a breathalyzer, a search of his truck inside and out, a drug K-9, they are convinced he is who he says he is, and is doing what he is supposed to be doing.
The buddies of the trooper now think this is funnier than hell that the poor schlub is just at the wrong address. Somewhat apologize, but are laughing the whole time.
My guy, after promising to never come back to that county, let alone the area, is finally let go. He then (god bless him) goes to the correct address and gets the info on the correct cabin.
As he’s doing this, he sees the sheriff drive by, still laughing.
You need an agent. Like now. With this being the last season of Desperate Housewives on TV, I’m betting a clever agent could sell your stories into that time slot no sweat.
Ex is filing a police report because the fishing tackle box is missing.
She’s refusing to blow into the breathalyzer he ordered online before she picks up the kids.
Douchebag™ has got a job as of today. I’m thinking of starting a pool of how long he’ll last.
Tell him to check the chicken coop.
I’ve already pre-ordered the first season of “Sumpthin’s Fisha Here” (with Bret Michaels as Ron Douchebag) on DVD/Blu-Ray Combo Pack.
I’d like to know how such an unattractive seeming fellow manages to attract all these women.
Did you order the unrated version with the deleted scenes put back in?
You can’t put more than three or so chickens in a coop small enough to wrestle away from someone, and even that’s really not sufficient for their health and comfort. And they have 25 chickens?! I don’t give a flying fuck how they mistreat each other, they can opt out whenever they like. The poor chickens don’t get that option.
Assholes.
No, it’s a big coop. Plenty big enough for the chickens. Have you never seen people fight over big objects before?
I am now getting fresh eggs all the time, though. Score!
Big to-do on Friday was the ex was concerned that the kids would not be going to his approved Sunday school. Yeah, all these people go to church.
Really.
Huh. The “vision” I got of the fight over the chicken coop was of people inside the coop, wrestling and hitting each other.
Oh, and a little douchebag ditty for ya, fisha!
Chicken coops I can understand, but fighting over Sunday school - not whether, but which?
I know a family where the two grandmothers got into a catfight over whose side’s baptismal garments would be worn by the brand-new first grandchild.
Both sets of garments were torn, solving the additional problem which had already been pointed out by the baby’s parents: they were too small anyway!