I had called in to work a few months back to let my employer know I would be an hour or so late. I was informed that this would be noted in the computer system. So my comment when I went into work:
To the time clock when it bleeped & blared it’s “danger-danger” message, “No, you idgit machine, I told you I’d be an hour late.” And to the second part of the bleep-bleep, “Contact personnel? They told me you already knew!” Oy!!
Love, Phil
I usually have lots of four-letter words to say to voice-recognition voice mail systems. I don’t think they properly test them with angry-sounding people, and it doesn’t take many menus before I get furious and start mashing the ‘0’ button to get a human on.
“Please say your account number…” Stupid F***ing thing wants me to recite, out loud, an account number for all to hear, OVER AND OVER AGAIN when I have a perfectly good key pad with numbers on it.
Installing a garage door opener in my garage last night and this morning, I had lots of not-so-nice, unprintable things to say not only to the machine, but about its designers, their families, etc. Two-inch long switches to attach to the rail, and (surprise!) one comes into contact with the garage door when closing because the space is tight between top of garage door and rafters. The sort of thing you can’t find out until you have the WHOLE door assembled, wired, etc. So after gluing and screwing in a 2x4 to raise the mount point, I still had to get out the reciprocating saw to cut a notch out of the edge of the garage door AND snip half an inch off that retarded plastic ‘stop’ switch.
Could’ve been worse. The last time I installed one of those, I literally had to cut a shallow notch into half of the joists to get clearance between door and rail. A brand new ‘Tuff Shed’ garage, that one. There’s just no excuse to design a NEW garage with no clearance for a garage door opener. Of course, garage door openers like the Genie Directlift 2060 that make quiet, unadvertised assumptions about installation space being abundant are equally at fault.
I said “fuck you” to an automated help line and it responded, “If you’d like to end this call, please hang up.”
“Look, will you stop whining already? Can’t you see I’m busy? You have to wait like everyone else!” To a ringing phone while I was busy helping a patron at the library where I work. Actually, I tell the phone that a lot. It still doesn’t behave. Yes, actually, people *do *look at me funny. Why do you ask?
“Will you please just hurry up and frigging load?”–to a balky web page.
To my computer at work: “Why the HELL is this taking so long?!”, as it sends an invoice to email (eventually).
And to a ringing phone at the end of the day: “I do NOT want to talk to you!” Then I pick up the receiver: “This is Cheez, how may I help you?” in my best Customer Service voice.
To an absolutely nuts charter-school application, describing a really wacky educational theory: “But that makes no sense. Also, you’re an idiot. Why are you so stupid? Why must I deal with your stupidity?” Muttered under my breath, with a secretary in the room.
Yah, I talk to documents. I need help.
“Mommy loves you!”–to my car. (I do love it. It goes wherever I want it to go, whenever I want it to go. It goes in the rain, the snow and in hot weather. I truly love it.)
“I shot you in the head, DIE Mother F**ker!”
said to numerous people using Juggernaut on Call of Duty 4.
“C’mon baby, you can do it!..That’s a good girl.”
Said while stroking the steering wheel of my '93 Volvo, in an attempt to get the poor thing to accelerate, and when it finally did.
“Fucker!” to an iron skillet when I picked it up by its handle and it was still quite hot.
Just now? “Oh, bugger!”, as my credit union’s web site refused to allow me to edit an address that I’m sending payments to. They’re scheduled to do system work on it starting later tonight, but apparently things are already flakey.
They also make the assumption that you have plenty of random pieces of metal bars and things that can be used to install the supposedly complete kit.
Lucky me, I had a friend installing my garage door opener who was familiar with that little trick, and he brought some scrap parts that he was able to use.
“STFU, you stupid fucking Dalek!” to an automated telephone answering system! 
At least, I think it was automated!
"No. Oh, Fuck No. Not again. Please.’’
To Microsoft Word and its ‘‘Sticky Keys’’ function which completely screws everything up when it’s activated, even if I turn it off. GAH!
“Tas de merde!” to my machine at work. It’s older than I am and falling apart.
“Come on! Yahoo CAN’T be down! Come on!”–while trying to get my email this morning.
Inanimate objects don’t like me. It’s amazing how they can be inanimate, and yet still manage to be in the way, elude my grasp, or cause me great pain. My usual response is typically one of the following:
Come on.
Obey.
Fucking fucker.
Pigfucker.
Motherfrakker.
Frakking frackker.
(yes I use BSG curses and not because it’s cool but because that’s just what slips out sometimes. it’s a good curse word, and if it hadn’t already been in use, it probably would have appeared through convergent evolution)
I talk to my computer at work all day long. Usually some variation on “Jesus Christ, while I’m fucking young, wouldya!?!?!”
It should not take 11 minutes from the time I turn on my computer until the time I’m able to actually *use * it for anything.
And it said “Sure, easy as p” 