For the love of God, please use a better, more permanent ink than the cheap, inferior shit you all seem to be using right now when printing the security code on the backs of the cards you issue. Your cards are pulled in and out of wallets and swiped through machines dozens of times over the course of their lifetimes. We need this number whenever we process a transaction for our clients as do other agencies, I’m sure. Many of our clients have trouble reading the number because it has rubbed off or worn off, which leads to having to guess the number and hope that it’s right. If we enter it wrong too many times the card gets flagged for possible fraud attempt and we’re stuck dead in the water.
Allergies suck. It’s finally beautiful weather and I’m sneezing my head off! And up until a year ago, I never even HAD any frickin’ allergies! What’s the deal?
Be nice to them and maybe use Dryel or some equivalent to freshen them up until you can find time in your schizo schedule to drop them off at a dry cleaner’s. Unless you’re a sweaty, accident-prone man, you should be able to keep them not too stinky and stain free. So if you have access to a clothes dryer and some dollar bills or credit card to pay for Dryel, I think you’ll be ok.
I would love to pit myself because I am slowly turning into emotional, crazy girlfriend. I’ve never been the crazy girlfriend before. Fuck the long distance shit, if I could see you like normal couples see each other I’d be fine. I’m normally the most rational person out of my circle of friends, now I’m the nut job freaking out on her awesome bf for nothing. He’s probably gonna dump me for it but I can’t stop. I just jump to the negative and wig out. Blah on me.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Diana said “Oh my god, oh my god” immediately after the crash? That’s news?! What the fuck difference does it make?! Who the fuck cares?!
Oh for fuck’s sake. Amazing. I only pitted that stupid twatnugget earlier today, and guess what? 4:59, the waste of space fucking passed a chat to me. Oh, yes, I spoke to my supervisor about it. In fact, my words were “I will accept the chat, even though it is now 5:00 because I don’t mind getting paid overtime, and I don’t believe in screwing the customer just because I am too lazy or stupid to answer them.” Supervisor is pissed, by the way, shit-for-brains. You will not like the lecture you will be getting tomorrow. Seriously, why do people agree to do things they are too lazy/stupid/what-the-fuck-ever to actually do?
I just got my new glasses, and there’s NO difference whatsoever from my old ones. The only thing I see is a SLIGHT magnification of things upclose-like reading glasses. I am NEAR sighted, you fuckers.
If the lab fucked up my prescription, they better fucking not charge me for the fix. This is insane. My old glasses were almost ten-fucking-years old. I’m going next monday to see what’s up. Dammit.
Look, this is the way it works at this time of year: it rains a bit, it snows a bit, the temperature goes from 35 during the day to about 25 at night. This means that whatever moisture is on the ground WILL BE FUCKING FROZEN DURING THE FUCKING MORNING COMMUTE! SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!! :: pantpantpant::
Hello, asshole on the freeway, in case you haven’t noticed our part of the world is ON FUCKING FIRE. Keep your cigarette butt inside your truck you wanker.
I’m a smoker, and this one really pisses me off. Come on, people! We all know smoking isn’t the smartest thing for us to be doing, please don’t show you don’t have a brain at all.
And while we are on the subject…Hey, Civic Center! We smokers realize that our begging (since 1976) for some sort of cover to stand under is not going to happen. So be it - we’ll drip umbrellas on your crappy carpet. But how about more than one butt can per side? There are a couple of hundred of us out here between periods during hockey games, and if you put out a few more butt cans there would not be nearly as many butts on the ground after the game. A lot of us don’t want to litter, but when the game is about to start and “the” butt can is surrounded and overflowing…
Your roof that was installed on Friday is not leaking. The roofer and I both came out on Monday driving an hour each way to humor your idea that your roof is leaking, although we knew it wasn’t true. We even caulked some more, knowing that it hasn’t leaked, just to please you.
Now you call me again, a week later, insisting that your roof is leaking. Me, being the customer service oriented contractor I am, am driving another hour each way, down and back to convince you once again that your roof is not leaking. I’ll probably spend a couple of hours on top of your roof with a hose to prove this to you.
You know why I am so positive your brand new roof doesn’t have a leak?
BECAUSE IT HASN"T FUCKING RAINED, MORON.
And this time I am bringing the reports to prove it.
Just because it was raining in Eagan, or Duluth, or fucking Argentina, does not mean it was raining in Lakeville.
I mini-pit my daily dose of penis (with one exception, to be listed below). Technically, it’s a pitting of our spam filter, which, despite putting their domains on the trust list, does not like engineering newsletters or random things from the Department of Transportation.
So it filters them out.
So I have to go through every filter digest every day to be sure that I’m getting the notices that I might need.
So I get my daily dose of penis. Badly spelled penis. Slang and euphemism for penis. Lies about penis. Penis.
And online pharmacies and stocks and out of stock watches. (Don’t ask me why I should hurry to order an out of stock watch - I’m sure there must be a reason but finding it would involve wasting time thinking about spam.)
And no rock ‘n’ roll. Although the saying is ‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll’, there is no rock ‘n’ roll in my spam filter. Lots of penis though.
>>Exception to the rant<<
Today’s first filter digest included the subject line: “Now your penis can serve as the lighthouse in the open sea.”
This is quite an improvement on “get bigger dick the grls luv without surgery.” As spam goes, it’s almost poetic.
Still hate slogging through the spam filter digests, though. Here comes another one.
The pictures on the wall are vibrating. My fishtank is vibrating. It would still suck if you were playing good music, but you’re playing crappy 90’s techno. I have a test tomorrow morning and I can’t even fucking think let alone study.
Would it be too much trouble for the police/judicial system or whoever mails notices that you’re being charged with a misdemeanor to look up the address so that you will actually receive the notice and not have to wait until a warrant’s issued for non-appearance and you have to post a freakin’ bond?!? We’ve been in this house for five years. The address is in the phone book and on hubby’s driver’s license, and in your property records for pete’s sake!! Fuck the system.
You’re family. I love you. But for the sake of my stomach, don’t talk to me with food in your mouth. I have absolutely no interest in seeing what you’re eating once it has left your fork. If you were one of my kids I would tell you not to talk with your mouth full, and in all likelyhood will probably have to do so anyway because you will repeat yourself until I acknowledge what you have said. So please don’t take it personally.