Dear Butthead Driving nth close to my Bumper ( on a country road with no traffic, no less,)
Driving right off my ass will make me drive only slowly so as to piss you off even more.
Thank you and have a nice day,bunghole.
I realize that paper clips elude you, as does the concept of “ordered pages”. Those documents you had to work with are numbered - when I gave them to you, they were in order and clipped together, neatly. I realize it is probably my fault that I didn’t tell you that numbered pages should remain in the proper order. However, it never occured to me that you would do any differently, especially knowing how important these 2,000 or documents are to our work. Their organization is a big part of the reason that our team is one of, if not the, most efficient on the floor. Now, I have to go through them again for another project, and it’s going to take me that much longer because I have to fix the mess you made - I can’t make you do it, as you have since been let go.
Also, when it is blindingly obvious that there are two or more separate documents in a folder, they should not be stapled together at random. It is, I repeat BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS which pages go together. For every document I have to fix that you fucked up, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your pubic hair. I hate you. :wally
(this may seem kind of petty, but seriously, it’s going to take me hours longer to do my work than it should, this is a time-sensitive project, and I’m extremely busy right now with many other time-sensitive projects. Also, if a client calls wanting information from me, and I can’t find it b/c dumbass messed it up, **I’m ** the one that looks bad)
Dear moron in the office,
Bookmark it, you dunderhead. The URL has not changed in a year, and yet every time you try to open the site, you forget it. It’s not rocket science. There is no “www.” A slash is not the same as a period. Neither is a comma. And the fact that you have the memory of a puffer fish and the typing skills of a snake does not mean that the website is “broken again.”
Sincerely,
The guy who is sick and fucking tired of your phone calls
Dear Shirley,
The plural of memo is not memo’s.
Sincerely,
Lily
Sorry, but you knew someone was gonna say it! 
Dear Lilly,
Thank you for doing my work for me.
Kisses,
scout
To: Neighbor Dog
From: Tired Scout
Re: Incessant Barking
DO NOT BARK AT TWO IN THE MORNING. I know your owners effectively ignore you. But while you try to get their attention, you wake the rest of us up. Let me sleep for the love of God!
Dear K,
The noise eminating from the phone in concert with the flashing orange light indicate an incoming call to our office. The SOP regarding incoming calls is that they are answered promptly by our administrative staff, currently consprised of you and me. Upon employment, all admin staff were instructed to answer all incoming calls within one or two rings if no other calls are currently being addressed. You should do one of the following when the phone rings:
[ul][li]Answer the phone[/ul][/li]
Also, it is important to note that holding your hand over the receiver while the phone rings without actually picking it up does NOT constitute a successfully answered call.
Please apply the tips in this memo to improve your answering efficiency and overall value to the administrative department.
Sincerely,
Flander
Dear cubicle neighbors,
Turn your damn cell phones on vibrate when you are in the office, else those of us accosted by your nerve-shattering ringtones will be permitted, nay required, to destroy said cell phones with malice.
Should the process of turning your cell phone to vibrate elude you, either (a) have a 5-year old show you how to do it, or (b)take the fucking thing with you.
Dear Kraft;
I just wanted to write to tell you how much I like Kraft Dinner. Serioulsy, it’s great. I was wondering how you got cheese into a dry powder though. How do you do that? I’ve tried making my own KD simulations, and I can never get the cheese to do that. I bet you use a lot of weird shit that no one would ever even think of eating.
PS: BLOW ME!
Sincerely,
Nunavut Boy
Dear Colgate;
Thank you for making my teeth shiny and my breath good. Oh, and congratulations on having 9 out of 10 dentists liking you shit or whatever. I bet that last guy is a real dickhead anyways.
PS: BLOW ME!
Sincerely,
Nunavut Boy
Dear Pepsico;
Pepsi’s great. I just wanted to tell you that. The only thing that’s a bit weird is the color. I mean, black? Who wants to drink black carbonated liquids? Please change it to blue or something less gross.
PS: BLOW ME!
Sincerely,
Nunavut Boy
On a related note, if you are calling a business associate, especially during the lunch hour, you should be able to tell within 4 rings that the person is not at her desk. I understand that common wisdom is that by letting it ring longer, that increases the odds of her actually being there. However, if she wasn’t there for the first 75,485 rings, she probably won’t be there for the 75,486th, or the 75,487th, or the 75,488th…
Dear Co-Workers,
When you are out of the office, please change your greeting on your voice-mail to indicate that you are out of the office and who to contact in your absence. It is common courtesy to direct people elsewhere when you are unable to answer their questions.
Thank you,
Ivylass
(I cannot tell you the number of times I have left messages, needing answers to questions, only to find out that the person was on vacation. Frequently we deal with time-sensitive and urgent matters and I can’t wait three days for an answer. It would have been nice to know Co-Worker A was on a cruise, then I could have tracked down Co-Worker B.)
Dear self absorbed, inconsiderate assholes on the 6:34 train out of San Bernardino,
As much as I’d like to begin this public service message with the words, “I fucking hate your ugly guts,” I will refrain and hereby make my requests and demands as businesslike as possible.
Ladies:
If you must wear perfume, please apply the fragrance in question AFTER you have reached your destination. The trains are a very cramped place, with a captive audience, and some of us cannot function when surrounded by your wall of stink. The headache it produces is not something I should have to get used to, and the occasional migraine it triggers should be visited upon you as a punishment for your assault on my olfactory nerves. Bathe once in a while, you walking bacteria factory, instead of marinating in that whale puke juice to cover up your stench. It only makes your stench worse…I imagine. Cunt.
Fellow commuters as a whole:
If I am standing in front of the train door waiting for it to open, and I happen to be standing close to the door because I’ve been standing there for a long time, and not in the back of the crowd, do NOT run up, late, out of breath and push me out of the way so that you can be first through the door. I am not ranting about not being first through the door, but at the way in which I am pushed aside because your self important ass MUST choose your seat first. This brings me to my next point…
I have a laptop because I occasionally have to do work on the train. I need a table to set my laptop on in order to do anything with it. This also includes watching a movie if I have finished my work so that I might tune YOU out and escape for the hour and a half I have to share air with you. As you might notice, the tables are limited, and are usually the first seats to go. Why this is, I have no clue, seeing as how most of the people sitting there have nothing to set on the table. Please, for the love of Pete, these tables are not for you to fucking lean on while you sit with your back to the wall and kick your legs across the adjoining seat. This is just plain rude. I take up as little space as possible on the table so that it might be used by more than just me. I put my bags under the seat instead of preventing you from sitting next to me by setting them ON the seat. It’s common courtesy. Look it the fuck up, and stop thinking you’re tricking someone by taking up as much room as possible so that nobody sits next to you. The trains are CROWDED. Which brings me to my next point…
If I have done the courteous thing and stored my bags under the seat so that you may sit next to me, please don’t wait until everyone is off the train before you move. I need to pack up my stuff at some point, and it’s rude to make me wait until the conductor is yelling that the doors are about to close and everyone should be off.
My general point is this. I try not to bother any of you while I spend an hour and a half in a tin can hurtling down the tracks. I try to be courteous and keep my sanity at the same time. Mark this: I will not resort to common passive aggressive tricks to keep you away from me or to correct your behavior, but I will bake you off the planet with my rage that burns with the intensity of a million suns.
Oh yes, and SHUT UP. I do NOT need to hear your cell phone conversation on the other end of the car. I don’t care how heavy your blood flow is, or how you’re going to win the FuckCo. contract by making sure that Needleman is on vacation…or ANYTHING. If you can’t keep it down, I will be forced to speak loudly to the air about what a dickhead you are until you cut. it. out.
Thanks, dickweeds!
Faruiza
Sorry this is so long. It’s been building up recently. I don’t hate people. I hate THESE people. sigh Sorry.
Dear owner/floor manager of the restaurant in my parents’ town:
Take a look around your restaurant during peak operating hours sometime. Notice something? That’s right–most of your customers are from out of town. Allow me to let you in on a little secret: gossiping about your customers to other customers in the restaurant drives them away. Locals sure as hell don’t appreciate that.
And you also wonder why you have such a hard time keeping waitstaff. Well, I can understand why people won’t work for you after I saw you blasting out the new waitress for turning in a customer’s drink order at the bar instead of the little computer at the back. She may not have understood your system, but you had absolutely no reason to yell at her in front of other customers like that.
I don’t appreciate you accusing my mother of being “controlled” by my father just because she went to your restaurant 15 minutes before the peak lunch time to hold a table for him. Your restaurant is always slow at peak hours because the previously mentioned waitstaff problem; my dad, who only has an hour for lunch, simply doesn’t have time to wait for a table.
You’re not better than me because you went to a private school, and stayed in the same major the whole time.
Your comment about my Jeep – “At least it’s replaceable” – was uncalled for and incorrect, since the last model year for the ZJ was 1998. I’ve been driving it for nearly 8 years, and I couldn’t have asked for a better vehicle. Nothing can replace that. The next time it gets filthy enough, I’ll make sure I park it on Main Street in front of your restaurant.
Here’s a hint: if it’s the middle of May, and 90% of your customers are wearing informal pants and jackets, it is too damn cold in your restaurant. The same applies if it’s mid-December, and your customers are dining while wearing bulky winter jackets.
There’s a big difference between “cutting costs” and “scrimping.” Placing some green leaves and half of a grape tomato on a plate and calling it a salad is the latter. Cutting the AC off when your customers start shivering is the former.
Thank you,
Jeep’s Phoenix
To: Boss
From : Nutty Bunny
Re: My New Dress Code
I know that when I walk in your office, you are at near eye-level with my crotch, but that doesn’t mean you can stare intently at it while you’re talking to me. And if I happen to wear a tank top under my sweater that might show a millimeter of cleavage, don’t then go from my breasts to my crotch and back to the breasts again. You think I don’t notice, but I’m not an idiot.
You are seriously creeping me out. I don’t find your 66 year old fat ass attractive. I’m finding it difficult to find things to wear to work that make me feel at all attractive, since I don’t want to entice you. From this point on, I will be wearing muumuus to work every day. By the way, my new name will be Mrs. Roper. I was not put on this earth for your aesthetic sensibilities.
Two more things, stop spitting on me and random things when you talk and chew your food before you speak, you disgusting, drooling, extra saliva-having asshole.
Dear musclebound meatheads at the gym:
Please remove your weights from the machine when you are done using it, so I don’t have to schlepp them all over to the rack before I can put my own weights on. Also, when by chance you do happen to remember to do this, you may notice that the weights come in different denominations: 5, 10, 25, 35, and 45 pounds. They are meant to be racked with their like-denominated friends, not randomly in whatever order you remove them from the machine. This makes it ever so much easier for other people to find the sizes of weights they need to use.
Sincerely,
Scarlett
Dear gym bunnies:
In the women’s locker room, you may have noticed the big boxy things with doors on them along the walls. These are called “lockers” (hence the name for the room you are in – isn’t that neat?). You are allowed, nay, encouraged to put your personal belongings in these handy cubbyholes while you work out. They even come with a handy little hole in which you may place a padlock to secure your goodies from theft. This would be ever so much more considerate to your fellow gym members than leaving your crap sprawled all over the five feet of bench available for us to sit on. Yes, I see from your keychain lanyard that you (heart) Jesus, but that does not absolve you from being a slob. Thou shalt stash thy stuff.
Sincerely,
Scarlett
(Why yes, I did have a crabby day at the gym yesterday.)
Dear Cow-orker: When I am sitting in the staff room eating the food that I paid for, this is called “lunch.” Nobody is paying me during this time.
This is not the time for you to give me all your computer problems while eating half of my French fries and question me about why I don’t have any meat in my chili.–Carol
To: Meat-Puppets
From: Sierra Indigo
Re: Reading, it’s a valuable skill.
Dear Dunderheads,
When the screen in front of you says “Invalid username and/or password stored in dial-up connection software” then that is usually what your problem is going to be. Just like the message says it is. I don’t need to hear a twenty minute spiel about how your password can’t possibly be wrong, you’ve never changed it in your life. Just open your connection, retype the damned thing and you’ll be back online in no time.
Also, if we send you an email saying that your credit card is due to decline in 30 days, we’re not doing it for our health. Your payment is by direct debit. If your debit details are invalid, then your account will be suspended until they’re updated. An expiry date that has passed meets the criteria for ‘invalid details’. Don’t sit there yelling at me about how dare we suspend the account. We sent you no less than three emails warning you this was going to happen. Just give me the numbers and it’ll all be fixed right now.
Sincerely
Someone who hates you.
Word.
Dear Customers,
Stop calling.
Sincerely,
Flander
Amen to that Flander…*
*Not really. Then I’d have no job
Dear (one of boss’s 6 markets) Team,
Is there something in the damn water in (other market) that makes every one of you fuckwits illiterate? One of these days I’m going to turn in the original versions of your reports instead of tweaking them for spelling, grammar, punctuation and general coherence. What should be a simple 5-minute copy-and-paste job for me turns into a 45-minute nightmare when yours come in, and you’re always late with it. Your report is due to me on Wednesday at 4PM. It’s been due on Wednesdays at 4PM since I started working here 3 years ago. It’s not a deep dark secret. Everyone’s is due on Wednesday at 4PM. Nobody set this deadline to upset your precious little feelings. However, I must thank you for the overtime pay this chronic lateness of yours earns me every week.
If you feel you absolutely must copy our VP on on yet another of your pointless emails, I strongly suggest that your question not be worded, “Will u get back 2 me 2day?”
And does the aforementioned water (see paragraph 1) also make you people completely helpless? How do you fucktards tie your damn shoes in the morning, much less anything else? Here’s a hint - I work 300+ miles away from you. The reason we have a 1-800 number to the main help desk that serves the whole company (that includes you, in case you missed it, which you probably did) is because it’s their job to trouble-shoot when you fuck up the printers AGAIN this week, not mine. I don’t know the intimate details of your printer, fax machine, copier, or even the multi-function printer/fax/copier in your office.
My phone number is not our department fax number. When we first moved into this building and our phone numbers had to change, I cut you some slack when I got your fax machine screeching in my ear, because some of the new numbers got hosed up in the directory. They’ve been straightened out since July. I have been simply hanging up and not transferring those calls to our fax machine since October. Perhaps when you get the ‘Document Not Confirmed’ transmission reports, it could be taken as a hint that you need to look up the correct number. You seem to be the only ones still having a problem with this, even though our fax number is shown in the email ‘signature’ of everyone based in this office. Oh, right, I forgot, you’re all illiterate fuckwits. Never mind.
When I was on vacation time last month, I sent emails to let every single person in every market know exactly what dates I would be out, and where to go for help. I updated my voice mail with the same info, and put an “Out of Office” notice in my email with that information, which you received every time you sent me an email. I realize you’re all illiterate tools (see paragraph 1), so I suppose the email thing probably wasn’t much help to you, but it really didn’t occur to you to call ANYONE in the main office to find out why I wasn’t getting back to you? Christ almighty, you complain to our mutual boss about every other damn thing that tickles your fancy; why didn’t you just go to him? He could have told you where to go, although probably not in the same terms I would like to. And now we owe massive late fees on a bill that you sat on because you’re a dumbass. They should take the late fees out of your salary. You’ll note that your whining to the boss didn’t do much good - I heard him pointing out to you all the ways I used to let everyone know I was going to be gone.
Telling me that you only read emails that come from our boss does not impress me, or him, for that matter. You are not his only market, and you’re perfectly aware that he travels frequently. Very often, the emails that come from me, his lowly little assistant, are at his request. If you’re too much of a big important middle-manager to read anything that comes from me, you’re going to miss out. Whining about it does you no good when I can produce it from my ‘Sent’ file with your email address, the date, and the timestamp on it. If you think you’re going to somehow get me into trouble for allegedly not doing my job, well, don’t even bother. You’re just pissy because you’re too much of a lackwit to do your own job.
Out of the 6 markets my boss handles, you and you alone stand out for sheer idiocy.
My sincerest best wishes to everyone who has to deal with all of you,
Kat