I would like to pit all the lazy assed Ebay sellers who put down a description of a product in one sentance.
‘8 barbie dolls for sale plus one ken.’
I’m sorry, but why not just put down, " I need the cash, man."
This persons ebay rating was 88%.
Huh.
Sounds like a porno I saw once.
Got nothin’.
Siege: I can get sausage rolls two blocks from where I am now, at the Pig and Whistle. I dunno how authentic they are, but they’re damn tasty. Poke around some English (or Irish) pubs in your area, they might serve them.
OK, I stop at a local food mart and get a bag of peanuts. She scans them twice. I’m in a hurry so rather than let her get the manager for a cancel, I say no problem, I’ll take two. She somehow scans that one too! Holy hell. I know that you aren’t paid much, but c’mon, it isn’t that tough of a job.
Co-Worker Pittings:
The stapler’s broken. It’s been broken for at least three months. You keep putting it back on the shelf. Why don’t you throw it away? I would guess for the same reason you never throw away dried-out pens - you just stick those back in the pen cup, ya moron.
(I haven’t thrown away the broken stapler because I find it amusing that she moans and groans that “This stapler is broken!” every damn day, but never throws it in the trash can, just puts it back and wanders off in search of a working stapler. I’ve been waiting to see if she’ll ever actually throw it away. I’ll throw it away at the end of the year.)
The office mananger: You’re the cold one - why do the rest of us have to suffer with the heat set on “Jungle Tropics”? If you’re always that freaking cold, put on an undershirt and a better sweater. Or get a little space heater for your office. Or see a doctor, because you must be anemic. We’re running around classrooms with 20 kids and it’s sweltering in here. You’re the only one with the Super-Secret code to the thermostat, so no one else can ‘tamper’ with it. Yeah, God knows what would happen if one of the lowly teachers got their hands on the Super-Secret thermostat code. We might reset it to something unbearable, like 70. I’m begging you, please, cut the damn heat back.
Ok, Old Man who is Driving 25 MPH in a 40 MPH zone, I suppose I can deal with you here but what is wrong with you that when we turn onto a 30 MPH road, you promptly increase your speed to 30? Gah! Follow the stinking signs! Listen to the rules! OBEY MY DOG!
D’oh! That should be “increase your speed to 35”!
Just got my Visa bill, and at the bottom is a friendly little note:
“Too many holiday bills?
Skip your visa payment this month!
(Interest continues to accrue.)”
Take your “magnanimity”, light it on fire, and shove it up your ass!
To the girl in the next room (I’m actually not sure who is doing this, but there’s only 3 likely culprits)–
FOR FUCKS SAKE, FLUSH!!!
I love this. My bank, which is a credit union for servicemembers, sends out a newsletter every month with their statements; it’s usually got a cover picture of something like a serviceman in BDUs smiling because he’s satisfied that his credit union will serve him faithfully no matter where he goes in life. In November the newsletter shows a picture of a servicemember’s wife holding up a credit card and displaying an entirely different kind of smile, the kind that says “Here goes your housing allowance, soldier-boy!” The newsletter is full of different ways to screw your credit in December while the credit union happily watches you ruin yourself.
One of my fellow coaches has flown to Europe every summer on Frequent-Flyer miles because he and his wife put everything, and I do mean everything, on the card with the milage-link. Groceries, car payments, everything. Then they pay the total every month with one check. They rack up miles like you wouldn’t believe.
I, in turn, would like to Pit my sinuses. Even with irrigation and antibiotics, they remain infected. Bastards! I’m drinking way too much bourbon to keep you off my mind. My sinuses are making me (more of) an alcoholic.
Special Bonus Pitting: To the depths of the Pit with all those magazine subscription companies who send you an “invoice” in an effort to convince you that you’ve already ordered the magazine. Only when you read the fine print does it say “this is not an invoice.” They are preying on the old and the stupid. Chopstick in the eyeballs for the lot of you!
That’s a bad thing?
I run across this occasionally, except they go the same speed everywhere. I’m pretty sure they have no idea that there are actually signs telling you what the speed limit is beside roads. I am also pretty sure that if we knew how a lot of drivers got their licenses (or are just driving without having bothered to get a license), we would all be pooping ourselves in fear.
Oh, I have a Special Bonus Pitting:
I’ve received at least three or four envelopes in the mail just this month. Big white squarish envelope, with my name in the window, “2005” next to the window, and “Tax Information” in big letters in the return address space. I open it, thinking it’s something, oh, I don’t know, IMPORTANT, only to find it it’s a freaking credit card offer or mortgage refinancing offer. Fuckers.
There oughta be a law against impersonating a tax document with a credit card offer like that.
I’d like to pit the idiots that tie up four lanes of traffic to get to their exit. There are signs that your exit is coming up and you know that a lot of people need to get off there. So get into the freaking right-hand lane. I am in the left hand lane just trying to go straight on the freeway and all four lanes are filled with idiots who are stopped trying to merge right into the one exit lane, because they don’t want to wait. You still are going to have to wait to get off the freeway but now the rest of us who just want to continue on have to wait for you too.
We need to have this every week, OK? Pittings of the week, every week.
For me today it was:
Man who decided to cut sharply into the left-hand lane, then, realizing they were making left turns over there, cut back into my lane, but wanted to be in the left lane past the light, so decided to stride the solid white line all the way up to the light. There aren’t enough :rolleyes: in the world.
Or how about -
Man with a big giant pickup truck who pulled right up close to my car (I drive a Corolla) so close that all I could see was the giant suns of his headlights.
For our detested shared-wall multiple-families-in-one-dwelling neighbors:
You’d think that with all the running that your toddler does, she’d be less corpulent. But no, every evening starting at seven, the little shit starts a marathon of running up the stairs, down the stairs, around the living room, etc., etc., yet she gets heftier by the day. Exacerbating things, the wooden flooring running under the duet homes sounds like it is in one piece, shared between the two dwellings. Result: constant evening pounding, reminiscent of the orcs’ drumming after Pippin tipped the skeleton into the well. I’d like to tip the toddler into that same well, but lacking that, the Pit will have to do.
I pit Vons. I went to the deli to buy a sandwich and a soup, but everytime I go there (3 times already) I can’t pay at the deli even though they have a cash register. They say they don’t know the code or the person whose drawer it is has a break and they can’t touch the drawer. The deli person tells me to pay at Starbuck in the grocery store. There’s a big funking line at Starbuck’s so I go to the regular check out and then there’s another big line. When i finally get up there they didn’t put a price on the soup so they have to call the deli for a price. So I wait and wait for an answer while they page the deli department. Then when I get ready to eat my soup I see that they have soup cups and lids but they never have any spoons…EVER! There’s not even a place that holds the spoons. Why would they have soup without spoons when they let you eat in Vons? So I ask the deli department where are the spoons? They say oh we must be out and go to Panda Express to get spoons. I have to wait in a big line and when I get there I ask for a spoon. The lady argues with me because I’m taking her spoons and I should get them from the deli department. The Panda Express aldy glares at the deli department guy. I think they have some war going on about utensils. If I have to go through all that trouble I’m just walking out the damn door with my soup and sandwich without paying.
I pit my neighbor’s dog. This damned dog barks ALL DAY LONG. Every day. I am so tired of hearing this dog.
“Red Delicious” apples?
They’re not really that delicious.