“Tim” said you’d be able to call me every day. Tim said they have such awesome cell phone reception where you are. Tim said you’d be able to Skype me every day! And send email! Tim said you guys were going to one of the most connected places in NZ!
Fuck you, Tim. Fuck you hard. I hope you spend eternity saying “Hello…Hello?” to a dead phone and listening to your spouse saying “…n ly…or a…wear…m na…e?” Fuck you, Tim.
When the little, green, left-turn arrow goes away, it means that cars have to stop turning left. Not three more can go ahead and run it, not go if you can make it. It means stop. I hope all three of the douchebags who decided to keep going got T-boned afterward and totalled their cars.
Animal control brought in an injured German shepherd. It had been in a car accident where its littermate and both its owners had died. This dog lived.
Fuck you, God.
Fuck depression with a rusty dildo sideways. I’m sick of it and it needs to go away.
Fuck Tim McCarver and Joe Buck. You both suck ass.
Keeping with the baseball theme, fuck Dane Cook and Frank Callendo. Dane Cook is a material-stealing hack and Callendo’s show might be funny, but I will never know as any desire I might have ever had to watch it has been beaten out of me by endless commercials.
Oh, and fuck the Arizona fans. Not selling out is not a problem with me (though the talking heads on ESPN would have you think it was a crime up there with sexual abuse or something.) But you can’t throw shit on the field. I don’t care what you think of the call.
Fuck people that don’t finish off their wounded game. This is the second time I’ve had to mercy-kill after someone took a shot at an underage bull elk.
Fuck idiots that use the center turning lane as their own personal traffic-free highway to the left turn light for a half a mile. It becomes a left-turn lane 20 feet from the light- all the rest of the time it’s a turning lane for both sides of traffic! I’m sick of taking my life in my hands any time I get into the center lane to turn in somewhere.
Underage as in not a legal animal to take? Wow, I’m not sure what pisses me off more. Shooting the animal illegally or not killing it once you’ve already broken the law and wounded it.
Word. My car right now is in for repairs to the front bumper after one of the above left-turning idiots bounced off it last Wednesday.
Fuck Centerpoint Energy for turning off my gas while I was away for two weeks, for no apparent reason, without so much as a note or mailed notice. Also, Centerpoint customer “service” person, if you want to go on living, do not give as your sole explanation, “We must have made a mistake on the address”, then in the next breath, tell me it’ll be about five days until you get around to turning it back on again.
Yeah, a bull must have 4 tines on one antler, the one I killed was a spike. Long story, buddy almost got shot in the leg, in the end someone claimed it and is taking the meat to a game warden and confessing under the very angry eye of his big brother (25 and 30 I’m guessing. Not a 14 year old on his first hunt or anything).
And it takes up a good half-day of prime hunting time to deal with someone else’s wounded animal. We left about noon today rather than staying until tomorrow, neither of us wanted to remain in the woods with that group harshing our mellow.
Fuckers. This is exactly the kind of person that anti-hunters are always going on about. Take a clean fucking shot and minimize the suffering or put your goddamn gun away.
Miserable prick is breathing my air and wasting valuable fossil fuels.
Fuck my uterus, the horrible mind-altering hormones it pumps nonstop through my bloodstream, and the knife-twisting cramps it never fails to deliver as it contorts and quivers.
Just once I’d like to have a period not accompanied by crawling into a fetal position and fantasizing about the sweet release of death. I do not, as a general rule, want to die. Uterus, knock it the fuck off already.
I moved twelve hours to California to start work on a lucrative nine-month contract. I’m five weeks in, and the CEO decides it’s time to sell the company. To attract buyers, he needs to get rid of every possible expense, and that includes me.
He can only break the contract for performance reasons, and though my performance has been stellar, that’s what he’s going to do. So I’ll be jobless and contact-less in a strange state whose cost of living outstrips anything I’ve ever seen.
As Ted Stryker said in Airplane: “Pisser!”
Fuck commercial seeds and seedlings.
How come, when I chuck a bucket of kitchen scraps straight into the garden or the ‘worm farm’ every. fucking. seed/corm/eye sprouts and grows tremendously well, no worries mate.
But if I’m so stupid as to go BUY a packet or a punnet of the fuckers, I’m lucky to get half of them to germinate and then another half get attacks of the vapours or some weird malady and just keel over.
:mad:
Fuck my (ex)mechanic who sold me a bad rebuilt engine, or is incompetent, or both. Ten months after paying $4500 for a 6 month-guaranteed engine, My 4Runner broke down on the way to San Diego. I Had to pay $700 to get back on the road…two bad plugs and fried sparkplug wires (that weren’t changed when they replaced the engine). When I got back home, it was still running rough, so I had a local dealer do a thorough engine check. I have an exhaust leak somewhere now. Time to look for a new set of wheels…sigh.
There we go - just what I was looking for.
Look, douchebag dickhead maroon temp agency, if you call my cell three times, and it isn’t on, and you’re calling me for a job because I’m not working, here’s a wild and crazy idea - TRY MY HOME NUMBER. Idiota malaka scheissekopfs.
Ah, that’s better.
This afternoon the dayshift lead, Neil, calls me to say I’m needed for a 12 hours shift tonight. Half an hour later he calls back to say I only need to work six hours starting at 01:00.
So I show up at 01:00, and ask Jesse for turnover. He says he has decided to stay the full shift, and that he copied Neil cell phone number down wrong so he could not call Neil to call me to say I didn’t need to come in. Why not call me directly? My numbers – beeper, cell and home are all in the emergency contact list.
Frell people who don’t think!
Fuck the assholes in the Target parking lot who think that creeping up on me is the best way to get the spot next to me while I’m putting my stuff in the car. Look, genius… the parking lot is empty! There are plenty of spots open, including some that are closer to the door. And a special “fuck you” to the jackoff who flipped me the bird. That was a classy thing to do. I’m sure you make your momma proud.
To the chocolate companies: I know that dark chocolate is in vogue because of all the antioxidants and stuff that are supposed to be good for you. But if I wanted 70% cocoa, I’d chew on a bar of baking chocolate and save a ton of money doing it. What happened to the basic milk chocolate? I need that chocolate. It’s my friend. And you evil bastards took it away from me. Fuckers.
This concludes my hormonally-fueled bitch. Thank you for your attention.
Robin
I pit tissue makers whose products are only available in flowerdy, pastelly boxes that would look totally out of place in my swingin’ bachelor pad. What are us manly men supposed to honk our snot into?
Fuck you, Mr. and Mrs. red and blue umbrella people. Yes, I have a purple umbrella. Yes, I realize it is the color of the interstate rival university. It’s my fucking umbrella. I use it when it rains, I’m not using it to make a statement about supporting some fucking football team. The game wasn’t even against that fucking team, and I wasn’t even there for the game.
And, by the way, you obviously could see I was on the phone. Fuck you for feeling you had to get a fucking dig in while I’m trying to find my cold, lost niece. Next time I will make sure I go buy a fucking red and blue university sanctioned umbrella so that I don’t get the disapproval of people old enough to know better.
Sometimes I hate living in a college town.
ETA: And the bitch of it was, none of the actual students gave me shit. just some couple over forty.