This was me, exactly, two months ago (right down to being a Lauren doing Ancient History :))
Now, my rant is, why did the fucking University not select assessors for master’s theses who might have actually read the text/subject the thesis is about. I shan’t complain too mightily, as I passed and all, but geez.
People who make sandwiches for me to eat: Please distribute the contents evenly across the surface of the bread. Otherwise I will get two pieces of bread with a big mound of stuff in the middle, surrounded by nothing. If I try to take a bite, the contents of the mountain will squirt out messily all down my shirt. So before I eat it I will have to open the sandwich and redistribute the contents to make a more level sort of field, rather than a mountain.
Please just distribute it evenly in the first place rather than piling it all in the very centre. That way I can avoid getting mustard all over my fingers.
Thanks!
I have traced The Stench to my office chair. Apparently someone of impure personal habits sat there, and transferred Essence Of Musk Ox to it. I have scrubbed and sprayed Lysol on it, but a reek remains.
I hear that fire purifies…
Seconded. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve asked counterpersons to distribute sandwich contents evenly and they’ve looked at me like I’ve asked them for a serving of razor blades and bear dingleberries on top.
And once the cheese has been melted, it kind of hard to move stuff around.
Conversely, just because you have read an article on something does NOT make you an expert. You don’t have to insert yourself into every conversation you walk up on and hear something you think you know something about.
My dear father-in-law: No, we were not at the family reunion on the Fourth. No, we will not be bullied into telling you exactly where we were. I am aware that you feel that we do not spend enough time with you. Perhaps if you were not constantly verbally abusive to your son every time you see him, we would be inclined to visit more often. Yes, I know that he always visited before he was married. He unfortunately did not have me to tell him that he was not required to show up to be crapped on. He is an intelligent, generous, affectionate man with a great work ethic. You will not call him stupid, an idiot, lazy, or worthless. Even if all of the things that you say were true (and they demonstrably are not), the way you talk to him would be inexcusable.
One of the great truths of life, when you think about it.
I mini-pit YAHOO ANSWERS. I was vaguely aware of its existence but I’d never used it until recently when I came across it while doing a google search for something else.
Alright, I have no problem with somebody posting it for the same stuff we’d use GQ and CAFE SOCIETY for, or even more detailed stuff, but the students who use it for their homework make me want to hurl.
Log on there anytime- even in summer- and you’ll find some kids who are trying to pretend it’s not for homework- actual cut & paste
or this next to an avatar that looks just like Paris Hilton
I don’t know which pisses me off more- the ones like the above (people too stupid to think that others are too stupid to think they’re answering an essay question) or the ones who don’t even fucking try to mask it. Again, actual cut/pastes from this moment:
Bitch doesn’t even bother to say “just the opposite of” what, and another:
And what really kills me: they don’t do this for a single question where they’re stumped- they upload their entire fucking 20 question assignments on this!
HOW FUCKING STUPID AND WORTHLESS ARE THESE LITTLE ASSMUNCHES THAT THEY CAN’T EVEN BE TROUBLED TO FUCKING GOOGLE THESE!? Shit, it would take me less time to google it than it would to type it into fucking Yahoo Answers!
For that matter, what teachers give take homes like this knowing the kids are going to do this? Make them take it in class and giggle while they bomb.
And what really pisses me off is that there are people who log in and answer these questions… CORRECTLY! I don’t have any problems with the ones who answer that the first capitol of the United States was Warsaw, Tennessee or whatever- the wipes deserve it if they answer that- but the ones who’ll tell them truthfully… why are you enabling the Future Mulch of America like this? Let nature take it’s course- the good looking ones will be concubines and reality show contestants, the ugly ones will do work that Mexicans don’t work while bitching they can’t get a good job because of the Mexicans, some will get their obligatory cut-offs and flip-flops and go on COPS! and a few will go for the gold and commit acts that keep CNN/FOX/MSNBC pundits masturbating with glee for weeks wondering “how did this madness happen?”, but I have less contempt for them than I do for their enablers.
Fucking worthless pieces of shit.
Fuck Live Earth for pre-empting my usual Sunday morning cartoons.
And Fuck our cable provider for having Live Earth running on no less than FOUR fucking channels simultaneously.
Also, fuck Sunday morning programming for not having anything decent on so there’s nothing I can really switch over to watch instead.
Where the *fuck * is the butter?!?!??!?
Best rant ever.
A few weeks ago I was contacted by our “Office Property Manager” - she found a chair with my name on the back way on the other side of the building, do I want it back?
No. See, there’s a lovely woman who, despite the numerous mailings about how perfume/scented hairspray/body spray is verboten, feels the need to drench herself in perfume whenever she comes back from her cigarette break (I was told that in her culture women are not supposed to smoke so she does it to cover the smoke stank).
My chair was found in her cube. I think one of the trainers stole it from my cubihell and it just never made its’ way back. A week or so prior to the OPM contacting me, a coworker let me know it was there. I asked her to take a whiff - she immediately started hacking and wheezing. So, no thanks.
Luckily I ended up receiving a new spiffy all the ergo bells and whilstles chair. My name is emblazoned on the back, on one of the arms, on the base…
My minirant: Child, look at the sky. See the heavy dark clouds. See how the leaves on the trees are whipping in the wind? Did I tell you that in the last 30 minutes the temp dropped 14 degrees (97F down to a balmy 83F). Did I not just tell you that we’re supposed to get hit with some pretty bad storms?
And you STILL ask for money to go to the pool?? No. I will not give you my money for you to go swim for like 20 minutes before the skies open and the pool closes due to weather. You have your own money? Well, your call then.
30 minutes later RING “Uh, Mom? Can you pick us up? They’re closing the pool”
HA!
Notice the green light in front of you? The people who went straight in front of you? How about the fact that there isn’t a dotted turn line from this lane, nor a sign indicating the ability to turn?
Unless you are mentally retarded, then it should become quickly apparent this lane IS NOT A TURN LANE! First you cut me off, nearly taking out the passenger side corner of my front bumper, then you slam on the brakes without a turn signal or anything, coming to a dead stop so quickly I was barely able to stop my car behind you. I first thought someone had walked out in front of you, then realized that you wanted to turn. Without a turn signal. In a straight only lane. Halfway through the light cycle, with traffic too heavy to try and go around you. You know that honking? That was me. I was more than glad to stand on my horn and flash my lights at you, and give my middle finger plenty of exercise. I wasn’t the only one, I was just the one nice enough to not throw empty Starbucks cups at your car, unlike the white truck who managed to cut into traffic and go around you.
This was one of the busiest intersections in the city, notorious for a poorly planned light cycle and backups from there to under the freeway and back to the exit ramps on both the north and south bound lanes. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU SMOKING?!
I would like to inform the rest of my fellow lady’s clothes shoppers that no, you don’t actually have to yell back and forth across the store to each other. Here in civilization we have this thing called “inside voices” and “outside voices,” - the inside voices are for when you’re inside (like, for example, a lady’s clothing store) and the outside voices are for when you’re calling in the cows from the back 40. Either stay together to look at stuff or bring stuff to each other.
Ignorant people. (And I still didn’t find a blouse to go with my new shiny, wrinkled dark blue skirt.)
It was thirty degrees outside when I got up this morning.
Now it is probably even hotter.
Yet I can’t sit here any longer without putting on a sweater.
Stupid office air conditioning. This is ridiculous. Why must they put me through this every year? Brr.
Yes, it sounds like you are really making progress in fighting that addiction.
Fucking sun. Why, oh why, must you shine and burn my poor skin? Nice way to end my vacation…tossing and turning all night because my sheets felt like sand on my skin.
Yes, I know better. I usually avoid the sun like the plague that it is for us redheads. But this weekend I had to spend some grandbaby time in the sun and now I’m paying for it. To add insult to injury, I remembered to completely slather the boy with sunscreen and he ran around naked all day long thus ending up with nary a bit of pink. I, on the other hand, fried my back and now must take a day off work to sit around shirtless and whining. Even my hair brushing against my back hurts. WAH!
Are you my evil twin? Or… am I your evil twin?
(That’s funny, I didn’t know your name was Lauren too!)
Thanks for the encouragement, all. I have a grand total of… one page.
That’s the hardest one though. I wrote the rest of mine over a 6 day period.
What the fuck is up with me and commas? Did I get an extra large allotment at birth and feel I must share or what?
It seems that every time I post there is at least one comma too many. Fuck!
And now I’m extra paranoid about them so will not include even one in this post. Fucking punctuation is the bane of my existence…