Always fun to do these, so here’s some off the top of my head:
1)Dear asschomp,
If you’re in such a hurry, take the fucking stairs instead of shoving past me in your mad rush up/down the escalator. See, the escalator actually moves, hence its name, from the Latin: esce - moving stairs; lator- so calm your punk ass down before I trip you, beeyatch - so you can get to your destination by simply standing there and letting the magical escalator fairies do all the work. Or, if you’re running that far behind, take this simple advice: set your alarm clock for three seconds earlier and you’ll be set. Take some friggin’ ritalin and smell the flowers once in a while, ya corporate whore. Jesus.
2)Butt monkey,
Please don’t ever throw out that tired old canard about “the customer is always right” when you’re dealing with me at my job. No, you’re not always right, or even usually right; I’m generally right, for the obvious reason that I work for the company and know its policies. If I fuck up a job for you I’ll gladly redo it at no charge. However, the only customers who use this cliche are the ones who made the mistake in the first place. It’s your last line of defense against your own ineptitude. Somewhere in the mists of history some brown-nosing ad exec came up with this slogan, and the general public has taken it to heart as unassailable truth. Here’s a more realistic business truth: acting like an assholenever gets you better service, only lip service from toadying middle managers. But I guess if you’re so pathetic you have to exert your “power” over retail/service employees, we should all be glad you’re not out beating up little kids or the handicapped.
Oh yeah, and kiss my ass sideways.
3)Dear fucknugget who must’ve given good head to get issued that driver’s license,
Red means stop. Green means go.
The right lane is the slow lane. The left lane is the fast lane.
That little bar sticking out of your steering wheel is called a “blinker”. It is not a frivolous decoration, but a device that can be manipulated to indicate to other drivers where and in which direction you plan to turn.
Somewhere around 120 decibels, your music is just noise, no matter how expensive your speakers.
When you’re driving three inches from my back bumper, you’re actually sending me a coded message that reads:“I think the front half of my car would look simply fabulous crumpled up like a paper bag full of accordions. Please slam on your brakes posthaste.”
You know what kind of people double-park? The kind of people who enjoy washing rotting fruit off their windshields. I keep a bag on the passenger’s seat for just such occasions.
A “compact” parking space is not generally designed for tour buses or aircraft carriers or vehicles of similar size. If you have to climb out the hatch in the back to exit your automobile, chances are you’ve parked in the wrong space. Just a heads up.
In short, maybe you oughtta consider working from home and shopping online and never, ever going anywhere that’s not accessible by public transportation.
4)Dear suburbs,
How I loathe you. Your white-bread/mini-mall/redneck-in-disguise “culture” is one reason most countries hate the U.S. Keep your Wal-Marts and teenagers haning out in the McDonald’s parking lot and Entertainment Tonight-watching zombified upstanding citizens as far away from me and my children as possible and just get on with your lives of quiet desperation and general aura of obliviousness. Not that I’m trying to generalize or anything.
5)Dear men in a state of arrested development,
Please stop pointing out “that fine chick over there” to me. Don’t assume that just because I’m a guy I want to hear your thoughts on how you’d like to “tear up that pussy” or “give her a ride she’ll never forget” or whatever “thoughts” come springing from your R-complex. Yes, I can see she’s got breasts, just like every other woman over the age of fourteen in the entire goddamn world. Guess what? I’ve actually seen breasts before, and somehow I manage to keep from regressing into a state of Pavlovian drooling every time a member of the opposite sex walks by. Oh, and let me try to help you out here, genius: there is no such thing as a subtle sexual innuendo, especially not from somebody with the sexual sophistication of a 14 year-old redneck virgin. So shut the fuck up. No, I don’t believe that Nora Ephron “When Harry Met Sally” bullshit about men and women only being interested in each other sexually. Maybe that’s because I’ve moved beyond the state of adolescent misogyny/fear of women that encourages such thinking. Real life is not a heavy metal song; real women are not merely objects of lust and/or the cause of everything perfidous, which is why I don’t trust anyone over 15 who continues to listen to Motley Crue or Whitesnake. Things are a lot more fun when we’re on equal footing. Scarier, too, I suppose, which is why you have problems. But you might actually be surprised at how cool and fun all those disembodied vaginas and tits are when you allow them to have brains and faces and pancreases and opinions. But then, how could you prove to me how manly you were if you saw things that way? I might think you were gay or something.
Anyway, I enjoy sex as much as (possibly more than) anyone. But I find it much easier to walk to the store when I’m not tripping over my boner all the time.
You know what else irks me? 80-something views and only one reply (thanks, ISbop). Come on, agree with me, tell me I’m a stupid asshole, something. I need validation, dammit!
Agree with all of it but this. What irks me is the damn parking lot designers that put a million compact car only spots and barely any normal or large spots. What the fuck am I supposed to do when they are the only ones available?
While we’re on the parking question,
Don’t park your “precious” Beemer, or Muscle car, or other $40,000+ extension of your diminutive penis over TWO spaces so that no one will bang their doors into the paint job of your phallus substitute. When I see this it really pisses me off (particularly in crowded parking lots.) and I go out of my way to key them or roll a shopping cart into them. One time I happened to have a quart of enamel paint I “accidently” spilled on on of these scummobiles.
You know, that’s funny, because I have a similar story. I went to the movies one night where there was a packed parking lot and a BMW taking up two spaces. To the mortification of my date, I hopped out and took a piss all over his door handle (and paint job). But then, who hasn’t?
Yeah, I’d say most of the time I see someone who obviously parked in two spaces to protect their car (I’m not talking about people who are only a little bit over the line, they may just be bad parkers) I key them. I know I’ve keyed a LOT more cars than I have accidentally bumped.
Are you sure about that? I always thought that when someone rode my bumper, they were trying to communicate the following: “Excuse me, dear sir. I find the speed which you are currently maintaining to be just a bit on the terrifying side. Please gradually slow down to 10 mph under the limit, so that we may both travel in a safe and courteous manner. Any further messages I communicate in this manner will merely be an expression of my gratitude to you.”
Well, I gotta take exception to point number 1 there. (Does that mean I’m an “asschomp”?) Some of us are just naturally high-strung and excitable, and standing on escalators makes us bored and listless and depressed. Plus, maybe trotting up the escalator is the only exercise we get–it’s a key part of our fitness program! Just stand to the right, and walk to the left. It’s the same principle as point 3b. (“The right lane is the slow lane. The left lane is the fast lane.”) It won’t kill you; I mean, if you’ve got little Timmy’s new kidney in a big cooler, and together you and the cooler block off the entire escalator, and you musn’t jostle it or it will go off and then little Timmy will die slowly and horribly, then OK, those are special circumstances. Otherwise, move the fuck over and get the fuck out of the fucking way. This (sans “fucks”) is an actual rule in many escalator-intensive locales like subway stations. Thank you for your cooperation.
Yeah, or you can stand to the fucking right so we’re not running you over. Especially when it’s the evening rush hour and you’re a fucking tourist and we are trying to get home, not stand behind you and hear you chat about how this is your first time on a moving staircase.
Oh, and there are no stairs that I can take instead.
DUDE! I do this about once a month when I see a particularly egregious parking violation (and the lights are low enough and the cops aren’t there). My way of sticking up for the little man, I suppose. The last one I did, I manager to get it all over his door and up onto the hood and windshield. And this was a plus-size truck, too!
Yes, I realize this is childish, disgusting and possibly illegal. But so’s owning a bourge-mobile and parking it slantwise across two spaces.
Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I believe that the act of “keying” means to scrape the paint of a car (perhaps as you walk past) with your keys. If this is not so, then I apologise for the next bit in advance.
You’ve got to be kidding! I can’t think of any circumstances in which the childish vandalisation of someone else’s property is justified. Ever. Would you like it if it happened to your car?
Do you know why they’re spread over two spaces? Perhaps when they got there, that was the only space available, because a couple of juvenile key-scrapers had parked across the lines rather than between them.
And even if that’s not the case, even if they’re taking two spaces to ensure that their car is not bumped by the doors of someone else’s car, where do you get off?
All your life (for most of us, anyway) we work, and sometimes work hard, to make money. We do this to live, but we also aspire to getting some of the better (material) things in life with that money. This isn’t everyone, of course, but it’s most of us. We’re working to get money so that we could buy a BMW too, if we wanted one. Then we come across someone who has made it to that level. Because of petty jealousy (‘How come he has one before me! I want one! I want one! Daddy, make him give me one too! Well if I can’t have one, I’m gonna wreck yours!’), would you feel justified to act like a three year old? Because someone has done what you are trying yourself to do? And don’t bother replying to say that you don’t want one, it’s just the behaviour of the owners that gets you riled up. I won’t believe you.
The end never justifies the means. Your behaviour is unacceptable.
Sure, I’d love a BMW. However, that doesn’t have anything to do with it. I’d be just as annoyed at it if it were a VW Bug parked across two spaces. Well, no, first I’d be impressed. Then annoyed.
In that situation, I’d have to agree. A nasty note, yeah. I liked the idea of surrounding the car with shopping carts, that’ll get the message across. Maybe calling a tow truck…
The other night we stopped at PetSmart on our way home, at the Potomac Yards complex in Alexandria on US1. Any DC-area Dopers, you know how big the strip center there and the parking lot are. It’s a HUGE lot.
So I pull down the lane to park, and what do I see? Some jackass with one of those pickup trucks with the double sets of tires in the back. And how is he parked? He’s parked in four fucking spaces. Yep, his truck (which was not even new, or in particularly good shape) is parked with the center right over the intersection of four spaces. And he’s right at the front of the lane, close to the store, so anyone else wanting to park has to park farther back.
I don’t mind parking far away and walking because a shopping center is crowded and there’s just no other option. But this time I had to do it because some jerkoff felt that his 8-year-old Ford truck was entitled to four spaces. I was [sub]thisclose[/sub] to letting the air out of all six of those goddamned tires.
Yeah, causing hundreds of dollars worth of damage is definitely a reasonable reaction to having to walk an extra 30 feet.
And pulling your penis out and urinating on another car in front of your date is nowhere near the level of machismo demonstrated by those who double-park their expensive cars, is it?
