Stop coming into the kitchen every single fucking time I go in. When I’m cooking, I don’t move anywhere without a reason, and I don’t need my movements impeded by your presence. Even when I’m doing dishes or just looking for something, it’s still a small space. I don’t like people crawling up my ass in a small space, especially large people.
Stop running your fucking mouth during the goddamn fucking Sopranos. We finally have HBO, and can watch the show as it’s aired, instead of depending on other peoples’ recordings. I know you’ve known hard-core Tayens like these people; so have I. We can share anecdotes after the fucking program, or watch our recording afterwards so we can pause it. You don’t have to pipe up every time you see a car that looks familiar.
Stop leaving the fucking toilet clogged up. I know you’re in a hurry in the mornings, but considering how long it must have taken you to produce that mass, you could spare another sixty seconds to use the motherfucking plunger. I know it would also take me sixty seconds, but it’s your damned mess.
And while I’m at it, happy fucking birthday, and stop sulking because I’m not getting you that shower radio. You drop a hint less than a week before the fact, acting like I could get one at any Radio Shack, when in fact, the only store around here that has one is Sharper Image, and they want $189.99. I didn’t get it for you for Christmas because I was spending beaucoup cash on other things that I thought you liked, like the chessboard and the DVDs and the action figures and the goddamned motherfucking Hail to the Fucking King Sega fucking Dreamcast that I dragged my ass to fucking GameDude twice to snag. So you weren’t happy with any of those, and you thought I would make it my mission to get you one now? Yeah, it’s been four months, but…
…why don’t you get one your fucking self, with all the money you’re spending on bookshelves and wine and fucking electric Sicilian nutmeg soothers? When are you going to be satisfied? When are you going to have absolutely everything you think you’ll need? When the strike hits, and you’re drawing fucking unemployment, you’d better be prepared to unload this shit, for terrifyingly less than you paid for it.
Stop being a stingy motherfucker with the printer. There are two people out of four in this suite that don’t have printers, and I’m one of them. I’m also a fucking Poli. Sci. major who takes a bunch of history and philosophy courses. You know what that means? It means about fifty fucking papers a semester. What’s your major? Hmm? Oh, business? I guess that’s why you use the printer about once a month. Hey, I’d much prefer to print my stuff out at the common printers down in the Lecture Concourses, and I almost always do, but sometimes that just isn’t possible. You wanna ask me not to use a million pages? No problem. You wanna ask for a contribution when it comes time to buy new ink cartridges? I got your back. But don’t fucking say, “no,” you cheap fuck, and don’t make me fucking beg.
Stop being a tool with the TV cable. You got your TV card on your computer working? Great. You wanna take your goddamn cable wire out of Frank’s TV and plug into your computer? Well, ok. But don’t fucking leave your screen saver password on 24/7!!! Now you’re the only one who gets to watch TV, asshole. Of course, it’s not like you now get to watch TV in the privacy of your own room – you already have a fucking TV in your room and, what’s that? Oh Yeah, your computer is about 3 feet from the goddamned TV in the suite room. Shithead.
STOP BEING SO FUCKING LOUD! No one wants to hear you pretend to whine. No one wants to hear you sing. You are not cute, you are not funny. STOP FUCKING YELLING AT YOUR FUCKING COMPUTER GAME!!! You’ve already broken a third of your desk, and you smashed that keyboard earlier in the year. Of course, to hear you tell it, it’s not that you suck . . . it’s that everybody else is cheating! Moron. I mean, you’re on the verge of fucking tears, and you’re taking it out on everyone else. Do you know how many fucking times you’ve woken me up by SCREAMING at your STUPID FUCKING COMPUTER GAME??? You are living proof that some people graduated pre-school on merit while others were socially promoted.
Keep your fucking dog in your own fucking yard. I’m sick and fucking tired of picking up it’s shit every single time I mow my lawn. I could easily go to the pound, rent a trap, catch the little yapping feces factory and drop it off there on my way to work, and ya know what, you’d be none the wiser. Remember your next-door neighbor’s cat that mysteriously disappeared two years ago? I haven’t stepped in cat feces on my front porch since I returned the trap to the pound. Check it out with animal control, they’ll tell you it’s perfectly legal. You see the lock on my gate? Do you have a single clue why it’s there? To keep my dogs in. They cost less than $10.00. And while we’re on the subject, when is that stupid little rat going to stop barking at me from accross the street every time I walk out my front door? Does he look like a chicken? DO_HE_LOOK_LIKE_A_CHICKEN? Then why does he start barking every goddamn morning at 4:30? I’m tellin’ ya, it’s the stupidest waste of meat by-products I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.
And another thing: I understand that my wife and I are the only family on this street without children, so please explain something to me: Why do all your little girls start screaming as soon as they get on the the fucking trampoline? Do I not understand because I’m an adult? Or is it a female thing that I will never get because I’m vaginally challenged?
You understand that I work nights. I know I’ve let that slip in friendly neighbor-to-neighbor conversations. Do you know how hard it is to fall asleep with your little ankle-biter going cock-a-doodle-doo for no fucking reason? Then I get woke up at 9:00 with 5 little brats (yes, fuckwad, they are brats) screaming on the fucking trampoline.
Do I come home from work and mow my lawn at 3:00 in the morning to disturb your beauty-rest? Do I play with my dogs late at night to interrupt your slumber with yapping & barking? But I do fund the schooling of your trampoline-screaming offspring with my property taxes. How about a little consideration, You selfish, self-righteous mormon breeding shitfucks?
Ummm… am I correct in interpreting this to mean that you trapped your neighbor’s cat, dropped it off at the pound, and (thereby presumably) had it killed? And you are suggesting that the same thing might be done to your other neighbor’s dog??
Jackass, you have chosen a very appropriate username… and if I were you, I’d double-check that deal about it being legal to kidnap pets and kill them…
I take exception to this! I am not a liberal do-gooder! I am a moderate conservative who just wants to dominate the world and have everyone serve me! Is that so wrong?
Let me type slowly and use small words for you, Alonist: Alf was a TV show. TV=not real.
Still with me?
I had no problem with the rant until Jackass started talking about kidnapping and killing people’s pets. If you can’t understand that, then I beg you to stop reading now, because it’s unlikely that you’ll understand the rest of my post (or any other post by any other user, for that matter).
I am not now, nor will I EVER be a member of a group such as PETA. I may agree, in principle, with some of their beliefs, but I have a brain! PETA seems seriously bent on proving that they aren’t as cranially well-equipped as most of us.
Surely there must be some way to deal with Jackass’s problems other than to kill someone’s pet! I have had several pets in my life, and many of them I have considered part of my family. If a neighbor kidnapped and killed one of them, I would be beyond angry (that’s a sarcastic understatement, Alonist).
Fecal matter from other people’s pets in your yard is, surely, a reason to be pissed off. Kidnapping and killing a pet is NOT a reasonable response, however.
One last thing:
“Hello, pot? This is the kettle…” Oh, sorry, Alonist this is a take on the old saying ‘the pot calling the kettle black’… it’s meant to be humorous…
Stop running around the house screaming. Other people live here too, you know, some of whom are trying to get some serious writing done. You want to have hot monkey sex with the guy in the next bedsit (whom you hate and who treats you like dirt, but who is convenient when you’re desperate)? Fine. But don’t then feel justified in having a screaming fight in the hallway afterwards, punctuated by slamming doors that rattle the pictures on our walls one floor up. Come to think of it, stop screaming, period, as you seem to do it for any reason or no reason whatsoever, and then look at us blankly when we ask you to stop. One of these days a madman with an axe will break into your room and hack you to bits and we’ll have no idea that there’s anything different from the norm.
Jack@ss: Stop killing other people’s pets. Just shave rude messages into them and set them loose again.
Everyone else: Stop bickering and ruining a perfectly good rant thread.
Stop fucking asking me how the fucking writing is going, stinkwrinkle. It’s going shittily. I thought the fucking novel was done…and then it was rejected for a variety of problems that were conveniently NOT brought to my attention by my “agent”. I AM NOT WRITING right now because I AM MAD AT MY BOOK. That makes no sense to you and I don’t have the fucking time to explain it because it quite literally brings me to tears. When I want to talk about my writing, you’ll know…because I’ll probably be in a good mood and smiling and all that sort of girly shit that you like.
Stop fucking asking me if I’m doing any auditioning. I’m not. Why? BECAUSE I DON’T REALLY LIKE ACTING ANY MORE. And you know why? because I don’t really like actor type people anymore. And I don’t like being judged in every aspect of my life. The book and radio rejections are enough for right now, thanks.
Just leave me and my artistic frustrations alone. I dug this fucking hole by majoring in theatre and I’m going to be stuck with this fucking day job for the rest of my shitty, unfulfilled life. My life is a god damn fucking shambles…and I seriously doubt you want me to bother you with all the details. But this could all change tomorrow. further bulletins as events warrant.
Stop throwing blocks and puzzle pieces at my head when you get frustrated. Stop putting dog food into the dog’s water dish. Stop taking dumps in the bathtub. And stop pulling the cat’s tail! Christ, you’re acting like a goddamn two-year-old!
Stop calling me names when you get pissed off at me! How many times have we talked about “fighting fair”? You only do it to hurt me, and it fucking sucks!
Chew your big wad of gum without smacking and popping or I swear to God I will come over there, rip the goo from your mouth and stuff it so far up your ass you will be farting bubbles for the next month.
