Oh and another thing, this to my next door neighbour.
If you don’t tell little Anthony to stop flinging his fucking paper airplanes onto my lawn and then scrambling through my flower beds to retrieve them I swear to God the next time I see him do it I’ll bury him under the fucking flowers he so dearly loves.
Little twat
The emperor has no clothes, and those ubiquitous Vera Bradley totebags are ugly as all heck.
Deserving of a mini-pitting are those nasty little undergrown goatees so many major league baseball players have.
Does a full-scale beard interfere with your swing? Can’t grow the real thing because of all the anabolic steroids? That’s all you’re allowed to have because the manager hasn’t yet emerged from the 1950s?
Please shave.
Oh, and no spitting, scratching, and digging at your nether regions. At least while the camera light is on.
I would like to Pit my left hand.
Listen, you lazy unmotivated piece of meat. You are the ONLY thing preventing my comic strip from updating on time instead of being late every week. I have the storyline all set, I have pencils and inking pens and paper with preprinted panels all set to go… and you just sit there and don’t draw. What is your FUCKING PROBLEM?! There are more than a thousand people who have hung on through all your slackery, hoping against hope that you’ll quit wasting time sitting on my mouse making it play Hearts ad nauseam instead of doing what you’re supposed to. They deserve a webcomic that updates regularly, not more excuses.
And don’t even blame me, because I am not the problem, Left Hand. YOU are. I sit down, ready to draw. Right Hand gathers the materials and gets them all ready for you. We both stare at you and wait. AND YOU DO NOTHING. For FUCK’S sake, Left Hand, have some professionalism!
I would have fired you long ago if it weren’t for two things: Right Hand can’t draw to save its life, and … well… you ARE pretty good at that one other thing.
When my cousin and I decided to get an apartment together this year down at school, we discussed how we thought most of our friends’ apartments we had visited were gross, and how when we got our own, it would always be clean. And she knows I take after my dad, Mr. Clean Freak who won’t let a dish sit in the sink for more than 5 minutes after the meal is over.
Then why the fuck do I have to keep washing all of her gross dishes left in the sink all day when I’m at class? I don’t want to wash your crusty pot you used to make Chef Boyardee ravioli in, but I don’t want it sitting there either! I want to come home and make my sandwich on a paper plate, dirtying not a single dish so I don’t have to wash any. Damn it.
And I also spent 120 bucks buying fabric because she said she knows how to cover furniture properly (our furniture is nice but very mismatched, and we went for a black and white motif with 4 other acceptable colors, and the couch, chaise, and chair are not of those colors) and she doesn’t give me any money for it and won’t attempt to cover it! I’m broke as a joke and I feel like I got suckered spending that much money on fabric that is still sitting on those cardboard things in a bag on the floor.
Blah.
Jesus H. Monkeyfucker those things are awful, and my sister-in-law got me a Vera Bradley makeup organizer for Christmas. Which I use, but hate to look at.
Next time she leaves dirty dishes in the sink, put them in her bed.
She’d probably kill me in my sleep.
This morning, she made me get up early to go get her rental car. She told me she wanted to go at 9. I got up at 9, threw on a hat and a hoodie and went into the living room. She was in her PJs, and gave me a dirty look when I asked if she was ready. She said “I didn’t want to go right at 9, I want to eat something first.”
!!!
So I laid back in bed for half and hour then she was finally ready. We go get her rental car.
We get back and she tells me she has to take it back tomorrow.
WTF?
I got up an hour earlier than I had to, she made me wait, made me drive and use my gas (I am broke), and I bet tomorrow she will ask me to get up early again to take it back.
And now she is sitting in the living room watching TV. She said she wanted to do this early for a reason, and now she is sitting on her ass.
I hope she can find someone to go with her tomorrow, because tomorrow is my day to sleep in and I’m not getting up fucking early again.
myskepticsight, I do believe it is time for you to stand in front of the mirror and practice saying this word until you can deliver it with conviction:
No. No! NO! NO! NO!
Or, to quote a trite but true phrase, “There are no victims – only volunteers.”
It’s time to lay down some ground rules or find another roommate.
My in-laws, like always, in these threads.
I understand that you think that my wife and I can’t be trusted with money (despite evidence to the contrary). I accept that you don’t think of us as adults even though we are out on our own with your granddaughter. I’m pissed at these things, but I accept them.
We have asked you about my wife’s college fund many, many, many times. We would like to know if perhaps there’s enough money in there so that my wife can maybe work only part-time while attending full-time. We would like to know if there’s enough in there that we don’t have to take any student loans out. We would like to know if there’s enough in there so that she can buy a laptop, printer, etc… so she can do her schoolwork during slow times at her job.
In short, we have questions about how much money we have. Quit fucking jerking us around! Quit making us feel like we’ve got to beg to get our money from you!
We’re 25 and 26, we’ve been married for 5 years, and we’re not splitting up like you so desperately hope. So, please, accept that things are never going back! There’s no more, “her money, his money”… we’re fully comitted to raising the granddaughter that you told my wife she had to give away.
Give your daughter her money!
Seconded with one addition. Please make it so that it doesn’t make me sleep right through the alarm and then wake up feeling like someone was beating me with a sledgehammer all night. I just need help getting to sleep, once there I can handle the rest on my own, thanks.
Barking dogs. I like dogs, don’t have any but for the most part I like them. I do not, however like them constantly barking. A yip here and there is fine, a few 'Hello I’m Hear" bark is fine. But 10 to 20 minutes of contant barking is nuts! Shut the fuck up! You know when your dog is barking for a long period of time. Take it inside!
Er…y’all are getting the Google ad for “Anti Monkey Butt Powder” too, right? 
From Evil Captor’s GD thread:
…" The proof is in the pudding: the article cites stats showing that real wages are going down while productivity is going up. …"
For the 10 billionth time: Proof has yet to be discovered residing within any pudding. The proof of a pudding is in the eating.
[slight hijack]
Don’t panic. I’ve come to give you your towel. 
I had this EXACT thing happen once, Vegas and all, only it was an evening wedding. I spent all day combing places that had coctail/formalwear and juuust about the time I was going to kill someone for not carrying anything over a size 9, I walked right into heaven. The Jessica McClintock store in the Vegas fashion mall is the place to go. The saleslady, (who’s name I still remember even after 6 years) Simone, took one look at me, said, “You’re about a size 18, right? What is this for? What color do you like? Did you have something in mind?” And started pulling things off of hooks. I found a dress in about 15 minutes, and she had it altered and ready for me the next morning. Not only that, but I got reasonably priced accessories (shoes, handbag, jewelry, the whole bit). Go there. You will not be disappointed. [/sh]
Now, since this was brought up, I’d like to add a double “fuck you” to the decrepit old catwalk reject that was the personnel for the store I had walked into right before that. I had a LOT of money in my purse ready to spend, although I was wearing blue jeans, I was clean. I walked up to her and said, “Excuse me, do you carry anything in an 18?” This twat actually gave me the animated look over her glasses up and down and said, in the most affected way, “Weee don’t have aaanything for youuuu.”
WTF?! Get assraped by an eight dicked walrus, you bony sack of shit! Gah!
Just to add to that imagery…the ivory thing on the shelf is an oosik (the penis bone of a walrus). :eek:
Yes! YES Exactly! Eight of THOSE!! With spikes!
What an odd thing to come <heh> by, silenus!
7 years in Alaska, some Aleut friends with demented senses of humor, and voilà! Instant conversation piece.
My mom used to make a nice Plum Pudding for Christmas. The fruit therein was soaked in enough rum to get us teenyboppers tipsy. In that case the proof was definitely in the pudding.
The effect of having had a really shitty year is that the kind of things that piss other people off are like water off a duck’s back to me, and I find all the complaints of my peers petty and childish.
