If I met the people I probably would actually say this. Probably.
You people who have had signs up since before Christmas about your missing dog, and have a big sign on a horse trailer by the side of the road, and are paying people to hold signs at at least one major intersection? Your dog is dead. It’s a freaking chihuahua. And it is dead. If coyotes or raccoons or an angry squirrel didn’t kill it, it got hit by a car. Why don’t you just give me the $5000 reward since apparently I’m better at figuring out what to do with money than you are? I’m sure your sign wavers will be disappointed to lose a very easy job, but for fuck’s sake, your dog is DEAD.
In that vein, I have never said this and I probably never will, but I’d love to - “I have no interest in your pregnancy, your baby, or your children. I’m sure they’re perfectly lovely (to you), but I have NO interest in them or anything they do. Can we talk about something that isn’t your children?”
I had this very thing drilled into my skull from a young age, but at seven years old, I put my bike in some man’s trunk and jumped in the car with him (fortunately he really was trying to help me.) My explanation is that I could ‘‘tell’’ 'he was okay, because he seemed like a nice man.
There was a study done on preventative education that found educating children about child molesters did not prevent kids from being molested (though it did appear to prevent them from getting PTSD/blaming themselves.)
Just because it’s being taught doesn’t mean kids are getting it. And even if they get it, they really can be powerless to stop it.
Your ACT English score is ELEVEN. Honestly, this means your chances of making it through college are almost nil anyway, but you just might be able to beat the odds IF you work much harder and take your classes more seriously than everybody else. That means meeting all the deadlines, coming to class on time, paying attention, and asking questions when you don’t understand something. It does NOT mean spending the entire class whispering to your friend in the next seat (who is, by the way, just as clueless as you are), putting your head down on your desk, drawing pretty pictures with the colored highlighters, and then claiming you haven’t written the paper because you didn’t understand what you were supposed to be doing. Here’s a clue: I have spent the entire last MONTH of class explaining, in great detail, how to write the paper. Also, it’s a freaking two to three-page summary and response to one of the essays in your textbook; you can say whatever the hell you like as long as you have two properly documented direct quotations and a reasonable summary. It’s not rocket science.
Don’t want to do that? OK. Then. Just. Go. Away. Stop registering for classes. Stop flunking classes. Stop throwing $4,000 a semester down the drain and do something useful with it. STOP SUCKING YOUR THUMB IN MY CLASS. Acting like a kindergartener when you’re eighteen IS NOT CUTE.
Oh, and you need to rethink your choice of major, because you are SO not getting into the nursing program. (And rightly, too. I do NOT want you in any job where you might have to make life-or-death decisions, and I hope to God you don’t end up in education, either.)
“No, I will not “lend” you my partner, so you can have his baby. (And why are you asking me, instead of him?) You and I both agree that he’s gorgeous, but remember that there would be a 50% chance the baby would be ugly, like you.”
Dad, stop asking if we just need forks for dinner. Or, worse, assuming we just need forks. Just put a full set of silverware there! We’ll put away the ones we don’t use!
And if we’re eating something that stains, like spaghetti sauce, don’t use the light colored placemats! I specifically bought Mom some dark placemats and napkins so she didn’t have to pretreat stuff! Think, man, think!
(it seems like a third of the time I have to get up in the middle of dinner to get a spoon or a knife. Last night I reset the table with dark placemats and napkins because we were having pasta.)
My mom (who’s 87) told me that she couldn’t wait until she was 80 years old–so she could say anything she wanted and people would just think she was a batty old lady, as long as she smiled when she gave in to her baser instincts.
Escalator coming out of the subway. The steps are about 1 foot high, but quite narrow, plus they sort of pop out. This means that the black-tight-shorts covered ass of the skinny blonde foreigner three steps ahead of me was directly in front of my face.
I had to remind myself that We Are Supposed To Be Nice To Foreigners, plus pulling down sharply on the belt loops of some skinny dude whose beltline is under his butt probably constitutes Assault, and there is no internet in jail.
Good thing she wasn’t American. Black-tight-shorts covered ass of fat blondes is very much worse. Especially when you can see the cottage cheese. :eek:
Right now I really want to scream, “I don’t want counseling; I just want a divorce.”
But that’s not really very general. Ah, I know. I’m in China: if you’re going to run to the escalator in an attempt to beat everyone else, then just don’t stand there like an ignorant boob once you’re on it. Walk up the damn thing, or keep to the right so the rest of can."
Now that I think of it, I have a million.
• Don’t drive across two lanes! The painted lane divisions are there for a reason!
• Clean up after your kid when it poops on the sidewalk!
• Stop slurping your god damned tea!
You are going to turn 40 no matter how many bodybuilding exhibitions you win, no matter how much antioxidants you consume, no matter how much you avoid “chemicals” or purge “toxins”, no matter how much you “channel healthy vibrations”. Someday you’ll regret working more on your outsides than on your insides,
I believe that in at least some parts of China it is common for pre-toilet-trained children to wear pants with a gap in the bottom so they can urinate and excrete directly onto the ground.