Dear self - you overate all weekend and now you will PAY, because icky-tummy-feelings are not a justifiable reason to take a sick day.
Dear self - you overate all weekend and now you will PAY, because icky-tummy-feelings are not a justifiable reason to take a sick day.
Dear Toronto Blue Jays:
Why is it that your bullpen is capable of doing a fine job on nights when the starters have already blown the game, but throws the game away when the starters have left them with a lead?
Why do they call sinus headaches 'headaches' when they make your face hurt? They are in fact faceaches. Or eyesocketaches.
Also: someone please mallet me in the head. Or face. Or eye socket.
Oh no, you too? I'm adrift in a sea of agony today. I feel like my head is going to explode.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
I would blame pollen, or the weather, or something. However, we live 2000 miles apart, so I will instead blame Voldemort.
This seems logical.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Myrnalene and Exy
where has all the yelling gone?
always missed
Hey, medical lab. If your "now being served" sign, the one on the wall with the big red numbers, doesn't actually mean anything, why don't you turn it off? You know it bugs people that it says "Now serving 68" when in fact you're only getting around to 57 -- I know, because I heard 57 yelling at you.
I really don't get it, it's got to be more annoying for you than for me.
You know, there are a vast, vast number of possible number/letter combinations. Designating every boardroom on your floor as 1A is probably not a good idea.
And when every boardroom on your floor is designated 1A, it's probably not a good idea to simply invite people from outside your office to boardroom 1A.
Why does moving have to be so hard? Ugh. Now I have the glorious task of trying to catch up on everything ever that's been lost in the shuffle.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Dear Sam,
I'm not sure what your food is doing to your belly, but I can't breathe in my own damn living room. If you've got to go outside, go stand by the door so I can do something about it. Don't just lay there and fart.
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Yes, I know the Olympics are only a year away but please stop telling us all how great it will be.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
I abso-fucking-lutey despise the mid afternoon on a friday oh we gotta fix this bug.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
I DON' WANNA GO TO WORK NO NO PLEASE NO.
Dear Activision Blizzard,
You fucking bastards have made sure that Diablo 3 cannot be played offline.
Get stuffed.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Hey Whirlpool/Maytag:
One of the many fun features of our brand new washer being broken is that we can't open it. Therefore, asking my wife, every time she calls to complain about your not repairing it in two weeks, to give you the numbers THAT CAN ONLY BE FOUND BY OPENING IT is not particularly helpful.
Seriously, I now understand why the Maytage repairman was the loneliest man in town. He was curled up in his office, drinking cheap wine, while the customer services people ignored all the complaints.
Dealing with city/county employees is enough to make me want to get a gun and move to the nearest survivalist compound. These people are so stupid I'm amazed they don't kill themselves going in to work every day.
Like, seriously, why can't the Blue Jays find a closer?
Hey, burrito place. OK, when I said my order, I said "to go". I could forgive you asking me immediately, "For here or to go?"
When, after you'd taken the order, and I'd been sitting around your nearly emptly, un-airconditioned hellhole of a place for an eternity, you asked "For here or to go?", and I said, "....to go", and you said "For here or to go?"... well, I understood why the burrito place I walked out of for being so crowded was so crowded and you were so empty.
Last edited by Rube E. Tewesday; 05 Aug 2011 at 11:49 AM.
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<headdesk><headdesk><headdesk>
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Dear Self, I don't care if its monday morning and you feel tired, coffee is made with hot water, not cold water.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Dear Guy on My Couch,
I thought you were spending the afternoon, a few hours. Then, last night, you suggested you should come to my house and spend the night. Then, when your ride fell through, I drove you all over town to help you prepare for your move, and you came back, expecting to spend the night again. Now, you have no plan for how you'll leave my house, except that you "thought" I could take you to another home on the other side of town before I go to work.
Really? So, a couple of hours between running errands and settling in has become nearly two days of constantly being in the other's presence? How is that not taking advantage? There is a good reason I've never offered to let you room with me while you pretend to look for work.
Dwindling Love and Good Will,
Me
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Marsilia, the guy isn't a musician, by any chance?
Nope. It could be argued that a musician has a job.Originally posted by Rube E. Tewesday
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Hmm, there's one for the Crucible.Nope. It could be argued that a musician has a job.
So he's the drummer then.Nope. It could be argued that a musician has a job.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Dear wife's half-brother, his immediate family other than my wife, and family he married into:
For days ahead of the wedding, I kept hearing about all the stresses associated with the rehearsal dinner. I gather the rehearsal dinner went fine, which I'm glad to hear.
But, here's a thought: Maybe, in addition to the rehearsal dinner, you should have had, you know, a rehearsal, so that maybe some of the people involved with the wedding would have some idea what they were doing.
Just a thought.
Qwikster is a stupid fucking name, Netflix. Why must you make me hate you?
Dear Monday,
Could you please be about twice as long? Seriously, there's no way I'm going to get this stuff done.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
Dear Doctor:
If my cholesterol numbers justify changing my medication today, why didn't the same numbers from the same test justify changing my medication the last time you renewed it, two months ago?
Dear America, it's not Zee, its Zed. Get it right.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
In America it's Zee. We like it that way, limey.
If Zee is Zed, then A should be Alph.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
I was thinking the other day that QuikFlix would have been better. I wonder if it's already been taken.
Dear co-worker.
Please do not leave a carton of milk in the fridge for several weeks until the thing is fit to burst and comes out in lumps.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Honest to god, anyone over the age of twelve who rides bike on the sidewalk should be considered "hostis humani generis", just like a pirate.
Jesus-fucking-shitballs I hate my fucking job today.
THE WORLD IS RUN BY DROOLING NINNIES AND SADISTIC ASSBASKETS AND I WANT TO SET THEM ALL ON FIRE.
Dare we even ask what happened or should we just hide from your wrath?
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Shit rolls down hill and I'm at the bottom of the hill.
Other people's poor record-keeping over nearly a year is coming back to bite my organization's billing in the ass, and I'm supposed to compare a bunch of vaguely-fraudulent paperwork to some poorly constructed spreadhseets and have it all make sense. And nothing about the parameters of either the paperwork OR the spreadsheets was explained to me before hand, so I did a large chunk of the vaguely-fraudulent comparisons incorrectly.
Everyone involved in this situation should be set on fire, but nobody cares, because basic records management is beyond the ken of everyone and I hate them all.
FIRE. HOLY CLEANSING FIRE.
Last edited by Orual; 30 Sep 2011 at 01:33 PM. Reason: RAEG STEALS MY SPELLING ABILITIES
Dear Vacuum Cleaner,
Please do not eat my sock, just because it happens to be near where you are.
That is all.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm a spiteful, joyless hag. Also I hate my face.
It's HTML. You copy/pasted from the section above.
How could you get it so very, very wrong.
In the land of the blind, the one-arm man is king.
Dear Nerd,
You opened with "I like your outfit, especially the rainbow, 'cause I'm gay--not really!" and things deteriorated from there. You made wild assumptions about me as a person, the wildest being that the fact that I was standing in the place where I am paid to stand meant that I was open to your attempts at flirtation. You made rude comments about the place where I grew up. You looked for a wedding ring, then asked if I was married. Not being married doesn't mean that I'm interested in a loud mouth who thinks that liking comics while female means that Kitty Pryde must be my favorite of the X-Men (though the stammering when I told you that I preferred Deadpool was almost worth the annoyance), or that my obvious attempts to diffuse your "flirting" and "joking" meant that I'm not from around these parts. You're gross. Keep that in mind before attempting any more aggressive flirtation with women you've never met who have to be professionally cordial.
No Love,
Marsilia
PS
Trying to get my coworker to talk about me when I didn't respond favorably was the opposite of classy.
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
Wow, Marisilia met Howard from "The Big Bang Theory".
This is why Marsilia should have a Taser.
I have a fucking SPLINTER. In my WRIST.
My God, that's it exactly.
So now they are just dirt-covered English people in fur pelts with credit cards.
I have a knife. They won't let me use it.
So, I'll whisper in the dark, hoping you'll hear me.
What about brandishing? A little brandishing never hurt anyone ...
Muffin's Exegisis of the Toes:
My feet are cold. Not allegorically cold, nor anagogcically cold, nor even tropologically cold. Just plain old literally cold.
I hear it was cold in the 13th century too.
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