Archive for August 2009

You’re the Worst Type of Asshole

August 29, 2009

Piss on the toilet seat…not an uncommon occurrence as far as mens rooms go. But when you take your sorry, limp-dicked ass to a stall when there are urinals to choose from, don’t be a dick and lift the seat like your whore of a mother [should have] taught you! On top of that, you don’t have the forethought to just piss on top of the seat if you couldn’t hold it. Nor did you have the common fucking courtesy to wipe it the hell off. Instead you pissed under and around the seat, on the floor, and all over the top and side of the damn bowl…fucking everywhere except the fucking industrial sized mixing bowl filled with water under your minuscule baby dick.

Did your BlackBerry start vibrating and throw off your concentration? Did you forget to unzip your pants? Even if that was the case, it’s still a shitty excuse in a pissy situation. Maybe I’m in a rush to send pictures of my shit to a feces fetish forum or take a nap on the shitter or check my favorite gossip blogs when I go to the porcelain throne. What I’m not in a fucking rush to do is play a rousing game of ‘clean your trifling ass coworker’s piss off of the entire toilet in the King stall [handicapped stalls because they’re huge]’. How about you save me some me the blood pressure points and yourself the ass whoopin you got comin if I ever find out who you are [no homo]!

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Today

August 20, 2009

Today…my old manager told me he’s “having some interesting challenges” at his new client. All the while he had a grin on his face. I also noticed he stopped making eye contact. Instead, he was staring over my shoulder at the firm backsides of a few of my female counterparts as they walked away. I couldn’t tell if he thought I wouldn’t notice he had a huge eye boner, if he was thinking about the correlation or if he was genuinely mesmerized by the 20-something year old saddles in his sights. Either way, it got me wondering if I could decode what the hell my bosses really mean when they say certain things. Like, was he unintentionally implying that he’s fucking one of our clients because people usually aren’t aroused when they talk about challenges? I’ve never gotten wood from driving on the highway in a snowstorm. Or are there really work-related challenges associated with his project? Over the past few hours I’ve decoded 5 office messages:

1) “We’ll be basing compensation on our position in this tough economy.” = “Your raise is nowhere near as important as my new mistress’ penthouse. So, your raise is going to be enough to buy an extra gallon of gas each month, and if you don’t like it, so the fuck what! Your severance package will be being permitted to leave the building without a tazer on your nuts.

2) “Let’s table this issue.” = “Bitch! Don’t you ever embarrass me in a meeting by proving me wrong. Guess who jumped to the top of the head count reduction list.”

3)”That’s low-hanging fruit that we can take care of with no problem.” = “This is an easy task that I believe is below me. I’ll delegate it to someone under me I hate more than VD and then micro-manage the fuck out of it.”

4)”He was overqualified for this position. We’d have been doing him a disservice.” = “He’d have had all of our jobs inside of a year.”

5)”We’re going to do the right thing for our people.” = “We’re going to bombard you with one-way communication until you’re satisfied. All the while, the data we’re sending you is ‘massaged [with a happy ending for the top executives]’, and the messaging is sugar-coated double-speak that passes for straight talk.”

Just Saying…Health Advice From Old People is No Good

August 13, 2009

Health Advice from Old People

Has someone that’s older than the sun, out of shape like a square pizza, or heavier than glass of Guinness tried to give you health advice?  I’m sorry, but that’s dumber than two blind guys navigating the ocean without GPS.  I mean, you’d never see Lou Ferrigno and somebody on The Biggest Loser doing the same workout. Specifically, dietary advice is a no no across 35 years or 85+ pound variances between the parties involved in the conversation, unless one of those individuals has a freak genetic disorder.

I guarantee you that cute, 95 pound girl at the Gap and the big guy working at Auntie Anne’s shouldn’t be sharing advice about sugar and cholesterol intake.  She can eat whatever the hell she wants, including a pound of animal fat and will burn that shit off in her sleep.  You on the other hand should start walking to work, eating and drinking spinach ONLY, as well as exercising in your sleep [figure it out]. This is very similar to a kid telling their grandparents they need a full 8 to 10 hours of sleep each night.  Shutup, Suzy…I guarantee you the last thing on your 89 year old grandfather’s mind is going to sleep.  So, save your 3rd grade health teacher’s advice for your dimwitted pals on the jungle gym.  Your grandparents are trying to stretch the time, not wait for the grim reaper with open arms and an apple pie.

Borrower’s Remorse

August 9, 2009

Did you bring your puppy to work?  No?  You don’t even have a puppy?  Then what the fuck, sir, is the deal with this?  I thought I let you borrow a pen earlier.  What you just handed me looks like a used coffee stirrer.  But that can’t be the case because there’s ink in it, and it has what use to be a cap that wasn’t covered in dry spit and tooth marks.  So, I guess my next question should be, “What the fuck, man?!?!”  Is this how you repay people when they do you favors, asshole?  If I let you borrow my car, would you bring it back with dents that you kicked into it yourself and a smashed windshield?  Or how about I let you stay at my place if you lose your job, and you punch holes in my walls and shit on my rugs?  Maybe the next time you ask me to borrow something, I’ll just give you the finger and a quick toodle-loo.