Some friends at Dori411 have been working diligently over the past year on an exciting graphic novel and accompanying web series titled simply Gophenwick. Gophenwick, taking place in an alternate future, is about a young girl named Zoe, whom with her paranormal investigation team, encounters several mysteries that ultimately lead Zoe and her team to Gophenwick, Wales; a town overwrought with the supernatural.
Check out the Gophenwick Facebook page for tonnes of photos, concept art, music, and up-to-date information on the project! But Dori411 can't undertake this task without your help! The costs to produce anything of quality is high these days, and they need your help! Head on over to their Indie Gogo site and see if you can help them reach their goal to make Gophenwick the best production it can be! Any contribution you can make comes with terrific exclusive Gophenwick perks (i.e. a $20 donation gets you production art cards!).
Even if you cannot afford to contribute anything, do "like" the Facebook page so you can keep on top of everything Gophenwick as it becomes available.
Now, I just have to sweet-talk my way into the series. Though something tells me there's not much room in the story for a sarcastic asshole. Oh well, maybe Dori411 can write me in. ;)
Monday, March 12, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
How to Speak (Somewhat) Correctly
Grammar. Grammar is a beautiful thing. Grammar is a rule set for the composure of a particular language. The proper usage of grammar can make a fool look intelligent, and poor grammar can make a genius look like a moron. I was raised to appreciate the importance of grammar and, in turn, learned to use it properly (for the most part).
Sure, there are a few slip-ups that I will make from time to time. I'm quite guilty of ending sentences with prepositions. "A preposition is never what a sentence should end with." However, most of the time I speak and write with grammatical correctness in mind. As a result, when I come in contact with other people who do not use it, I become unreasonably bothered. Especially when people misuse cliches! You would think that a cliche would be universally grammatically correct because of its heavy usage, but unfortunately as cliches pass from person to person, the saying tends to change. Frustrating.
I have decided to use my blog for an outlet. A way to complain about poor grammar and a way to correct those who may not realize they are erring. I'll update this as I hear new cliches being spoken incorrectly. Also, I'm sure that I'll slip up myself at some point in the body of this post. Feel free to make fun of me if I did and missed it!
Let's begin now.
1. "Where in the hell are you?" or "Where the hell are you?"
Could someone hit the buzzer please? Both of these versions are used (at least in my experience) FAR more than the correct question. The question is asking where a person is located and uses the location of hell to be humorous. But one would be found IN hell. Therefore, "where "the" hell are you?" makes no sense! Would you ask "where the museum are you?" or "where the New York City are you?" Nope, I don't think you would ask those questions in that way. So don't say "where the hell are you" either!
And while "where in the hell" is technically correct, the "the" is not needed when using the name of a location. For example, let's use MacArthur Park as an example. One would not say "where in the MacArthur Park are you?" though saying so would not be technically incorrect. "Where in MacArthur Park are you?" is much more elegant. However, one would say "where in THE park are you?" when the name of the park is not used. In the case of hell, it is a specific name of a location and so the "the" is not necessary. The correct, grammatically correct question should be:
"Where in hell are you?"
2. "For god's sakes" or "For god sakes" or "For god sake."
Take a moment and think about the construction of this phrase. What the person is supposed to be saying is "for the sake of god." Therefore, the above variations are wrong and make no sense. "for the sakes of god?" Nope. Makes no sense.
The other two have no possessive, which means that whatever they are doing is for "god sakes" or "god sake," which sound like locations or people. "We do this for our leader: God Sakes!?" Nope. "We do this for our leader: God Sake?" Nope. Not even close to the intended meaning, people! The correct statement should be:
"For god's sake."
The same goes for variants of this cliche, such as "For fuck's sake."
3. "I could care less."
This one really bugs me. A person would say "I could care less" as a sarcastic and humourous way to express disinterest in something.
"Hey, want to learn underwater basket-weaving?"
"Nah, I could care less about that."
However, by one saying that one could care less about something, they are actually saying that it would be possible to care less than they do. While COULD care less gets the point across, it does not appropriately express the person's true and complete disinterest. The proper, most effective wording should be:
"I couldn't care less."
More to come as I hear and become frustrated by them.
Sure, there are a few slip-ups that I will make from time to time. I'm quite guilty of ending sentences with prepositions. "A preposition is never what a sentence should end with." However, most of the time I speak and write with grammatical correctness in mind. As a result, when I come in contact with other people who do not use it, I become unreasonably bothered. Especially when people misuse cliches! You would think that a cliche would be universally grammatically correct because of its heavy usage, but unfortunately as cliches pass from person to person, the saying tends to change. Frustrating.
I have decided to use my blog for an outlet. A way to complain about poor grammar and a way to correct those who may not realize they are erring. I'll update this as I hear new cliches being spoken incorrectly. Also, I'm sure that I'll slip up myself at some point in the body of this post. Feel free to make fun of me if I did and missed it!
Let's begin now.
1. "Where in the hell are you?" or "Where the hell are you?"
Could someone hit the buzzer please? Both of these versions are used (at least in my experience) FAR more than the correct question. The question is asking where a person is located and uses the location of hell to be humorous. But one would be found IN hell. Therefore, "where "the" hell are you?" makes no sense! Would you ask "where the museum are you?" or "where the New York City are you?" Nope, I don't think you would ask those questions in that way. So don't say "where the hell are you" either!
And while "where in the hell" is technically correct, the "the" is not needed when using the name of a location. For example, let's use MacArthur Park as an example. One would not say "where in the MacArthur Park are you?" though saying so would not be technically incorrect. "Where in MacArthur Park are you?" is much more elegant. However, one would say "where in THE park are you?" when the name of the park is not used. In the case of hell, it is a specific name of a location and so the "the" is not necessary. The correct, grammatically correct question should be:
"Where in hell are you?"
2. "For god's sakes" or "For god sakes" or "For god sake."
Take a moment and think about the construction of this phrase. What the person is supposed to be saying is "for the sake of god." Therefore, the above variations are wrong and make no sense. "for the sakes of god?" Nope. Makes no sense.
The other two have no possessive, which means that whatever they are doing is for "god sakes" or "god sake," which sound like locations or people. "We do this for our leader: God Sakes!?" Nope. "We do this for our leader: God Sake?" Nope. Not even close to the intended meaning, people! The correct statement should be:
"For god's sake."
The same goes for variants of this cliche, such as "For fuck's sake."
3. "I could care less."
This one really bugs me. A person would say "I could care less" as a sarcastic and humourous way to express disinterest in something.
"Hey, want to learn underwater basket-weaving?"
"Nah, I could care less about that."
However, by one saying that one could care less about something, they are actually saying that it would be possible to care less than they do. While COULD care less gets the point across, it does not appropriately express the person's true and complete disinterest. The proper, most effective wording should be:
"I couldn't care less."
More to come as I hear and become frustrated by them.
Friday, February 24, 2012
I Hate My Job
Picture it. February 23, 2012. A small storm cell passes through the city and the temperature drops from above zero to below. The snowflakes hit the pavement and melt, but because of the falling temperature, the water then freezes. Roadways are now smooth ice rinks. Most drivers are creeping along at two or three kilometers an hour. The assholes and idiots in their penis-compensating, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks go flying by at the posted speed limit, noticeably having control issues with their fishtailing and inability to navigate a straight line. A commute that should take thirty-five minutes has already taken an hour and a half and there's still so much more to go.
And I'm stuck in the car with two kids.
Normally I wouldn't mind. But the older kid must have known I was already feeling the stresses of the evening and decided to make matters worse. He vomits. He vomits all over himself. He vomits all over the booster seat. He vomits all over the seat itself. He vomits all over the floor. He vomits all over the back of the front seat. He vomits on the car seat next to him. He vomits on his sister. Imagine filling a Ziploc® bag with puke and then smacking your hands together to make it explode. That's what the back of my car looked like.
What adds insult to injury is not only did the kid not tell me he was going to throw up (which sometimes you just don't have that warning time so I can't be too frustrated about it), but he didn't TELL ME after he'd thrown up. There was no "gurblah" sound like when most people vomit. He must have been coughing it up and so I thought it was just coughing. While it spewed forth from his gaping maw, there was no noise at all! All he needed to do was say "hey, um...I threw up."
But no. I learn the hard way when the odour starts to whiff into the front. I can't stand the smell of barf. It makes me want to vomit too...vicious cycle. It's olfactory ipecac to me. I smell it but because I'm more accurately skating my car along than driving, I do not dare look back in case the dude up ahead stops.
"Everything okay back there?" I ask, "I smell throw-up." No answer. "Hellooooo, [name removed]? You sleeping?" No answer. I continue along until I reach the first foster home. I get out to help the sister out of the vehicle and that's when I see the aforementioned disaster. Neither of the kids are sleeping. The sister looks disgusted (and for good reason). The boy is just sitting there staring at the seat. I ask him if he is okay and he begins to cry.
Right now I REALLY dislike this kid. I mean, I don't like kids on the best of days, so when I say I REALLY don't like a kid, you can take that to mean it is five seconds away from being a hood ornament. But I kept my cool. I have to be professional, and getting upset at this thing isn't going to change the fact that the back of my car looks like an bulimic's bathroom. I lie to him. I tell him I'm not mad. I tell him that everything is okay. I drop off his sister and help him clean himself off. I then spend fifteen minutes getting the bulk of the blow out of my car.
We then leave the home to take him back to his foster home. Another long, boring, and now smelly drive. Roads are progressively worse now. I'm heading along a road normally 100km/h at a top speed of probably 2km/h. Douchebuckets are flying past me, barely keeping on the road. There's no where to stop because the people behind will almost certainly try and follow into the shoulder (as you can't see the road's lines due to the ice and snow). And that's when this fucking kid pukes AGAIN! Doesn't say anything, but because he's now on the opposite side of the car (where his sister was before), I can see him clearly. While this time it was more contained (just to himself, the OTHER clean booster seat, and a bit of the seat below), he didn't fucking use the bag I gave him. He starts to cry again. Fuck you, kid. Seriously.
As I stated, I can't pull over. He has to stew in his own stomach juices, bile, and semi-digested foodstuffs for almost ten minutes. We get to his foster home and I help him clean off. I tell the foster parents what happened and borrow some Febreeze® to try and hide the odour until I can get home (another forty-five minutes, as it turned out). I use half the bottle. The mist in the air causes me to cough for a bit, but that's better than the alternative. But even still, the smell eats through the Febreeze® and I have no choice but to crack my window for fresh air. I am cold, and snowflakes and slapping me in the face as I crawl my way home. I stop off for gummi bears when I'm almost home and eat a few. I feel a bit better. Though I still spend two hours cleaning my car in the snow and washing the booster seat covers. A terrible, terrible evening.
There's no moral to this story...except for ensure your children are on an empty stomach before putting them in my car. Next time one pukes in my car, I just might not be able to stop myself from puking on them.
And I'm stuck in the car with two kids.
Normally I wouldn't mind. But the older kid must have known I was already feeling the stresses of the evening and decided to make matters worse. He vomits. He vomits all over himself. He vomits all over the booster seat. He vomits all over the seat itself. He vomits all over the floor. He vomits all over the back of the front seat. He vomits on the car seat next to him. He vomits on his sister. Imagine filling a Ziploc® bag with puke and then smacking your hands together to make it explode. That's what the back of my car looked like.
What adds insult to injury is not only did the kid not tell me he was going to throw up (which sometimes you just don't have that warning time so I can't be too frustrated about it), but he didn't TELL ME after he'd thrown up. There was no "gurblah" sound like when most people vomit. He must have been coughing it up and so I thought it was just coughing. While it spewed forth from his gaping maw, there was no noise at all! All he needed to do was say "hey, um...I threw up."
But no. I learn the hard way when the odour starts to whiff into the front. I can't stand the smell of barf. It makes me want to vomit too...vicious cycle. It's olfactory ipecac to me. I smell it but because I'm more accurately skating my car along than driving, I do not dare look back in case the dude up ahead stops.
"Everything okay back there?" I ask, "I smell throw-up." No answer. "Hellooooo, [name removed]? You sleeping?" No answer. I continue along until I reach the first foster home. I get out to help the sister out of the vehicle and that's when I see the aforementioned disaster. Neither of the kids are sleeping. The sister looks disgusted (and for good reason). The boy is just sitting there staring at the seat. I ask him if he is okay and he begins to cry.
Right now I REALLY dislike this kid. I mean, I don't like kids on the best of days, so when I say I REALLY don't like a kid, you can take that to mean it is five seconds away from being a hood ornament. But I kept my cool. I have to be professional, and getting upset at this thing isn't going to change the fact that the back of my car looks like an bulimic's bathroom. I lie to him. I tell him I'm not mad. I tell him that everything is okay. I drop off his sister and help him clean himself off. I then spend fifteen minutes getting the bulk of the blow out of my car.
We then leave the home to take him back to his foster home. Another long, boring, and now smelly drive. Roads are progressively worse now. I'm heading along a road normally 100km/h at a top speed of probably 2km/h. Douchebuckets are flying past me, barely keeping on the road. There's no where to stop because the people behind will almost certainly try and follow into the shoulder (as you can't see the road's lines due to the ice and snow). And that's when this fucking kid pukes AGAIN! Doesn't say anything, but because he's now on the opposite side of the car (where his sister was before), I can see him clearly. While this time it was more contained (just to himself, the OTHER clean booster seat, and a bit of the seat below), he didn't fucking use the bag I gave him. He starts to cry again. Fuck you, kid. Seriously.
As I stated, I can't pull over. He has to stew in his own stomach juices, bile, and semi-digested foodstuffs for almost ten minutes. We get to his foster home and I help him clean off. I tell the foster parents what happened and borrow some Febreeze® to try and hide the odour until I can get home (another forty-five minutes, as it turned out). I use half the bottle. The mist in the air causes me to cough for a bit, but that's better than the alternative. But even still, the smell eats through the Febreeze® and I have no choice but to crack my window for fresh air. I am cold, and snowflakes and slapping me in the face as I crawl my way home. I stop off for gummi bears when I'm almost home and eat a few. I feel a bit better. Though I still spend two hours cleaning my car in the snow and washing the booster seat covers. A terrible, terrible evening.
There's no moral to this story...except for ensure your children are on an empty stomach before putting them in my car. Next time one pukes in my car, I just might not be able to stop myself from puking on them.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Public Service Announcement #1 of 1
Sometimes I like to take a peek at my blogspot stats. You know, to see how epic my readership is. Then once I see how pathetic my page hits are, I cry myself to sleep. That being said, via stats I can also see the different sources from which people were linked to my blog AND much more interesting are the Google search terms that people used that led to them viewing my page. Now there are some odd searches that show up, such as one for dill diarrhea and one for stalker tits (those two words haven't shown up together in a single entry of mine but both words are peppered throughout my blog as a whole). But one that I found to be interesting was a search for "how to make a caulk dildo."
This search led to my page because of a glorious tale I told involving the creation and disposal of caulk dildos (Dildos and the Diarrhea Dill). Now that search term tells me that someone who is either really cheap or really embarrassed about going into adult stores wants to create a homemade sex toy. Um...Something tells me that silicone caulking is probably not the kind of material a person should be pushing, packing, clogging, ramming, stuffing, shoving, slamming, prodding, poking, plugging, jamming, impaling, cramming, or plunging into their bodies. So to all of those people who said that my blog is simply entertaining nonsense and does nothing to make the world a better place (thanks for the support, grandma), I'm using my blog as a public service announcement.
Please! Keep tub caulking dildos out of your woo-hoos and browneyes and other assorted orifices that nature gave you or that you gave yourselves! Sure, you might argue that the whole point of caulking is that it is used to fill cracks. Also you might say that it was named after a slang term for a part of the male anatomy. You might even say that before it dries, the way it squooshes between your toes and buttcheeks is very sexual and makes you go "squeeeeeeeeee." But caulking is purchased from a hardware store (I know the name can be confusing since it has "hard" in it) and not an adult store, is meant for inanimate objects and not people parts, probably has some sort of warning label about external use only, and the nails you'd have jutting out of it might give you tetanus.
So if you're low on cash, rob a bank. Scoop change out of a mall fountain. Steal from your child's piggie bank. Become a prostitute. Sell your kidney. Harvest your child's kidney and sell that. But don't skimp on the sex toys.
And if you're shy, order online and ask them to deliver in an unmarked brown-wrapped box (because when someone receives something in a brown-wrapped box, no one EVER assumes that the contents are pornographic or otherwise sexual) or dress up in Groucho Marx glasses, fedora, and an ankle-length trench coat when you enter a sex shop to safely hide your true identity.
But whatever you do, don't make sex toys from hardware supplies and kitchen appliances. And for the love of god, don't use your pets. Contrary to what some people might say, gerbils are NOT meant for insertion.
This search led to my page because of a glorious tale I told involving the creation and disposal of caulk dildos (Dildos and the Diarrhea Dill). Now that search term tells me that someone who is either really cheap or really embarrassed about going into adult stores wants to create a homemade sex toy. Um...Something tells me that silicone caulking is probably not the kind of material a person should be pushing, packing, clogging, ramming, stuffing, shoving, slamming, prodding, poking, plugging, jamming, impaling, cramming, or plunging into their bodies. So to all of those people who said that my blog is simply entertaining nonsense and does nothing to make the world a better place (thanks for the support, grandma), I'm using my blog as a public service announcement.
Please! Keep tub caulking dildos out of your woo-hoos and browneyes and other assorted orifices that nature gave you or that you gave yourselves! Sure, you might argue that the whole point of caulking is that it is used to fill cracks. Also you might say that it was named after a slang term for a part of the male anatomy. You might even say that before it dries, the way it squooshes between your toes and buttcheeks is very sexual and makes you go "squeeeeeeeeee." But caulking is purchased from a hardware store (I know the name can be confusing since it has "hard" in it) and not an adult store, is meant for inanimate objects and not people parts, probably has some sort of warning label about external use only, and the nails you'd have jutting out of it might give you tetanus.
So if you're low on cash, rob a bank. Scoop change out of a mall fountain. Steal from your child's piggie bank. Become a prostitute. Sell your kidney. Harvest your child's kidney and sell that. But don't skimp on the sex toys.
And if you're shy, order online and ask them to deliver in an unmarked brown-wrapped box (because when someone receives something in a brown-wrapped box, no one EVER assumes that the contents are pornographic or otherwise sexual) or dress up in Groucho Marx glasses, fedora, and an ankle-length trench coat when you enter a sex shop to safely hide your true identity.
But whatever you do, don't make sex toys from hardware supplies and kitchen appliances. And for the love of god, don't use your pets. Contrary to what some people might say, gerbils are NOT meant for insertion.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Airing of Grievances 2011
Well, here we are again. It's Festivus time in the city. With the return of Festivus comes yet another opportunity for me to express my discontent about some of the people around me. I have a lot of problems with you people, and now you're gonna hear about it!
ONE:
Lynda. I’ve broken the name rule here because, well, I can. I don’t talk to her anymore so whatever!
Lynda was a nice person and I got along with her. She was a pretty cool chick who was actually going to dress up as Supergirl (those who know me get the awesomeness of that) for a comic convention earlier in the year. We hung out a few days a month since we were both busy people. I foolishly thought we were just friends. She knew I had a girlfriend so there really shouldn’t have been any surprise. When I shot her down, she seemed to shy away and I barely talked to her anymore.
Anyway, about a day or two before the comic show, she bailed out of coming along all together. She said it was because she “had” to go to Banff to watch her nephew ride in some BMX race. She said that her family would have been angry with her if she didn’t go. I can’t speak for anyone but my sister here, but I KNOW that my sister wouldn’t give two shits if I already had plans and couldn’t come see my nephew in a play or a race or whatever. I think that Lynda got scared of all that spandex and pussied out. Well, actually, I think that Lynda just didn’t want to come anymore because she wanted to wear the costume to impress me or something. Either way, trying to feed me some bull story only served for me to lose respect for her. Didn’t talk to her since then.
Yes, in comparison I am being polite in this case. I don’t dislike this woman. I’m just tired of people who pull this kind of crap. She didn’t get what she wanted so she decided to be a bitch instead of a grown-up. It’s very frustrating. So she made it on my list!
TWO:
This year there have been a few people who have really frustrated me with their arrogance, condescension, and pedantic nature. Now, I wholly admit that I am guilty of displaying all of the above traits from time to time, as I’m sure everyone is. But I have asked friends and family to be sure to tell me when I am being arrogant and/or condescending because these are both unintentional and unwanted traits to me. I’m sure people who have known me for some time would attest that I have become a lot better in this regard though I know that there’s always room for improvement. As for being pedantic, I always do that for the humour in it, so that’s fine by me. My ability to understand those flaws and attempt to remedy them is true testament to my strong self-awareness. Self-awareness is, unfortunately, a trait shared by very few. Which brings me to the jerks that top my list of grievances for 2011.
You all know the type of person whom I am discussing. You make a comment or a claim, and they’re all over it like shit on a scat fetishist. You pronounce a word incorrectly and they not only feel a need to correct you but ALSO laugh that you could have made such an elementary error. You suggest a route best used to get from point A to point B and they have to pipe in with a better one. These freaks almost seem to live to point out your flaws and how superior they are to you. And to make matters even worse, usually they are incorrect when they stick their nose in your business! One of these people seems to lack a sense of humour. There’s been a couple of times when I’ve made a comment as a Facebook or MSN status as a joke and this person swoops in with a comment about how I’m inaccurate about my statement. I don’t bother to humiliate the person by correcting THEM with a follow-up comment because, unlike them, I don’t feel a need to advertize to other readers that the person, so conceited in their arrogance, doesn’t know what they are talking about.
Sometimes, if I am incorrect or if I overlooked a fine detail, these people are certain to ensure that I and other readers become aware of the overwhelming flaw! There was recently one example of this in which the detail I overlooked was of absolutely no relevance to the point I was making, but this person still felt a need to point it out. What the hell?
Sometimes, these people, when challenged (or even PROVEN wrong) will spend a shocking amount of time and energy in rationalizing their stance rather than just admitting they are in error. Because being proven slightly less intelligent is like losing, and these losers just can’t lose. How ironic.
A great Festivus miracle would be for these people to grow up and stop trying to hold over others how brilliant they are…particularly because often they aren’t nearly as brilliant as they would like to believe. I’m sure that there’s someone out there who has noticed a grammatical error or something in this entry and you are just itching to point it out to me. Ask yourself why you wish to do so? Is it a legitimate gesture to let me know I made a mistake? Or does a part of you feel somehow superior because you noticed something I did not?
“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
-- Albert Einstein
You all know the type of person whom I am discussing. You make a comment or a claim, and they’re all over it like shit on a scat fetishist. You pronounce a word incorrectly and they not only feel a need to correct you but ALSO laugh that you could have made such an elementary error. You suggest a route best used to get from point A to point B and they have to pipe in with a better one. These freaks almost seem to live to point out your flaws and how superior they are to you. And to make matters even worse, usually they are incorrect when they stick their nose in your business! One of these people seems to lack a sense of humour. There’s been a couple of times when I’ve made a comment as a Facebook or MSN status as a joke and this person swoops in with a comment about how I’m inaccurate about my statement. I don’t bother to humiliate the person by correcting THEM with a follow-up comment because, unlike them, I don’t feel a need to advertize to other readers that the person, so conceited in their arrogance, doesn’t know what they are talking about.
Sometimes, if I am incorrect or if I overlooked a fine detail, these people are certain to ensure that I and other readers become aware of the overwhelming flaw! There was recently one example of this in which the detail I overlooked was of absolutely no relevance to the point I was making, but this person still felt a need to point it out. What the hell?
Sometimes, these people, when challenged (or even PROVEN wrong) will spend a shocking amount of time and energy in rationalizing their stance rather than just admitting they are in error. Because being proven slightly less intelligent is like losing, and these losers just can’t lose. How ironic.
A great Festivus miracle would be for these people to grow up and stop trying to hold over others how brilliant they are…particularly because often they aren’t nearly as brilliant as they would like to believe. I’m sure that there’s someone out there who has noticed a grammatical error or something in this entry and you are just itching to point it out to me. Ask yourself why you wish to do so? Is it a legitimate gesture to let me know I made a mistake? Or does a part of you feel somehow superior because you noticed something I did not?
“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
-- Albert Einstein
THREE:
I really cannot talk about my job on here, though it is by far the greatest source of frustration, stress, and discontent in my life. I SO want to express my grievances with the people with whom I work, but I cannot do to issues with freedom of information. I see so much horrible stuff and there’s really no avenue for me to vent or to talk about it. So I will censor my rant about one of my most reprehensible clients of all information I cannot share…treat it like a really fucked up game of Mad Libs!
So this woman named ________ ended up ________ her ________ _________ and now the ________ is in _________ _________ because ________ and ________ ________ ________! But what makes this story so sick is that the ________ cannot have ________ of ________ because her ________ ________ ________ her ________ (seriously, ________ is in ________ right now because ________ was ________ of ________ of ________________) and despite all that she still ________ to be ________ ________ monster!!!! What the hell kind of world are we living in where a ________ would rather ________ ________ ________ ________ ________ ________ than ________ ________ ________ ________ ________???? Sickest story I’ve heard in a very long time.
And now an open letter to a select (yet numerous) group of people with whom I work:
Most of you people are absolutely terrible. Seriously! Most of you are TERRIBLE, AWFUL, and SICKENING human beings! Worse yet, you refuse to accept that you are the problem and in turn blame everyone else around you. I said early in this post that self-awareness is a rare trait and that point stands strong when it comes to you lot. Stop complaining! Stop acting like a victim! Learn some responsibility and accountability! Just grow up. If you people had the brains of an aphid, my job wouldn’t exist. And a world where my job wouldn’t exist would be a much better world indeed.
So this woman named ________ ended up ________ her ________ _________ and now the ________ is in _________ _________ because ________ and ________ ________ ________! But what makes this story so sick is that the ________ cannot have ________ of ________ because her ________ ________ ________ her ________ (seriously, ________ is in ________ right now because ________ was ________ of ________ of ________________) and despite all that she still ________ to be ________ ________ monster!!!! What the hell kind of world are we living in where a ________ would rather ________ ________ ________ ________ ________ ________ than ________ ________ ________ ________ ________???? Sickest story I’ve heard in a very long time.
And now an open letter to a select (yet numerous) group of people with whom I work:
Most of you people are absolutely terrible. Seriously! Most of you are TERRIBLE, AWFUL, and SICKENING human beings! Worse yet, you refuse to accept that you are the problem and in turn blame everyone else around you. I said early in this post that self-awareness is a rare trait and that point stands strong when it comes to you lot. Stop complaining! Stop acting like a victim! Learn some responsibility and accountability! Just grow up. If you people had the brains of an aphid, my job wouldn’t exist. And a world where my job wouldn’t exist would be a much better world indeed.
FOUR:
It’s been a week? WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY COOKIES!?
FIVE:
This is for all of you people who piss and moan about how much you hate Facebook and that you are going to delete your account, proceed to disable your account, and then reactivate it a week later. What the shit, guys? I understand that the whole “woe is me, Imma delete” rant is just for attention and an attempt to get pity from others, but either leave it at the tough talk or leave the account disabled forever! Seriously, you’re messing up my friend count and it mildly annoys me. But most importantly, no one likes a whiner (except for me who has clearly spent this entire entry whining).
SIX:
Ugh. Damn my tall dark handsomeness and wonderful sense of humour! It’s sometimes the bane of my existence. Early this year, a woman messaged me and complimented me on my blog. She seemed nice enough and who doesn’t like a fan? She even wanted to contribute to my blog because she thought she had something interesting to add. Her entry, a dating disaster, was mediocre at best but a nice compliment to some of the other stories shared. Anyway, a few weeks after we first talked via email, this bitch went crazy! She lived in a town in western Alberta (about three hours or so away from where I live) and she wanted me to come visit her. WTF? I said no because the drive was too far and I hate driving, so she offered to visit me. I again said no because I didn’t know her. I asked why she wanted to get together and she said she wanted us to start…dating. I had a girlfriend at the time and was very happy with her. I even told this wacko chick that directly or indirectly (i.e. “Sorry I can’t talk long. I’m going out on a movie date tonight”) that I was involved with someone. I never led this woman on nor even flirted with her. Yet she said that I “clearly” wanted to be involved with her, and when I told her that wasn’t the case she claimed that I was an asshole who just wanted to sleep with her!
I told her that she was “clearly” insane and that I wanted nothing to do with her sexually or romantically, and now that she was “clearly” obsessed and creepy, I wanted nothing to do with her period. She made some idle threat about getting one of her friends to come kick my ass and I blocked her.
To some, I may have sounded quite harsh, but remember that I suffered through four months with a crazy stalker several years ago and from that I learned to be direct and mean. And it worked. She didn’t bother trying to win me back or something.
That being said, about three months later, I received an intellectual property infringement complaint from this blog. As it turns out, she contacted the blogger site and said that the contribution to my blog that she made was used without permission. Crazy whore! The complaint said that she wanted my entire blog removed because I am a “dirty thief,” which makes absolutely no sense from a sane person’s perspective. There was no way that the site would shut me down without cause though. I simply removed her contribution, as it was weak anyway, and the problem went away. So did she…for now.
*Insert Psycho shower scene music here*
I told her that she was “clearly” insane and that I wanted nothing to do with her sexually or romantically, and now that she was “clearly” obsessed and creepy, I wanted nothing to do with her period. She made some idle threat about getting one of her friends to come kick my ass and I blocked her.
To some, I may have sounded quite harsh, but remember that I suffered through four months with a crazy stalker several years ago and from that I learned to be direct and mean. And it worked. She didn’t bother trying to win me back or something.
That being said, about three months later, I received an intellectual property infringement complaint from this blog. As it turns out, she contacted the blogger site and said that the contribution to my blog that she made was used without permission. Crazy whore! The complaint said that she wanted my entire blog removed because I am a “dirty thief,” which makes absolutely no sense from a sane person’s perspective. There was no way that the site would shut me down without cause though. I simply removed her contribution, as it was weak anyway, and the problem went away. So did she…for now.
*Insert Psycho shower scene music here*
SEVEN:
Stupid postal employees. This one goes out to all the parcel-runners. I’m on to your game! You are SUPPOSED to park your truck, come up to the door of the building with my parcel, ring my bell, and then hand me said parcel. That’s just how it works. But what you little twats do is park your truck, fill out a “sorry we missed you” parcel card, come up to the door of the building with my “sorry we missed you” parcel card, and stick it on my mailbox.
What’s the deal here? Are you just so completely unsociable that the mere thought of saying hi to a stranger while passing them a box is terrifying? Is the 500g box too heavy for your mighty frame to carry? I really don’t understand why you employees aren’t doing your job properly…aside from the obvious laziness factor.
Now you know why you shouldn’t expect any token Christmas gift from me this year or any, except for a novelty boxing glove that extends out and punches you in the face. Enjoy your gift, dickwads.
What’s the deal here? Are you just so completely unsociable that the mere thought of saying hi to a stranger while passing them a box is terrifying? Is the 500g box too heavy for your mighty frame to carry? I really don’t understand why you employees aren’t doing your job properly…aside from the obvious laziness factor.
Now you know why you shouldn’t expect any token Christmas gift from me this year or any, except for a novelty boxing glove that extends out and punches you in the face. Enjoy your gift, dickwads.
EIGHT:
Seriously…WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY COOKIES???
NINE:
Hey. Raggedy cat lady in my building! Stop creepily staring at me when I come home from work! I know I am a fascinating person and all, but just take a picture and be done with it! Don’t open the door to the building and then stare at me while I park, only to enter the building and close the door when I begin getting out of my vehicle. Don’t then proceed to stare at me from each and every landing window between the ground and the fourth floor! And while you’re at it, run a comb through your hair and trade out the owl glasses for something a bit less creepy. Oh, and NEVER attempt small talk with me again. I hate small talk enough as it is…more so when the person is a bit-chomping fucksack. Thanks!
TEN:
Back to Facebook. Please please please cut out the “baiting” statuses. Not sure what I mean? A baiting status is one that provides minimal information because you want people to inquire for the details and therefore give you the attention that you’re really after. Here’s a few examples:
“Oh my god! I didn’t mean for THAT to happen.”
“You think you know what’s best for me but you don’t! To hell with you!”
“Great. One stupid mistake and now I have to get surgery!”
Regardless of how important an issue may be (objective importance, I mean), I can guarantee that I will not be baited by or even care about this sort of update. If you have something you want to share, provide all the information. If you withhold the details because of space constraints, you can relax. You’re not limited to 140 characters, you Twits (lawl…get it?), so you can share the pertinent details. Otherwise, you’re just fishing for attention and I’m not interested. Here’s the above examples with appropriate detail:
“Oh my god! I didn’t mean for my weird neighbour to slip on that sheet of ice and slide head first into the dumpster…is what I told the police. But actually I put the ice there. I’m glad she’s in traction.”
“Julia! You think you know the best way for me to breast feed my son, but you really can’t breast feed from your anus! I looked it up! To hell with you!”
“Great. So I got drunk last night and had a penis surgically attached to my forehead. Now I have to get more surgery to have it removed. Who stitched this thing on though…anyone know? And furthermore, where the hell did they get it from?”
“Oh my god! I didn’t mean for THAT to happen.”
“You think you know what’s best for me but you don’t! To hell with you!”
“Great. One stupid mistake and now I have to get surgery!”
Regardless of how important an issue may be (objective importance, I mean), I can guarantee that I will not be baited by or even care about this sort of update. If you have something you want to share, provide all the information. If you withhold the details because of space constraints, you can relax. You’re not limited to 140 characters, you Twits (lawl…get it?), so you can share the pertinent details. Otherwise, you’re just fishing for attention and I’m not interested. Here’s the above examples with appropriate detail:
“Oh my god! I didn’t mean for my weird neighbour to slip on that sheet of ice and slide head first into the dumpster…is what I told the police. But actually I put the ice there. I’m glad she’s in traction.”
“Julia! You think you know the best way for me to breast feed my son, but you really can’t breast feed from your anus! I looked it up! To hell with you!”
“Great. So I got drunk last night and had a penis surgically attached to my forehead. Now I have to get more surgery to have it removed. Who stitched this thing on though…anyone know? And furthermore, where the hell did they get it from?”
ELEVEN:
COOKIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WTF, MAN?
TWELVE:
What would an airing of grievances be without a bit of complaining about drivers. What aspect should I tackle this time?
Disrespect and the sense of anonymity that some drivers display? The things drivers should do that aren’t a matter of legality and so people don’t do them (such as using a turn signal)? The way drivers who are at-fault shamefully try and throw the blame at the person they victimized? The assholes that drive too fast and weave through traffic? The junkrags that drive too slowly and end up causing delays for ages? The cockgobblers that stop at a merge? The butt-cardigans that fail to yield at a yield sign? The bags of dicks that speed up when you are trying to change into their lane? The lollygaggers that rubberneck every time there’s an accident because they want to see some carnage? Those that drive too fast in poor road conditions and those that drive too cautiously in good road conditions? Big slow stupid semis and dump trucks clogging the major roads during rush hour? Old farts oblivious to their surroundings as they piddle about town in their huge boat cars? Lane changers that signal after starting the lane change? Swamp-assers that use a straight-only lane as a secondary turning lane? Pissants that don’t bother clearing off their vehicles of snow and letting it all dump on to the road every time they hit a bump (and people with fenderbergs that don’t kick them off before getting in their vehicles)? The fucktards that speed up to get in front of you and then slow down? The “oh shit I don’t know what lane I need to be in so I’ll just keep going back and forth until I hit someone”ers? The geniuses that pull into an intersection even though the cars ahead have stopped, thus trapping them in the intersection and cross-traffic cannot get by? The snake-wranglers that park their vehicles so close to yours that you cannot get out of your spot? The gunt-scrunchers that drive up on the curb/boulevard/whatever because they want to make a turn but not wait for traffic to move? The mamma-molesters that ding/scratch/otherwise damage your vehicle and then run off instead of taking responsibility? The “screw the law…I’m gonna text message while driving anyway” retards? The trucks and SUVs that spray water and crap on your windshield in rainy or snowy weather because the anus-licking owners couldn't be bothered to put on mud flaps? The jizz faces that park their cars with two feet between the tires and the curb thus reducing room on the road for traveling vehicles? How about the pussy farts at a stop sign that wait FOREVER for an excessively enormous opening before making their move? The kamikaze troopers that drive in the wrong lane during a lane reversal (or the rare cases of drivers that drive the wrong way on established roadways)? The hard ons that park crookedly and/or over the line in parking stalls? The nutsacks that cannot seem to stay in their lane to save their lives? Poultry "lovers" that spend five times as long parking because they insist on backing in to a stall? The hairy grandma gooches that drive right up to the car in front of them and then violently smash on their brakes, thus causing all drivers behind to have to brake hard as well? Or perhaps the cum dumpsters that barely even slow down before going through a four-way stop?
Sigh. Well, those are but a few of my bad driver grievances. Maybe I'll tackle more of this list of bad drivers in AoG 2012. Unless my Festivus wish comes true and all bad drivers eat shit and die. Fingers crossssssssed! :)
Thanks for reading! Happy Festivus and a Happy New Year as well! Unless you're on this list...in which case, please replace the first "Happy" with "Go fuck yourself during" and the second "Happy" with "Go fuck yourself during the" (numbers 4, 8, and 11 are excluded).
G'night everybody!
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