I live on the border and have a front row seat to The Comedy of Errors or, as you refer to it, North Carolina. First, they ban gay marriage. Then, they ban the ability to appeal the ban on gay marriage. Ok guys, you’ve ‘solved’ that issue…let’s move on. What’s next? Hey, I got it: round up all the midgets and put them under a big water sprinkler until they grow to be the same height as everyone else.
We will always have those guys that come into a bar, tell everyone how great they are, talk down to the bartender and complain about how weak the drinks are. Your drinks are weak because the bartender’s asshole-o-meter pegged out the instant you walked through the door. Here, take a drink from my glass. Taste good? That’s what it tastes like to NOT be an asshole.
Drinking and driving laws are bullshit. The DMV should go to the bar with me. After every drink we’ll get in my vehicle and take the driving test. If I pass I’ll blow into the breathalyzer. As soon as I fail the driving test we’ll know my personal BAL limit. That number will be printed on my license. That way I can stay at the bars longer. And that is how I plan to stimulate the economy.
I’m not sure of the exact points of classification when a mound becomes a hill and a hill becomes a mountain. But I do know an asshole becomes the taxonomic equivalent of Mount Everest when he gets a badge, a gun and a car with lights and sirens.
At the bottom of the tax return sheet there should be a box where I can write in where I want that money to go. Wait, I want a box where I can write in where I don’t want it to go. Wait, I have a pretty long list…I’m going to need something bigger than a box. It will start with: DO NOT give this money to people who don’t want to work because their back is sore. It will end with: etc.
The minimum voting age should be 25. That will give you a few years to get out on your own, have the government take your money, pay some bills and maybe even get laid off a couple of times so that you realize goofing off in school on someone’s charge card doesn’t make you a contributing member of society. And if you’re a Political Science major you don’t get to vote until you’re 30. That will give you a few more years to find a job. That is called irony. Oh, and Political Science is an oxymoron.
You have your definition of ‘tragic’ and I have mine. You probably think it’s tragic when a city built below sea level and surrounded by man-made levees ends up flooded. I think it’s tragic that man repeats colossal mistakes out of sheer arrogance and a complete lack of logic…like rebuilding New Orleans. They should have turned it into prisons or Darfur instead. Because then, who cares?
Dear Taco Bell drive through person,
I am not seven years old and you are not Santa Claus. Stop individually gift wrapping all of my food. Also, you put my chips in a bag in a bag in a bag. Quit Matryoshka Dolling up my food.
p.s. I accept your gratitude for the time I have saved you.
Gather ‘round, I have an announcement to make. Zero is a number, O is a letter. I know it’s hard, but when giving your phone number and social security number try to use actual numbers.
A person’s level of involvement in a political party or religious group is directly proportional to how far that person’s nose is shoved into other people’s business. If that value is greater than zero you are an asshole. The number of assholes a society has is directly proportional to the number of laws that society has created to appease said assholes. And that explains why I can’t sit in a privately owned bar, smoke legal cigarettes and drink legal vodka at 6a.m. while bothering absolutely no one. I can’t drink all day if I don’t start in the morning.
Some people have a much different definition of ‘met’ than I do. When you say you ‘met’ (insert famous person’s name) and got their autograph it makes me wonder if that famous person is having a conversation right now in which they are telling someone they ‘met’ you.
There is no reason to give me a gift annually for coming out of my mother’s vagina. Well, unless you consider ‘leaving me alone’ a gift. In that case, shower me with gifts.
If your shirt has some sort of cute joke on it that means you paid someone to be funny for you. It worked, sort of. I’m laughing…but at you, not with you.
I fully agree with your policy of having to ask for condiments at the drive through. It saves you money and you pass the savings on to me. So, when I play ball and ask for, specifically, two ketchup packets and your drive through attendant grabs a handful of packets and dumps them in my bag I get the feeling that your company isn’t doing its best to live up to our agreement. I have no other option than to save all unused ketchup packets and redeem them for cash in any of your locations at the end of each year. It looks like the going rate is 1.5cents per packet. I look forward to your cooperation with our new agreement.
p.s. Yes, I am serious and no, I am not insane
I hope you understand why I have the same physical reaction when you come up and talk to me as you do when a bee buzzes around your head.
If you’re riding that bicycle to get to work then I’m not going to get too angry. However, unless your job is modeling silly spandex outfits, I have to conclude that you’re exercising. I have no doubt you take as much pride in your physical fitness as I do in my self-expedited deterioration. But your lifestyle is interfering with mine. Let me explain it another way: Tomorrow I will string fishing line at neck level all along our paralleled path. And people will thank me for it because you’re an asshole.
When my sibling and I would fight over a toy my mother would take it away and neither of us would get to play with it. We should take marriage away from homosexuals AND heterosexuals. That way I wouldn’t have to listen to brainwashed morons quoting a bible OR dingy girls that have never had an original thought drone on and on about how their wedding is going to be so different and fun. See, it’s win-win.
New rule for pants manufacturers: maximum 4 belt loops. I feel like I’m weaving baskets trying to get dressed in the morning…or afternoon. I wouldn’t need a belt if America wasn’t so damn fat. I can’t find 30×34 but I can find a pile of 44×30.
There is no reason to ask me for help solving your crossword puzzle. I don’t know, I don’t want to know, and more importantly, I don’t care what the answer is. The whole point to a crossword puzzle is to see if YOU can solve it. If you have to ask someone for help that means you can’t. Put it down and walk away. Here, maybe this is more your speed:
Either eliminate daylight savings time or stop putting clocks on every appliance. I agree, let’s do both.
If I see another group of drunken girls storm into a bar wearing dildos on their heads begging for attention because one of them is about to get married I’m going to start staying at home and shooting my toes off because it’s less painful. The dildos go in your vaginas you stupid whores.
I’m well aware of your laziness. You don’t have to prove it to me by dragging your feet as you walk. It’s as if you’re trying to devolve.
You would get more money from me if you would sell large bags of individual flavors. I feel like I’m walking through a minefield trying to avoid Orange in the assortment bag. While you’re doing things that make sense, go ahead and unwrap them before you put them in the bag, or, at least stop coating the wrappers with Superglue. Oh, and make them mouthful size instead of bite size.
p.s. You’re welcome
Old people are awestruck by escalators. Once they get off they stop right on the exit ramp so I can’t get by and look around in amazement as if they’ve been transported to another dimension. And fat people are worse. They stop to moan and groan because they have to start walking again. I wish they would replace the exit ramps with one of those airport automatic walkways to get everyone out of my way.
I wish everything in life was as easy as removing the entire onion from an onion ring with one bite. Unfortunately, everything in life is as annoying as removing the entire onion from an onion ring with one bite. Just cut the onions into 2 inch slices before you deep fry them so I can fit the whole thing in my mouth. Then, instead of calling them ‘onion rings’ you can call them ‘Hey, this makes much more sense!’
There are probably 20 people in the world that can compete in long distance races. But for some reason there are 30,000 people in these marathons. They wear fancy stop watches when a simple sun-dial is sufficient. They even have silly, irrelevant numbers on their shirts. The city has to shut down 26.2 miles of road to let these assholes “prove something to themselves”. People will go to great lengths to prove to me they will never win.
When I have to wait in three separate lines before I can take my seat on the airplane I can assure you, I am in no mood for corny jokes. You are a flight attendant, not a stand-up comedian. If I owned an airline I would eliminate your position all together and save millions of dollars. You’re a glorified hall monitor. I don’t care if every seat was leaned back, every tray-table was down and every seatbelt was unbuckled during takeoff and landing. It doesn’t matter and neither do you.
When I see a couple walking down the street holding hands all I can hear is, “Red Rover, Red Rover let Terry come over!
When I find out when and where you guys are meeting to come up with ways to look like idiots while at the same time irritating the hell out of me I’m going to lock you in and burn the place down. Quit it with the flip-flops already. Seven of you bastards smack, smack, smacking around the bar yesterday. You probably still do word search puzzles.
Now they have, and I’m not making this up, a front parking spot reserved for pregnant women labeled: “Stork Parking”. Don’t we have enough people on this planet without having to bribe people with a front parking spot to get them to reproduce? I think the sign would be funnier if it read: “Park here if you can prove you’ve had sex in the past nine months”.