A sample from:
Dear scratch-off guy
Date: 2007-01-04, 6:25AM CST
Hey there, scratch-off guy. Funny seeing you again. Seems like every time I stop at my local Quik-E-Mart you are at the counter redeeming your winning scratch-offs.
What's that? You won $5 with that batch? Super! Only cost you $15, so that's not a total wash, is it? Now if I could just pay for my soda and stuff...No? Not finished? Well, that's fine. I guess I could hang out for a bit. Man, it really IS hard to pick which scratch-offs you want.
I mean, they are all so tempting, and they have those cute little names like Texas Twister, Fat Cash and Bah Humbucks. Oh the decisions. They are all so brightly colored and shiny!
I have an idea. Why don't you buy the one called Dumb Fucks? Because that's what you are if you think you are EVER going to come out ahead on your little card-stock gambling substitutes.
Wait. I'm sorry. I am just having a little sugar crash. Hence my stop here at the convenience store. Go ahead and gamble your disposable income. Not my place to judge.
By the way, have you noticed that the line is now 4 people deep? We're all waiting on you to make up your mind. I'd ask if you pulled this shit in line at the post office, but let's face it. You don't look like the stamp collecting type. Not unless stamps came with a little graphite covered section that gave you a chance to win $5, right?
Come to think of it. I've seen you at the cable company, paying your bill. No need to buy stamps when you can spend all day driving around the city paying your bills...in person...late.
Oh great. You've pulled the trigger on the Deal or No Deal scratch off. That's cute. Its just like the TV show, and it has a ton of little things to scratch off. Wait, don't start fishing in your pocket for change! Dear lord, how can you think its OK to sit and scratch that right there at the counter.
Jesus H, man. Can we just fast forward to the 15 minute process whereby you try to communicate to the clerk which whiskey-flavored cherry cheroot miniature cigarillo you would like to purchase?? I know you and the clerk love that little routine. You pointing vaguely to the quasi-cigarette flavored tobacco section and saying helpful things like "those" or "over there" -- the clerk sort of parroting everything you say in a vague mumble and looking over his shoulder with a vapid smile and blank stare.
Come to think of it, I don't need a soda. Think I'll just head home and stick my head in the oven.
Thanks, scratch-off guy.
Last edited by Hootad Binky; 21st January 2007 at 01:21.
They're simply the best rants from one of the largest free forums in the world!
And I got stuck behind scratch-off guy last week!
I dunno... beats the latest Doctor-Dude-gangbang/circle jerk
We could all learn a thing or two about the economy, the diction, clarity and timing of:
To the annoying skag at my work
"Do you ever work?
Because it seems like you are always just flitting around, pausing at the desks of your "pals" (all men) to stop and sigh and huff, and talk about your favourite subject... your own boring, self-centered self. I'm lucky that one of these pals sits directly beside me (me, who you have never bothered to speak to) so I am forced to endure your retarded diatribes day after day. It's not like the job doesn't suck enough already. I definitely love having little "you moments" to listen to. My only saving grace is the guy who sits on the other side of me, who hates your ass as much as I do.
It's not only that you look like a complete moron. Your little pigtails are so sweet and special. They really give you that "alterna-chick" look you're going for. And yes, we noticed that you just dyed your hair again last night; and not just because you've pointed it out, loudly, to everyone in the place repeatedly this morning. It's because we see your sloop-postured ass walking around the room all fucking day, while somehow the rest of us are actually WORKING. I love your little hoodies and sneakers, you really are so different from the rest of us. Too bad the makeup you wear doesn't cover your old acne scars and your face is taking on a nice little wreath of beer blubber from the endless nights of drinking that you inform everyone of, all the time, all the day, all the constant unending hours of listening to your shit while you drape yourself over the guy sitting next to me.
"What am I? 15 and goth again?" Ooooh, nice use of the word "again", slyly bringing our attention to the fact that when you were 15, you were trying out "cool styles" and were different, even then! You may not be 15 and "goth again", but you're still the same vapid skank you were back then, I'll wager; desperate for attention and full of fascinating stories about your lack of sex life, punctuated by self-pitying sighs. Oh, and be sure to keep reminding us how "bored" you are, because personally, this job is so satisfying and fun. I'm having a great time here, and you're sooo hungover and bored! How gripping and different from the rest you are!
Oh, and make sure we all know you have a tongue ring. Again and again.
I remember when I first got hired here and I saw you. I thought maybe you'd be a nice person. That was until I realized that you want to be surrounded by guys who all think you're "cute and quirky and soooo different from the rest!" You are a nasty bitch who talks more about herself than anyone I have ever encountered. Did you notice that every single sentence you say begins with the word "I"??? It's becoming absurd. I can't take it. And could you ignore me any more deliberately? Ooooh, you "dislike me" for some reason. I don't know what that reason is, aside from maybe the fact that I also have a vagina. Honestly, I don't care. I was indifferent to you, until you started pointing out that you're a "tomboy" and any other cute words you choose to describe yourself. You're a tomboy, huh? That's so interesting. You must be such a fun girl, oooh, what a little tomboy you are! You are so fucking annoying.
You were talking the other day about how you've decided to put together a collection of songs to make a "soundtrack for your life". I have some suggestions; are there any songs called "Annoying fucking bitch" or "Stupid idiot ass hat"? WHo the fuck makes up a soundtrack to their life, and then walks around work telling everyone about it? I'm so happy the Foo Fighters represent your loss of virginity. I came into work this morning hoping for just such a tidbit about your fucking personal life. Did it ever occur to you that the thought of you naked (and no doubt still blathering about yourself) would make people actually want to vomit? Of course, the only time you have ever had sex was probably that glorious night; I can't imagine any guy wanting to hang out with your sick ass any longer than the 2 seconds it would take to deflower you. Hey, maybe you actually shut up for that 2 seconds and that's how it happened.
Please, please cut it out. Go away. Go do some WORK. Stop drinking so much, I'm sick of hearing about your nights out, and then the intensity of your hangovers. It's lame. You're lame. You're retarded.
Good for you, you drink. You dye your hair. Yes, you have a tongue ring. I know. You're so very different from the rest of us, your trials in life so much more difficult, your personality so unique, your interests so unusual. Fuck off please. Go drink at Velvet Underground or whatever alternative club you feel most "at home" in. JUST FUCK OFF."
"I have $1,000 in booze, and you have a failed marriage
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I want to get married. I'm a student with a couple of part time jobs, and I'm just trying to get my education finished quickly so I can go back to working full time. I've got a great girlfriend, and I think that it's finally time to bump it up a notch.
What I'm looking to do is to help some poor dude who spent way too much money on a diamond ring, and then watched his life fall apart into a crushing pit of despair. Maybe you finally got rid of your evil ex-wife and you're looking to booze it up with some floozies. You’ll need a bunch of great booze to begin your new life of intoxication, and this is what I can provide to you.
We all know that the jewelry business is pretty rough on the little guy; the cartel pricing structure makes anything of a respectable size very expensive. Try to sell that $5,000 ring back to a jeweler and you'll be extremely lucky to be offered $1,000 on a good day. Let's help each other out.
I have a bunch of great booze to trade, and I need a diamond ring. Ideally, I'd like a solitaire set in either white gold or platinum. Loose stones are perfectly acceptable, too.
Bruichladdich 15 year First Edition single malt
Bruichladdich 20 year Second Edition single malt
Woodford Reserve Four Grain #863 of 9360
1.5 Liter bottle of Seagram’s Grapefruit gin
El Mayor Reposado tequila
Four bottles of St George’s single malt (One Lot 3, two Lot 5, and one Lot 6)
Four bottles of Dubonnet Green Crème de Menthe (No idea why I have these)
McClellan’s Islay single malt
2004 Babcock Cabernet
Cazadores Reposado tequila
Mount Gay Vanilla rum
Mount Gay Mango rum
Also, I have “The Minibar.” I built this with the plan of putting it in a guest bedroom, but minibottles are way too expensive to replace after my freeloading friends drank ‘em up. I wound up using it as a cool display for my living room, and it looks great. 54 airline bottles of all types, and there’s some really fancy stuff here that you don’t normally see in airliners.
Balvenie 10, Balvenie 12, Balvenie 15, Glenfiddich 18, Glenfiddich 15, Glenfiddich 12, Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey, Jameson’s, Wild Turkey, Booker’s, Baker’s, Knob Creek, Basil Hayden, Martel XO, Frangelico, Jagermeister, Milagro Silver, Jim Beam, Seagram’s 7, Seagram’s VO, Crown Royal, Disarrono, Godiva Dark, Starbuck’s Crème, Starbucks Café, Bailey’s Irish Cream, Merlyn’s Irish Cream, Myer’s Dark Rum, Captain Morgan, Bacardi Superior, Pearl Persephone, Chopin, Grey Goose Orange, Grey Goose Lemon, Grey Goose, Bacardi Limon, Bacardi Green Apple, Bacardi O, Bombay Sapphire, Tanqueray Ten, Vox, Vox Raspberry, Vox Green Apple, Absolut Mandrin, Absolute Vanilla, Absolut Apeach, Absolut Raspberry, Smirnoff Citrus, Smirnoff Orange, Smirnoff Raspberry, Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo, Everclear, Captain Morgan Tattoo."
Last edited by Hootad Binky; 21st January 2007 at 02:25. Reason: Automerged Doublepost
The Time I Lost Control of My Bowels on the Water Slide
My last few months have been racked with guilt and shame over a horrible incident and the need to purge myself has become overwhelming. So I turn to you for a compassionate ear.
Last summer, I took my girlfriend, I'll call her Beulah, and her son, I'll call him Eugene, to a water amusement park, attempting to nurture the bond that was forming between us. After a busy morning of paddleboats and bumper cars, we took a moment to refresh ourselves with a hardy lunch of chili dogs, cheese fries, and lemonade. Relaxing under shade trees, Eugene smiled a chili-smeared grin, as the sun cast its languid glow over the park. With the leisurely picnic ending, we hastily dispersed to the changing rooms, in anticipation of our next adventure—the giant water slide.
During our first run, I noticed a gnawing, internal discomfort, although the first sure signs of brown-capping weren’t apparent until Eugene and I climbed the half-mile of stairs to the summit, for our second run. Unfortunately, I had taken the opportunity, to wear a most-revealing, blue Speedo, in the hope of further enamoring myself to the beautiful Beulah. Lord knows, I have the body to accommodate such a blatant, public display of manhood.
However, I soon began to regret my decision, for the sharp, cut of the elastic dug into my swelling, gaseous abdomen. My intestines were bubbling like a whirlpool. By the time we reached the loading platform at the summit, I was squirming in wretched misery. Considering my options, I surmised that taking the slide was far more promising than fighting my way back down the stairs, through the crowd. Thank God I was next in line. My trouble would soon be over. The only obstacle before me was an elderly German tourist, staring pensively at the wild rapids. With obvious reservation, he shuffled slowly toward the mouth of the blue tunnel. Beyond the point of pleasantries, I bellowed, “Come on, Pops! Shake a leg!”
Turning toward the acne-pocked boy who was managing the ride that day, he made a feeble attempt in his native tongue to communicate his apprehension. I had no other choice! The brown star pulsated—nearing supernova. The manager boy recoiled in shock as I pushed the old man down the slide, headfirst. Cursing me with hostile foreign jibberish, he disappeared around the first turn. In an instant, I followed, hurling myself down the slick, plastic vortex.
The fury of the slide was incredible. Rolling and spinning, I gathered speed quickly. The angle of the chute dipped to nearly seventy degrees, increasing my velocity as I careened from side to side, the water turning to white, angry foam. Ricocheting from a high, banking wall, the impact smashed me like some fecal-laden pinata. I lost control, discharging a foul, liquid trail.
A child screamed somewhere behind me, as I slid toward certain humiliation below. Frantically, I grabbed at the back of my Speedo, in a desperate attempt to flush myself clean. To my dismay, a fetid school of dung-guppies spilled into the churning maelstrom.
Nearing the final turn, the old man was standing upright in the tunnel in front of me, I’m sure, to exact some sort of revenge. His sinewy muscles were tensed, rage filled his dilated eyes. But with youth, and gravity, on my side, I swiftly took him out at the ankles. A palsied hand grabbed me as we tumbled out of the chute, and into the pool.
Moments later, a wailing boy fell behind us, riding the crest of a polluted wave. Thinking fast, I collared the old man, and dragged him onto the concrete deck. A lifeguard confronted us as people ran screaming from the pool in pale-faced terror. I explained to the guard how the old man had soiled the waters, how obviously the speed and excitement had proven too much for a man of his age and condition.
Unable to comprehend my story, or explain himself, the old man could only respond with a flurry of incomprehensible shrieks, vective, and obscene gestures. I suggested that he was hysterical from embarassment and that in the best interests of everyone that he be removed from the park—immediately.
The guard eyed me with suspicion, but had no alternative but to believe my story. Fortunately, the force of the waters had washed me thoroughly of any incriminating evidence. I gathered Beulah and Eugene, and made a dash for the parking lot. I’m sure the truth eventually surfaced, but not until we were safely on the interstate, heading back home."
Last edited by Hootad Binky; 21st January 2007 at 02:24. Reason: Automerged Doublepost