Saturday, April 08, 2006
PART 1
Let me preface this blog by explaining that this list is a sampling of shit that bothers me. I have already made a 70 plus itemized list (check former blogs) of shit, and I will do more as stuff approaches me. If I come across as selfish, insensitive, and not caring, then congratulations, you finally understand me!
A.) I hate ANYONE who puts music on their MySpace page. Let me repeat, I HATE ANYONE & EVERYONE who puts music on their MySpace page. I love rap, and I do not even care if it is some Biggie or Dre, I do not want to hear it. First off, there is nothing more annoying than checking people's pages while bored at work, and having shitty music blaring suddenly like a concert. Sure, I could turn my speakers off, but why should I, you fucks? I need the speakers so the computer can beep at me when I put the amount of the checks in the wrong column. I am not jerking myself off muting and un-muting my computer depending on what web pages I view at work. Secondly, most people do not like the crappy music on your page! Nobody cares if you have the newest single from "Airplane Ride from Sally" or some garbage underground band that nobody ever heard of. Underground is just another term for sucks. If you had even remotely a little talent, a record label would have picked you up by now. Stop forcing the rest of us to seek the pause button with record speed on the page. And to the certain few who don't use that standard MySpace music player where I have the pause button location memorized, I hope you get full-blown AIDS. Somehow, the die-hard MySpace geeks know a way to play music so nobody can silence it, and I hope you shitheads are silenced permanently.
A1.) The other thing that burns my ass is fancy profiles. I like to read people's pages and comments; I really want to hear "About You" & "Who you would like to meet." The remote chance that under a hot broad's who she would like to meet is a 26 year old bank teller who lives at home, I need to read that! If you have stupid pictures in the background with white text, you can't read shit. Shit falling down or flashing makes me feel like I am having a seizure. All I want to do is read, I do not need a damn laser light show. I promise to all who read my page, I will NEVER have music and anything other than the default MySpace background.
B.) I hate strangers. Last night I was content losing money at my video poker machine. I got a couple four-of-a-kinds, but I was hoping for the five-of-a-kind, which would have paid me 5000 quarters! That would have been enough scratch to hire a clean, white hooker, and eat the breakfast buffet! Unfortunately, I would have had to pay for the entire hour, even though I only would use 3 minutes. By 3 minutes, I mean clothes off and clean-up are included. I guess for the 57 other minutes, I could have her do my laundry or clean the place up a little, but it was a hotel room, so who gives a shit. Anyway, I digress. So, I was concentrating on the machine when some dead lady sits next to me. She asks me what my strategy is. Then before I can reply, she lights up a Marlboro Red. I hate the smell of cigarettes, even though I had a cigar. Yes, they are two different smells, and I cannot take the smell of cigarettes. Now I get this lady bothering me, and blowing full flavored cancer at me. She gave me a warm welcome to Marlboro Country, and I was not impressed. I am not the total asshole that many of you think I am, so I humor her for a little. I explain to her I always keep a pair, and ditch any payout that requires more than 2 cards to complete. She was content, but now she is going to analyze each hand, and ask why I didn't keep certain cards. She was nice, so I couldn't be a total dick to her, and I was winning a lot of hands, so I didn't want to leave the machine. Now she begins to explain how she is waiting for the Bee Gee's tribute show to start. So, we pass around another few lines of small talk, and then she decided it was time to go find her friend. While this little old lady was harmless, it made me remember how much I hate strangers in public.
B1.) These people are called "Small-Talkers" in my book. You know this type of scumbag; they feel association is enough in common to talk. Example one, you are waiting in line at a fast food dump on your lunch break, and this guy is behind you. He begins with a simple one-liner like, "Boy, could this line move any slower?" He then waits for someone to join in his rant. Even a simple turning around will seal your entry into his world. Being on the "other side" in the working world, I understand the last thing a cashier at McDonald's needs is some guy making these comments. When I hear them at the bank, I automatically cut my speed in half. The line is probably moving slow because the person at the front is a problem. Typically, they have coupons, want the clerk to find a certain toy for their shitty, spoiled, fucking child, or are complaining about the quality of their food. If people just approached the counter, ordered their meal by number, paid, and moved over, the line would move really fast. One day, I am going to turn around and explain this theory to a small talker, but he probably won't listen to reason any point that does not validify his own.
B2.) Example Two: You are in line at Target, Wal-Mart, Caldor, or Path Mark and you get a similar small talker, usually a woman. She begins with usually a huff or puff, and sometimes both combined. The problem here is a long check out line. She might make a general comment like, "Why can't they open any more registers?" She then pauses and waits for an audience. I also ignore cunts like this, because you do not need to be in Target at 3PM buying a gallon of milk, jeans, and a coffee table. Go get your milk at Wawa, and stop spending money on the other useless shit. Here is the deal, you bitch. If they could open more registers, they probably would! People who work in these stores don't want you in the store longer than you have to be. Believe us; if we could let you walk out the door without paying, we would just to get rid of you and your better-than-us attitude. If you were in that much of a hurry, you should budget your time better. Each additional cashier is a cost for the company, and they want to make as much profit as possible. Knowing that you are not going to abandon an entire cart of groceries because there are long lines, the companies got us by the balls. Be fucking happy we have stores with food in them, and you have money to feed your shitty family. You have nothing else to do all day except waste your husband's money with other cackling hens in your neighborhood, so shut up!
C.) I hate kids, well most of them. Every so often you see kids that are well-behaved, which means good parents. You know the kids that sit at a restaurant quietly and smile and laugh all throughout the meal. Those kids are fine; they might even be considered cute. The rest of the monsters deserve to get their voice boxes torn out with rusty ice picks. NOTHING ruins a good meal like hearing a fucking 3 year old scream at full decibel. The useless parents just sit there and try to sssh them. Guess what, that doesn't work anymore than asking it what's wrong. If the shitty kid is that disruptive, you might re-consider bringing it out in public, or at least taking it outdoors to calm it down. Yeah, I know people will give me the "wait until you have kids" shit. Guess what, I do NOT want kids! I do not want to pay for their freeloading asses, I do not want to pay for more college, and I surely do not want to support them until they are 26 and still live at home. Even if I had kids for whatever reason, I would have the common decency to take my child outside, to the car, or to the rest room to calm it down. It is more obnoxious than anything to let a child scream in public. I propose restaurants offer baby or non-baby sections instead of smoking. I would sooner have a 90 year old woman blow Pall Malls in my face during supper than listen to a fucking baby scream. This can be applied anywhere, not just restaurants. From working at Target for 4.5 years, I have heard many shitty kids scream their way through the building. The parents continue to shop as if they are deaf. Perhaps I should scream at my loudest in their ears to see if they like it. Please, leave your shitty kids at home, nobody likes them except you. Nothing about them is cute. It is not cute when a kid throws his drink on the floor, it is not cute when a kid puts crayons in their nose, and it is far from cute when your little kid stands up on the booth and turns around. I do not want your ugly fucking kid looking at me when I am trying to enjoy my $20 steak. A double fuck you goes out to anyone who humors such behavior by talking to the kid when it stands up and turns around at a restaurant.
D.) I hate birthday celebrations in restaurants. Anyone who goes to supper with me knows this well. No matter what restaurant, what time, what day, it is always someone's fucking birthday when I go to eat. Ask Vinny, Tim, or Reinhold, every Wednesday we go to eat there is a birthday. They will sing and clap for a birthday, even if that restaurant doesn't offer the promotion. They will do it because they know I am there. The fucking wait staff needs to stop serving their tables and sing birthday songs like a cancer patient needs a cigarette. When I am parched and dying for a Diet Coke, my waitress is off singing to some 16 year old girl as their friends laugh like it is the first time this was ever done. To make shit worse, every restaurant has their own birthday song complete with clapping and other irritating shit. Apparently the asshole who wrote "Happy Birthday" has it copyrighted, and nobody wants to pay the royalties, so they make their own. Freeloading scumbags will pull off a fake birthday to get a free scoop of ice cream, a sliver of stale cake, and a shitty candle. I would ask for a license after they eat their "free" dessert, and if the birthday does not match, you get charged for the food. That would stop half the problems. Secondly, what kind of scumbag brings anyone to a chain restaurant to celebrate their birthday? How degrading to have the whole restaurant stare at you and some stray assholes clap and cheer for you. Birthdays are depressing enough without having 5 underpaid waitresses at Friday's bring you a scoop of free vanilla ice cream. Next time bring me out a noose, and clap as I put it around my neck and lace it up to the rafters. Right after the first note, someone please pull the chair from my feet.
Originally Posted: 08 March 2006
A.) I hate ANYONE who puts music on their MySpace page. Let me repeat, I HATE ANYONE & EVERYONE who puts music on their MySpace page. I love rap, and I do not even care if it is some Biggie or Dre, I do not want to hear it. First off, there is nothing more annoying than checking people's pages while bored at work, and having shitty music blaring suddenly like a concert. Sure, I could turn my speakers off, but why should I, you fucks? I need the speakers so the computer can beep at me when I put the amount of the checks in the wrong column. I am not jerking myself off muting and un-muting my computer depending on what web pages I view at work. Secondly, most people do not like the crappy music on your page! Nobody cares if you have the newest single from "Airplane Ride from Sally" or some garbage underground band that nobody ever heard of. Underground is just another term for sucks. If you had even remotely a little talent, a record label would have picked you up by now. Stop forcing the rest of us to seek the pause button with record speed on the page. And to the certain few who don't use that standard MySpace music player where I have the pause button location memorized, I hope you get full-blown AIDS. Somehow, the die-hard MySpace geeks know a way to play music so nobody can silence it, and I hope you shitheads are silenced permanently.
A1.) The other thing that burns my ass is fancy profiles. I like to read people's pages and comments; I really want to hear "About You" & "Who you would like to meet." The remote chance that under a hot broad's who she would like to meet is a 26 year old bank teller who lives at home, I need to read that! If you have stupid pictures in the background with white text, you can't read shit. Shit falling down or flashing makes me feel like I am having a seizure. All I want to do is read, I do not need a damn laser light show. I promise to all who read my page, I will NEVER have music and anything other than the default MySpace background.
B.) I hate strangers. Last night I was content losing money at my video poker machine. I got a couple four-of-a-kinds, but I was hoping for the five-of-a-kind, which would have paid me 5000 quarters! That would have been enough scratch to hire a clean, white hooker, and eat the breakfast buffet! Unfortunately, I would have had to pay for the entire hour, even though I only would use 3 minutes. By 3 minutes, I mean clothes off and clean-up are included. I guess for the 57 other minutes, I could have her do my laundry or clean the place up a little, but it was a hotel room, so who gives a shit. Anyway, I digress. So, I was concentrating on the machine when some dead lady sits next to me. She asks me what my strategy is. Then before I can reply, she lights up a Marlboro Red. I hate the smell of cigarettes, even though I had a cigar. Yes, they are two different smells, and I cannot take the smell of cigarettes. Now I get this lady bothering me, and blowing full flavored cancer at me. She gave me a warm welcome to Marlboro Country, and I was not impressed. I am not the total asshole that many of you think I am, so I humor her for a little. I explain to her I always keep a pair, and ditch any payout that requires more than 2 cards to complete. She was content, but now she is going to analyze each hand, and ask why I didn't keep certain cards. She was nice, so I couldn't be a total dick to her, and I was winning a lot of hands, so I didn't want to leave the machine. Now she begins to explain how she is waiting for the Bee Gee's tribute show to start. So, we pass around another few lines of small talk, and then she decided it was time to go find her friend. While this little old lady was harmless, it made me remember how much I hate strangers in public.
B1.) These people are called "Small-Talkers" in my book. You know this type of scumbag; they feel association is enough in common to talk. Example one, you are waiting in line at a fast food dump on your lunch break, and this guy is behind you. He begins with a simple one-liner like, "Boy, could this line move any slower?" He then waits for someone to join in his rant. Even a simple turning around will seal your entry into his world. Being on the "other side" in the working world, I understand the last thing a cashier at McDonald's needs is some guy making these comments. When I hear them at the bank, I automatically cut my speed in half. The line is probably moving slow because the person at the front is a problem. Typically, they have coupons, want the clerk to find a certain toy for their shitty, spoiled, fucking child, or are complaining about the quality of their food. If people just approached the counter, ordered their meal by number, paid, and moved over, the line would move really fast. One day, I am going to turn around and explain this theory to a small talker, but he probably won't listen to reason any point that does not validify his own.
B2.) Example Two: You are in line at Target, Wal-Mart, Caldor, or Path Mark and you get a similar small talker, usually a woman. She begins with usually a huff or puff, and sometimes both combined. The problem here is a long check out line. She might make a general comment like, "Why can't they open any more registers?" She then pauses and waits for an audience. I also ignore cunts like this, because you do not need to be in Target at 3PM buying a gallon of milk, jeans, and a coffee table. Go get your milk at Wawa, and stop spending money on the other useless shit. Here is the deal, you bitch. If they could open more registers, they probably would! People who work in these stores don't want you in the store longer than you have to be. Believe us; if we could let you walk out the door without paying, we would just to get rid of you and your better-than-us attitude. If you were in that much of a hurry, you should budget your time better. Each additional cashier is a cost for the company, and they want to make as much profit as possible. Knowing that you are not going to abandon an entire cart of groceries because there are long lines, the companies got us by the balls. Be fucking happy we have stores with food in them, and you have money to feed your shitty family. You have nothing else to do all day except waste your husband's money with other cackling hens in your neighborhood, so shut up!
C.) I hate kids, well most of them. Every so often you see kids that are well-behaved, which means good parents. You know the kids that sit at a restaurant quietly and smile and laugh all throughout the meal. Those kids are fine; they might even be considered cute. The rest of the monsters deserve to get their voice boxes torn out with rusty ice picks. NOTHING ruins a good meal like hearing a fucking 3 year old scream at full decibel. The useless parents just sit there and try to sssh them. Guess what, that doesn't work anymore than asking it what's wrong. If the shitty kid is that disruptive, you might re-consider bringing it out in public, or at least taking it outdoors to calm it down. Yeah, I know people will give me the "wait until you have kids" shit. Guess what, I do NOT want kids! I do not want to pay for their freeloading asses, I do not want to pay for more college, and I surely do not want to support them until they are 26 and still live at home. Even if I had kids for whatever reason, I would have the common decency to take my child outside, to the car, or to the rest room to calm it down. It is more obnoxious than anything to let a child scream in public. I propose restaurants offer baby or non-baby sections instead of smoking. I would sooner have a 90 year old woman blow Pall Malls in my face during supper than listen to a fucking baby scream. This can be applied anywhere, not just restaurants. From working at Target for 4.5 years, I have heard many shitty kids scream their way through the building. The parents continue to shop as if they are deaf. Perhaps I should scream at my loudest in their ears to see if they like it. Please, leave your shitty kids at home, nobody likes them except you. Nothing about them is cute. It is not cute when a kid throws his drink on the floor, it is not cute when a kid puts crayons in their nose, and it is far from cute when your little kid stands up on the booth and turns around. I do not want your ugly fucking kid looking at me when I am trying to enjoy my $20 steak. A double fuck you goes out to anyone who humors such behavior by talking to the kid when it stands up and turns around at a restaurant.
D.) I hate birthday celebrations in restaurants. Anyone who goes to supper with me knows this well. No matter what restaurant, what time, what day, it is always someone's fucking birthday when I go to eat. Ask Vinny, Tim, or Reinhold, every Wednesday we go to eat there is a birthday. They will sing and clap for a birthday, even if that restaurant doesn't offer the promotion. They will do it because they know I am there. The fucking wait staff needs to stop serving their tables and sing birthday songs like a cancer patient needs a cigarette. When I am parched and dying for a Diet Coke, my waitress is off singing to some 16 year old girl as their friends laugh like it is the first time this was ever done. To make shit worse, every restaurant has their own birthday song complete with clapping and other irritating shit. Apparently the asshole who wrote "Happy Birthday" has it copyrighted, and nobody wants to pay the royalties, so they make their own. Freeloading scumbags will pull off a fake birthday to get a free scoop of ice cream, a sliver of stale cake, and a shitty candle. I would ask for a license after they eat their "free" dessert, and if the birthday does not match, you get charged for the food. That would stop half the problems. Secondly, what kind of scumbag brings anyone to a chain restaurant to celebrate their birthday? How degrading to have the whole restaurant stare at you and some stray assholes clap and cheer for you. Birthdays are depressing enough without having 5 underpaid waitresses at Friday's bring you a scoop of free vanilla ice cream. Next time bring me out a noose, and clap as I put it around my neck and lace it up to the rafters. Right after the first note, someone please pull the chair from my feet.
Originally Posted: 08 March 2006
PART 2
Here we sit on Monday, March 27. My last day at Target was supposed to be yesterday, March 26, but I was not placed on the schedule. I guess that was supposed to hurt my feelings. I gave 3 weeks notice to be a good sport, and finish out March in style. However, I am officially retired from retail now. Even if I worked yesterday, I had no fun planned, I was just going to work through my shift and perhaps relax in patio furniture. Mark my word, and this isn't one of things I go back on like cutting my hair or going out with a Lacey broad. Dave Lansing will never work in retail again. Retail is filled with the scum of the earth who want the most merchandise for the lowest price. Some people still wouldn't even be happy if you let them push the cart out the door without paying. I hate people, and my hatred extends beyond just the retail scene. I hate people in stores, malls, restaurants, churches, funerals, weddings, on the road, at the bank, and any place where I am at any given moment. If I was the only person left on the earth tomorrow, I would celebrate. Just give me enough White Castle and internet porn to get me through the next few years. So, with that out of the way, it is time for another compilation of things that people can do to irritate me worse than a rash after you fucked a black hooker without protection.
A. The Name Game. Scum would do this at Target all the time, "Hey Dave, can you tell me where you keep the Astroglide?" Guess what, fuck-face, you don't know me, and you couldn't pay me to know you, so don't use my name. It is not cool, cute, fun, handy, or earning you any respect by me. This led me to wearing name tags from such former employees like Fred & Juan. Therefore, when they asked Juan where the extra small condoms were, I would happily point the way. Even better, when they went to routinely complain about my service, it was like pissing in the wind.
B. Video Games. You truly have to hate kids, or work in a place that has shit locked up in cases to appreciate this. Target had video games locked up behind glass so ethnics couldn't steal them. Also, we locked up I-Pods, Portable DVD players, and pre-paid cellular phones. Kids would love to ask me to look at the back of the game. This would mean I have to unlock the game case, let them read the back of Madden 2006 as if it was any different from 2005, and stand there like a moron as this 12 year old told me how cool the game was. I wanted to tell him how cooler it would be if he suffered a seizure from playing those things. Of course the little shits wouldn't buy it, so I got to put the game back and walk away. Now, I did not care if the company made money, but this wasted my solid time I could have spent reading Cosmo or Seventeen Prom. Towards the end, I solved this by telling the kids they needed their parents to look at games. This was 80% effective because most parents will not waste their time standing around watching their shitty kids read video game covers. I am not sure if I hate kids or video games more.
C. Pre-Paid Cellular Telephones. There are 3 kinds of people who purchase pre-paid phones. One, shitbags with piss-poor credit. Two, people who do not want to be traced, but still want a phone. Three, parents who feel their 12 year old child needs a phone. I wish cancer on numbers one and three. If you fucked up your credit by not paying your credit cards, you are an asshole. If you defaulted on any loan, you are an asshole. If you got your car repossessed because paying the car note wasn't your thing, you are an asshole. Basically, only assholes have bad credit, which leads to you being a scumbag. Buying the $50 Boost (Fake-Nextel) phone so you can pay $1 a day to direct connect other assholes just like you, does not make you cool. Perhaps you should save your money, and pay off your debt to get your credit score above a 400. Parents, if you buy your child a cellular phone under the age of 14, you are a horrible parent. I do not want to hear how you want to stay in touch with a kid. Under 14, you better know where the kid is at all times. I told my mom or dad which house or place I would be at after school. There is no need for a 12 year old to call another. On a similar note, Nextel should re-name their company to Douche-Tel. Only douchebags use Nextels. They are easy to spot, you can hear them beeping clear across a store or bar. If you want a walkie-talkie, go get a set of radios. The rest of the world does not care to hear your mindless babble. Followed by the beeping, you hear a robot-like person on the speaker at full deafening. Nextel should use this slogan in their ads; "Nextel, when being a douchebag just isn't enough."
D. Cellular Etiquette. This should be common sense, but I feel we need to go over it again. Cell phones are no longer a luxury, and we know everyone has one. You don't need to walk around public places talking in the phone as if you are home on a Sunday. Nobody cares to hear half a conversation of some loser with a Brooklyn Fade talking about how much beer he drank, how much sex he had, or how much money he has. Chances are he jerks off alone, drinks two Zima's and is three sheets to the wind, and falls under the $100 Commerce monthly minimum balance 11 out of 12 months a year. Next, if you have a musical ringtone, death cannot come soon enough to get you. Guess what morons, your phone sounds nothing like a CD player or a radio. Just because you think something you downloaded sounds like Kelly Clarkson or Jay Z, doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer. Ringtones sound nothing like the actual song, and even if it did, your taste in music would probably suck. The only way a cell phone ringtone sounds like Kelly Clarkson would be if she recorded that same song in a wheel chair after a stroke with a permanent speech impediment. Not to mention the band would have to be on Acid, and bought their instruments from a high school band room surplus sale. If you want people to hear your shitty music, go get a ghetto blaster, put 10 D batteries in the back, and get your best cassettes out. Finally, I need to address text messaging. Text messaging is also for assholes. Obviously, you do not care for the person if you are too lazy to dial the number to speak to them. Also, if you insist on being a texting low-life, most phones will notify you with lights and/or beeping when a message is received. This means, you do NOT have to flip the phone 100 times a minute to check for a message. I doubt Donald Trump get enough phone calls to warrant that frequency of checking. I hope phone companies charge $500 per message. Everywhere you look at bars, clubs, stores, restaurants, people are dancing their little fingers around a keypad to bang out a message. I wish carpal tunnel syndrome on anyone who text messages on their phones. I would like to catch some whore sending a message to her whore friend about how she got double teamed by 2 black guys, for a total of 30 feet of cock, and post it on a billboard. Sure, it would be costly, but a lesson might be learned. Not to mention the broad wouldn't be able to walk for a month, after such an evening of double penetration. The lesson here, a cell phone should be used for short conversations. Anything over 4 minutes, you are a douche-bag, and call the person when you get home.
E. Incognito Employees. Let me set the scene for you non-believers out there. Busy Sunday at Target, and there are tons of employees working the sales floor. Every employee has khaki pants on with some variation of a red shirt. Name tags are not important, since a red shirt and khaki pants would stick out worse than David Duke at the million man march. Furthermore, most employees have a two-way radio on their belt, and a handheld "price" gun. Walking up to such an individual to ask if they work here is like finding a man in a hospital wearing a white jacket, stethoscope around his neck, and hundred dollar bills falling out his pocket only to ask if he is a doctor. I should have told the people red is my favorite color, and I often organize shelves in stores just to waste time on weekends.
F. Mismatched Food Critics. The other day I was having a superb lunch at The Christ (Wendy's). I was awating my order to be assembled when some piece of shit old woman came up to the counter with a burger unwrapped and open for inspection. I, and the lady behind the counter knew this was trouble. If there was a way to hide, I am sure the whole staff would have. So, such lady begins to explain how these hamburgers are dried out. One is unwrapped, and has a few bites taken out. Burger number two is still kitchen wrapped, and has not been inspected. This cunt assumed that if the first burger is bad, the other one must be too. Now I begin to wonder about how a Wendy's burger can be dried out. Wendy's is one of the better places, their burgers are made fresh and always juicy. Maybe the woman let the food sit too long as she was yapping with the other woman, and it is now cold. Even if the burger is dried out, it is a fucking fast food restaurant. You don't drive a 1996 Hyundai to the dealership wondering why there was no navigation system or heated seats included. If your cheap welfare ass went to a real restaurant, you might get a better quality piece of meat. However, I still stick with my story, and I would put money that nothing was wrong with either of her hamburgers. The sad thing was, I overheard the clerk whisper to another how she knew this woman was going to be a problem. I have developed the same sense at the bank. I can tell by your walk from the car to my teller line what kind of guff you will be giving us today.
G. Maintain a Safe Distance. I hate people, so therefore I am a magnet. Myself and Vinny attract people like flies on shit. Case study: Burger King, post-lunch, me, Vinny, and two other customers in the lobby. Customer #1 is at a table in front, Customer #2 is near #1, but maintains the safety barrier. Vinny and I sit in a corner, against the window/wall away from all other patrons. The next customer takes their tray and sits at the table right next to us. You obviously hear us talking about sex, porn, broads, and other disgusting shit, so why come anywhere near us assholes. This is not a one time deal, this repeats itself all the time with me. One night Vinny and I were at the Colonel, and we were the only damn people in the lobby. We sat in the corner, away from the whole restaurant. Some piece of shit lady and her even shittier kid sits right behind us. The damn kid stands up on the bench and proceeds to stare at Vinny and I. I hate kids to begin with, and why the fuck would you sit so close to people in an empty restaurant. I do not give off a warm and inviting charm to the general public, so this one is a mystery to me. If I could sit in the basement by myself and eat my shitty food, I would just to be away from screaming kids, text messaging, and ringtones.
Originally Posted: 27 March 2006
A. The Name Game. Scum would do this at Target all the time, "Hey Dave, can you tell me where you keep the Astroglide?" Guess what, fuck-face, you don't know me, and you couldn't pay me to know you, so don't use my name. It is not cool, cute, fun, handy, or earning you any respect by me. This led me to wearing name tags from such former employees like Fred & Juan. Therefore, when they asked Juan where the extra small condoms were, I would happily point the way. Even better, when they went to routinely complain about my service, it was like pissing in the wind.
B. Video Games. You truly have to hate kids, or work in a place that has shit locked up in cases to appreciate this. Target had video games locked up behind glass so ethnics couldn't steal them. Also, we locked up I-Pods, Portable DVD players, and pre-paid cellular phones. Kids would love to ask me to look at the back of the game. This would mean I have to unlock the game case, let them read the back of Madden 2006 as if it was any different from 2005, and stand there like a moron as this 12 year old told me how cool the game was. I wanted to tell him how cooler it would be if he suffered a seizure from playing those things. Of course the little shits wouldn't buy it, so I got to put the game back and walk away. Now, I did not care if the company made money, but this wasted my solid time I could have spent reading Cosmo or Seventeen Prom. Towards the end, I solved this by telling the kids they needed their parents to look at games. This was 80% effective because most parents will not waste their time standing around watching their shitty kids read video game covers. I am not sure if I hate kids or video games more.
C. Pre-Paid Cellular Telephones. There are 3 kinds of people who purchase pre-paid phones. One, shitbags with piss-poor credit. Two, people who do not want to be traced, but still want a phone. Three, parents who feel their 12 year old child needs a phone. I wish cancer on numbers one and three. If you fucked up your credit by not paying your credit cards, you are an asshole. If you defaulted on any loan, you are an asshole. If you got your car repossessed because paying the car note wasn't your thing, you are an asshole. Basically, only assholes have bad credit, which leads to you being a scumbag. Buying the $50 Boost (Fake-Nextel) phone so you can pay $1 a day to direct connect other assholes just like you, does not make you cool. Perhaps you should save your money, and pay off your debt to get your credit score above a 400. Parents, if you buy your child a cellular phone under the age of 14, you are a horrible parent. I do not want to hear how you want to stay in touch with a kid. Under 14, you better know where the kid is at all times. I told my mom or dad which house or place I would be at after school. There is no need for a 12 year old to call another. On a similar note, Nextel should re-name their company to Douche-Tel. Only douchebags use Nextels. They are easy to spot, you can hear them beeping clear across a store or bar. If you want a walkie-talkie, go get a set of radios. The rest of the world does not care to hear your mindless babble. Followed by the beeping, you hear a robot-like person on the speaker at full deafening. Nextel should use this slogan in their ads; "Nextel, when being a douchebag just isn't enough."
D. Cellular Etiquette. This should be common sense, but I feel we need to go over it again. Cell phones are no longer a luxury, and we know everyone has one. You don't need to walk around public places talking in the phone as if you are home on a Sunday. Nobody cares to hear half a conversation of some loser with a Brooklyn Fade talking about how much beer he drank, how much sex he had, or how much money he has. Chances are he jerks off alone, drinks two Zima's and is three sheets to the wind, and falls under the $100 Commerce monthly minimum balance 11 out of 12 months a year. Next, if you have a musical ringtone, death cannot come soon enough to get you. Guess what morons, your phone sounds nothing like a CD player or a radio. Just because you think something you downloaded sounds like Kelly Clarkson or Jay Z, doesn't mean the rest of us have to suffer. Ringtones sound nothing like the actual song, and even if it did, your taste in music would probably suck. The only way a cell phone ringtone sounds like Kelly Clarkson would be if she recorded that same song in a wheel chair after a stroke with a permanent speech impediment. Not to mention the band would have to be on Acid, and bought their instruments from a high school band room surplus sale. If you want people to hear your shitty music, go get a ghetto blaster, put 10 D batteries in the back, and get your best cassettes out. Finally, I need to address text messaging. Text messaging is also for assholes. Obviously, you do not care for the person if you are too lazy to dial the number to speak to them. Also, if you insist on being a texting low-life, most phones will notify you with lights and/or beeping when a message is received. This means, you do NOT have to flip the phone 100 times a minute to check for a message. I doubt Donald Trump get enough phone calls to warrant that frequency of checking. I hope phone companies charge $500 per message. Everywhere you look at bars, clubs, stores, restaurants, people are dancing their little fingers around a keypad to bang out a message. I wish carpal tunnel syndrome on anyone who text messages on their phones. I would like to catch some whore sending a message to her whore friend about how she got double teamed by 2 black guys, for a total of 30 feet of cock, and post it on a billboard. Sure, it would be costly, but a lesson might be learned. Not to mention the broad wouldn't be able to walk for a month, after such an evening of double penetration. The lesson here, a cell phone should be used for short conversations. Anything over 4 minutes, you are a douche-bag, and call the person when you get home.
E. Incognito Employees. Let me set the scene for you non-believers out there. Busy Sunday at Target, and there are tons of employees working the sales floor. Every employee has khaki pants on with some variation of a red shirt. Name tags are not important, since a red shirt and khaki pants would stick out worse than David Duke at the million man march. Furthermore, most employees have a two-way radio on their belt, and a handheld "price" gun. Walking up to such an individual to ask if they work here is like finding a man in a hospital wearing a white jacket, stethoscope around his neck, and hundred dollar bills falling out his pocket only to ask if he is a doctor. I should have told the people red is my favorite color, and I often organize shelves in stores just to waste time on weekends.
F. Mismatched Food Critics. The other day I was having a superb lunch at The Christ (Wendy's). I was awating my order to be assembled when some piece of shit old woman came up to the counter with a burger unwrapped and open for inspection. I, and the lady behind the counter knew this was trouble. If there was a way to hide, I am sure the whole staff would have. So, such lady begins to explain how these hamburgers are dried out. One is unwrapped, and has a few bites taken out. Burger number two is still kitchen wrapped, and has not been inspected. This cunt assumed that if the first burger is bad, the other one must be too. Now I begin to wonder about how a Wendy's burger can be dried out. Wendy's is one of the better places, their burgers are made fresh and always juicy. Maybe the woman let the food sit too long as she was yapping with the other woman, and it is now cold. Even if the burger is dried out, it is a fucking fast food restaurant. You don't drive a 1996 Hyundai to the dealership wondering why there was no navigation system or heated seats included. If your cheap welfare ass went to a real restaurant, you might get a better quality piece of meat. However, I still stick with my story, and I would put money that nothing was wrong with either of her hamburgers. The sad thing was, I overheard the clerk whisper to another how she knew this woman was going to be a problem. I have developed the same sense at the bank. I can tell by your walk from the car to my teller line what kind of guff you will be giving us today.
G. Maintain a Safe Distance. I hate people, so therefore I am a magnet. Myself and Vinny attract people like flies on shit. Case study: Burger King, post-lunch, me, Vinny, and two other customers in the lobby. Customer #1 is at a table in front, Customer #2 is near #1, but maintains the safety barrier. Vinny and I sit in a corner, against the window/wall away from all other patrons. The next customer takes their tray and sits at the table right next to us. You obviously hear us talking about sex, porn, broads, and other disgusting shit, so why come anywhere near us assholes. This is not a one time deal, this repeats itself all the time with me. One night Vinny and I were at the Colonel, and we were the only damn people in the lobby. We sat in the corner, away from the whole restaurant. Some piece of shit lady and her even shittier kid sits right behind us. The damn kid stands up on the bench and proceeds to stare at Vinny and I. I hate kids to begin with, and why the fuck would you sit so close to people in an empty restaurant. I do not give off a warm and inviting charm to the general public, so this one is a mystery to me. If I could sit in the basement by myself and eat my shitty food, I would just to be away from screaming kids, text messaging, and ringtones.
Originally Posted: 27 March 2006
