Tropospheric Water Sports

Let me ask you this: You've just crash-landed in the ocean and you have a choice. You can either A. chance drowning and getting eaten by a shark, or B. snuggle up to a lovely pee-soaked cushion to keep you afloat. Why are these your only two options? Because, you cheap piece of shit, you not only decided to fly Ryanair, but you also forgot to bring on board one measly tiny little pound. You fucking loser.

Ryanair CEO Michael O'Leary seems to think it would be a brilliant idea to make passengers pay for using the toilet on board. I think we long ago blurred the line between necessary travel need and frivolous luxury (half a can of soda vs. the whole thing...you get the idea), so it just makes good sense that we should have to pay to use the toilet on the plane. I actually feel kind of guilty for sitting in my seat without paying a fee. And that little air nozzle? I don't even turn it on, that's stealing air.

The best part about airlines doing this shit is that they are turning passengers away. They wonder why air travel is declining and why they have a hard time filling planes. Oh, maybe they should take a look at how horrible they have made the flying experience, that may offer some insight. Little wonder so many fucking people are driving and taking trains. Although, I can't say that O'Leary has never had a good idea.

The argument is that supplemental revenue generated from the toilet fee would lower overall fares for everyone. Yeah fucking right. I think we've heard that one before. Charges for curb-side check in, charges for checked baggage, charges for beverages on board, charges for certain (still coach-class) seats, seventeen dollars for a cookie? Does this shit all sound familiar? And still fares remain pretty much steady across different carriers. There are airlines who don't charge all this extra shit, and their fares run about the same (or usually lower) than the others. So why charge your customers ridiculous fees to support your fucking inefficiency?

Here's what I say: fuck Ryanair. I swear if I ever get on one of those planes and I have to pee, I will be going in the aisle. What the shit are they going to do to me? Arrest me? For being too poor to pee? Of course I may get really lucky and find a flight attendant who is into water sports.

Don't fuck with the Carrabba's

Since there are one or two new people who have started reading this blog in the last month, if you're not familiar with my experience at Carrabba's, I suggest you first read that entry before you continue, oh yeah and also this.

For the rest of you, we have done it, loyal readers. We've brought the mighty Carrabba's to its knees. Oh, that's right, just read this:

Dear Ryan,

Thank you for taking the time to inform us about your recent experience at Carrabba’s. I’m very sorry that we did not live up to our high standards. We strive to give the very best service to all of our guests no matter what time of the day it is. I hope you can accept our apology and give Carrabba’s another try in the future. Please let us know when you are here so we can make sure your dining experience is wonderful. Again, I am very sorry and I hope to see you soon.

Sincerely,

Lauri ********
Owner
Carrabba's Italian Grill
1701 Crossroads Dr.
Grapevine, Texas 76051

See that shit? Game over, Carrabba's. You are my bitch.

You know, ok, now I'm reading this and it really doesn't seem that Carrabba's is A. on their knees, or B. my bitch. What the fuck? Is that really all I get? A blanket fucking apology and vague promises of possibly some sort of discount on my next visit (which they will surely forget about). That's bullshit.

I'm not sure what I expected, maybe something like this:

Dear Ryan (King of Brilliance, Wit, and all things Delicious),

OH. MY. GOD. Are you serious? I can't believe that shit, and I totally know who was working that night. Oh when I get my hands on Gina I'm gonna cut a bitch. I am SO sorry, my lord. I wish I could convey to you how distraught I am over this whole thing, however the webcam is busted right now. Suffice to say, I am in tears. I'm shakily holding the knife to my wrists right now. Ryan, how could I let this happen to you? I certainly hope your bad date at my restaurant didn't lead to the end of what seems to be an already precarious relationship. Please let me know. If it did I will arrange to deliver to your home many sexy bitches until your needs and desires are fulfilled.

I am going to give you my home phone, cell phone, pager, work phone, and home address. Please let me know next time you would like to go to Carrabba's. After hours is fine, we will open up for you. I will pick you up personally and drive you to dinner, at which point you will be seated in your own personal booth and showered in mozzarella sticks and blow jobs. All drinks will be on the house, of course, and when you're ready for us to pour champagne over your body, you just say the word.

I hope that we can make your second trip to Carrabba's a great experience and make up for the first. My first-born child is already packing her shit up, and I will be selling her into slavery to finance the lifetime supply of gift cards that of course you will receive.

Sincerely,

Lauri ********

Really, like that's so much to ask, Carrabba's? Well, guess what? It's still on: Fuck you, Carrabba's.

The FU in dysfunctional

We all have them, these dysfunctional relationships. There's the awkwardness, the anxiety of what may or may not happen. You're constantly second guessing yourself and wondering if you should call or wait for them to call. Then it happens, the calls. Calling early in the morning, late at night, several times a day. Give me a fucking break. I don't want to talk to you.

So why is it that Bank of America can't get it through their head that our relationship should remain professional? Why the shit are they always calling me at odd hours just to see how I'm doing? What the fuck? I don't care how BofA is doing. Don't get me wrong, I've had my moments, but seriously I've moved on.

"We've seen an escalation in identity theft and we just want to make sure you're ok." See, this is exactly why I tried to break off contact with you, BofA. I'm a big boy, I don't need you mothering me all the time. You were always too possessive and clingy, and I can't stand that you feel you need to worry about me.

I'm about to go all Bill O'Reilly on your ass:

Is this really what these fucking banks are up to? Shouldn't they be worried about other stuff, like I don't know, the economic meltdown or something? Calling me one time to see if shit is ok, that's fine, but why do they just go on these calling binges for weeks at a time, calling you multiple times a day at odd hours? Eventually I get so sick of hearing the phone ring and seeing that number that I answer it and they're actually surprised to find out I'm a grumpy bitch when I realize why they're calling.

I swear to Kristy McNichol, between American Express, WaMu, and BofA I'm losing my fucking mind.

So, enough about you...

Why are you fucking people so self-absorbed? Has anyone ever noticed that nobody talks to anybody anymore, they just talk at each other? These damned conversations would be just as fulfilling for both involved if they just used mirrors instead of other people.

Now, I'm clearly self-absorbed. I talk about myself all the time. I'm me, though. People want to hear what I am saying, that's the difference. It's also important to note that damnit I don't just go spouting off to whomever is handy, that's bullshit.

I notice this mostly at work, maybe because I'm surrounded by stupid people. Maybe it's just because I'm captive there for 12 hours at a time. I don't talk to most people at work, because I know the ridiculous that will result. I do, however, get bored enough to listen to other people talk. I honestly can't fucking understand how the following exchange can take place:

Random Annoying Coworker #1: "Man I'm so exhausted today."
Random Annoying Coworker #2: "Oh, I slept fine last night."
Random Annoying Coworker #1: "Well, I spent all night at the hospital. My wife is dying of cancer and she took a turn for the worse. Things got really bad last night and it was touch-and-go for hours. I think she only has a few more days left in her."
Random Annoying Coworker #2: "I had to go to the hospital once."

What the fuck? WHAT the FUCK? I don't even understand how grown adults can respond like that. But they do, every fucking time. Nobody is actually listening to anybody else, they're just passively monitoring for keywords they can use for a response about themselves. This is bullshit.

You all get points for being versatile, though. Jesus, there is nothing safe from your selfish stupidity:

RAC3: "I'm so excited, I just bought a new car!"
RAC4: "I was going to buy a new car, and then I thought, no I'm not going to do that."

RAC5: "I hope I can get out of here early today, I have to take my dog to the vet."
RAC6: "Last time I went to the vet I was there forever."

RAC7: "I went to the rodeo this weekend."
Me: "You know what? Fuck off."

My biggest problem with this is: why? Why even talk? Just get back to work and shutup. By get back to work, I of course mean continuing your streak of systematically destroying the precarious Excel files that we all rely on. Stupid, incompetent coworkers. Well, at least I never run out of shit to clean up because of you people.

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Liquid Bomb in my Pants

So, already I'm fucking pissed off because I can't take all my liquids and shit on the plane unless I declare it in a stupid little quart-size bag. That's bullshit, right? That's not just me, right? Safety versus individual liberties? Uhm, I vote fuck safety, who's with me?

I wear contact lenses. There, I said it, I'm a fucking cripple. The air systems on the planes run somewhere around 10-20% relative humidity (yeah, that's right, I know shit). That dries my shit out, and I need some eye drops after a couple of hours cramped into the airline industry's interpretation of a seat So, my thing has always been to put all my pretty-boy products (hey, THIS doesn't just happen (imagine me pointing at my face, please)) in my checked baggage, because I'm not going to cave to the mighty TSA. Oh, but there's one little exception. If I'm wearing contact lenses when I fly, I smuggle some eye drops in my pocket. Yes, that's right, I'm basically a fucking terrorist.

I would also like to mention at this point that I am a goddamned expert at going through airport security. I'm like some sort of airport-security prodigy or some shit. By the way, to you fuckers who can't seem to crack the code of the elusive task of putting your shit in a plastic bin and emptying your pockets, your day is coming here on LWM. So anyway, you can imagine my confusion when the little metal detector started buzzing as I went through it. I pointed out the sexy ring on my finger, and I even pulled up my shirt to point out my the button fly on my jeans (five fucking buttons!). It wasn't good enough. "Male screening!" That's what they said. I felt like a whorish piece of meat. By the way, what if I want a sad, fat TSA chick to fondle my bits? Why do I automatically get a guy because I'm a guy? The TSA is so unaccommodating.

And we come to my point: the bottle of eye drops. You all know how nutso they are about the liquids and gels on the airplanes now. It seems like now I'd have a better chance of carrying a bomb through than my toothpaste. So I get my male assist from some unfortunate looking fellow named Rob. It was fun, he grabbed in the wrong places and caressed a little too harshly, but with training he could be alright. Oh by the way, old people, what the fuck? I can't believe the eighty-year-old that had also been set aside for screening didn't appreciate my, "I hope he at least buys me dinner," comment as Rob was stroking me up and down. Get over it, old people.

So this Rob dude ran his hands up and down me a good three complete times. Not once did Sadly McAirportsecurity notice the very noticeable bulge in my pocket, which was of course the eye drops. He did pay particular attention to the part where I pulled my shirt up and turned the top button of my jeans inside out. Looking back I wonder if I missed a potential opportunity for a date.

My point, people, is what the fuck with airport security? The whole thing is a goddamned joke and they just harass people for no good reason. After being inconvenienced for no reason, I'm actually kind of motivated to see what I can sneak through now.

We're adding "Fuck you, TSA" to our LWM list. You're with me, loyal readers, right?

Italian Vengeance, Awaiting Response

At the urging of some of my literally fives of readers, I have submitted my entry on Carrabba's to corporate. It was sent with a cover message explaining that it was a blog post, and was pasted unaltered with the exception of editing out the profanity (because I'm classy like that). We shall see what the Carrabbic Empire has to say.

Workplace Ridiculous: Business Camel Toe

What's so damn hard about dressing appropriately for work? This one really pisses me off. I'm about half pissed off at the people who dress poorly and half pissed at the management who doesn't do anything about it. Everybody should follow the fucking rules, and it gripes my ass that I go to all the trouble every morning for five or six minutes making myself look pretty while other people come to work basically in their bathrobes.

Here's what's so ridiculous: it's not like we're asked to wear three-piece suits every day to work. It's fucking business casual, people. Decent shoes, decent pants, decent shirt. You really can't put all that together? I personally feel like the polo shirt is even a stretch, but really I'd be happy if you would throw one of those on instead of the crap you're wearing.

It just drives me fucking nuts when I hear two retarded coworkers arguing the finer points of business casual. There are no finer points, dickheads. There are pants, shoes, and shirts. Buy some slacks, get some shirts with buttons, and wear something other than those little rat slippers.

What the hell ever happened to professionalism? Are we just totally over it now? I have a hard time taking you seriously when it looks like you slept in the dumpster behind Taco Bell last night. It strikes me as just insane to take a fairly relaxed requirement like business casual and abuse it like a bunch of five-year-old bitches because you can't be bothered to not look ridiculous. Well guess what, Aretha? Keep up the ridiculous clothing, because sooner or later we'll hit a breaking point, and it'll be suits and ties for everyone.

And I'm sorry fat people, but why do you automatically get a pass on the dress code? What the shit is that about? Sweat pants and a hoody? Really? It isn't ok just because there's five hundred pounds underneath it all. I'm sorry, but you should have to tuck your car cover shirt in like the rest of us. You should also have to wear some proper slacks, and I KNOW they sell them at Big and Tall. Oh, wait they went all fat ass metrosexual didn't they? So go to Casual Male XL and get some waddle trousers for work.

And, women. Oh, dear women. The camel toe? I have not the words.

The kitchen's only open for another three hours...

Now, here's one I just don't get. Why do these fucking restaurants say they're open until XX:00 PM, if they're just going to fuck you to death with poor service and an attitude if you come in near closing time? If you want to be out the door at 11:15, don't stay your ass open until 11:00. Like it's going to break my little boy heart if you close at 10:00. I don't give a flying shit, but if I walk in and you seat me, don't act like I'm ruining your whole night by spending my money at your piece of shit restaurant.

And then what the hell with the crappy food on top of everything else? Are you just back there reheating everything that was sent back throughout the night because you aren't going to waste your good shit on some late comers?

I'm on the first good date in lord knows how long, and I have to be constantly interrupted and feel like I'm imposing on your shit just because we showed up an hour and a half before closing? My dating life has been a perpetual train wreck for years, but tonight is going so well. That is until you rush us to order when clearly we're more interested in talking to each other. Then you get pissed at US because the food takes forever to get there? Oh, and don't bother being polite or anything, just start taking shit away from table very clearly before we're done with it.

Olive oil? What would I need that for? It's not like I'm at a supposedly nice Italian restaurant and I may enjoy a dab here and there. No, you should also definitely reach between us midway through our meal so you can take that little container with the sugar packets. What the shit is up with that? Is that some Cinderella sugar that must be put away by a specified hour or all hell breaks loose?

I just want to drink your shitty version of a margarita, pick at my I'm-not-a-fat-girl salad, and watch my date eat mozzarella sticks. Is it too much to ask to experience these simple things in peace? As our meal winds down, we're talking and laughing and looking at each other in the candlelight, and you turn on the fucking lights? The emergency flood lights? Jesus H. You ruined our mood, but I know what you're really trying to do is ruin my life.

Well...Fuck you, Carrabba's.

Since we're talking about it, why is it when I go to a coffee shop or something at 05:05 when they open at 05:00 I have to wait for your lazy ass to fire up the machines and get everything out? Oooooh, and I just want to punch you in the vagina when you get bent out of shape at me for being there at that hour. Fucking open later if you aren't going to have your shit ready to go at opening time. What is so goddamned difficult about that?

That'll be $3.99 plus hugs

Get your grubby little mitts off me, people. I don't understand this pandemic huggery that has taken over our supposedly developed society. Irritatingly enough, there are two very distinct parts of the hug that need to stop.

The first thing is that you're hugging me at all. Stop it. It's like I went to sleep and when I woke up everybody's hug meter had gone bat shit. Don't you people have any grasp anymore of when hugs are appropriate? I'll give you a little piece of guiding wisdom: not nearly as often as you think.

At this point it wouldn't surprise me if Fatty McWalgreens waddled out from behind the counter to hug me goodbye after I paid for my toothpaste. I'm on to you, bitch, and I can outrun you. What really gripes my ass are the ones that I can't outrun. The people who think that because we shared a laugh we might as well share a hug. Who do you think you are? Kristy McNichol? Her hugdar has clearly been on the fritz for a long time, but let's face it, who is going to turn down a hug from the McNich?

If I can (through much therapy) learn to deal with your ridiculous hugularity, it's really the second part that I can't fucking stand. You go in for the hug, and I take one step back. Or, maybe I fire back with the handshake intercept. Or maybe, if I'm really tired, I'll do the, "ew ew ew, this needs to end," half-assed lean-in-but-don't-really-hug hug.

So what do you people do? You get pissed. You get bitchy and moany because I don't want to wrap my fucking arms around you in warm embrace. We've established that you've lost all measure of sanity when it comes to invading my personal space. But why is it SO fucking hard to understand that maybe, juuuuust maybe I'm not into that? Why, people, why?

How can you rationalize being pissy because I don't want you to thrust yourself into my carefully-guarded bubble? My hope is that you would learn from this experience, and maybe not inflict so many hugs on other people. I'm a realist, though, and I know that you're just going to collect yourself, fight back the tears, and call me a rude cock sucker as you hurriedly shuffle away.

Well, guess what? This is life. This isn't My Hugtastic Adventure.

I don't gots no problem

People, this is serious. I swear, they must have secret meetings somewhere to discuss ways to continue the slaughtering of the language. It's the only thing I can come up with, because there are people like me around who don't talk like a retard, and I KNOW you hear us talking. So, why do you say shit like this?

• "He don't know no better"
• "I don't got one of those"
• "I got her on the phone right now, you wanna talk at her?"
• "I seen one like that before"

Oh, I and one of my personal favorites, when one is telling a story (which, let's be honest, they shouldn't be doing, anyway):

• "So I says to her, I says..."

Well, you can says whatever the hell you want, but as soon as you use the word "says" I'm done listening. I know all you people enjoy high-class entertainment online, and in TV and films, and interact with other people. Can't you see that people don't fucking talk like this.? Oh, wait, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "yes! They do!! They talk like this all the time!" Yeah, well once again: fuck you, Texas.

Sometimes the extent to which you people destroy the language leaves me in shocked silence. At least once a day, I have to stop and look at you people and say, "You have to be fucking kidding me." There should be laws against this shit. I mean, there are laws against apostrophes, and we may soon have a law against silent cell phones. Let's squeeze this into some legislation: Talking like a down-home, podunk, back-country redneck jackass is punishable by death. Give me a fucking break, the gays aren't allowed to get married, but people are allowed to talk like this?

I'm actually jealous of people who don't know English, at least those lucky motherfuckers can live in bliss:

Workplace Ridiculous: New People

Welcome to the start of a new LWM series. After writing this entry it became clear that there is far too much material for a quick pass. Enjoy the first in LWM's Workplace Ridiculous series, and try to learn something, damnit.

Hello, new employee! Thanks for being dedicated enough to manipulate the system and threaten the company with a discrimination lawsuit unless they give you the job, and welcome aboard. Oh, there are a few things you should know that will help you become a successful part of the team. Let's dive right in!

Schedule:
Even though we start at 08:00, you should feel free to drag your slob ass in at whatever hour suits you, because we realize you have important things to which you must attend. I see you've already gone ahead and started doing this on your second day, thanks for being so ambitious.

Etiquette:
We try to maintain a professional environment, so anything that isn't PC is clearly out of line. I'm glad to see you've already latched on to this idea, since you can barely hide your indignation when somebody makes a joke in good fun. You shouldn't let the fact that you feel that you can say whatever the fuck you want without a half second's thought disrupt this equation. We're just happy to have you on the team.

Teamwork:
Even though you're new, don't feel like you should ask anybody for help. You don't need help, you're you! Even though we work in an industry where a mistaken keystroke can compel the federal government to fine the company tens of thousands of dollars, you shouldn't worry yourself with such details. Your approach thus far is definitely the way to go. Please, don't stop just pushing buttons until you feel like you've accomplished something, only to leave your defenseless coworkers spending half their day fixing your ass up. We all worked hard to get where we are, unlike you, so clearly we are worthless. Do not, under any circumstances, seek our help to do things correctly.

Efficiency:
Striving for efficiency and streamlined practices is a top priority. We encourage everyone on the team to voice their ideas on improvements to the job, and it's refreshing to see that you're so open to this idea. Even though we're highly-trained professionals who have been doing this job more than four days, you have managed to point out that everything we do is wrong. Wow, you identified how pathetic we are in only four days? You are really something, new person. Keep up the good work.

Development:
Our goal is to develop all of our employees to the fullest of their ability. I like how you have made it very clear that this job is a stepping stone to better things. We admire ambition, and you don't let the little people get in your way. We like that.

The Word Czar

Today, I have to cede LWM's valuable real estate to Stephen Colbert. The reason? He's right, damnit, we need a word czar. I nominate me.

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

The New Word Czar

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Funny Political News

Christian Bale Parody
Joke of the Day

Thanks, Pete

Never a society content to leave personal responsibility up to the people, we have reached a whole new level of ridiculous.

The economy is in the shitter, or so they tell me. We've decided to go ahead and start a few wars. We still can't figure out how to make our education system not suck. What all is fucked up? You name it, we've fucked it up.

But Congressman Pete King of New York is doing the people's work. War? Economic recession? Poverty? Education? Housing crisis? What? Fuck that. We have cell-phone ninjas out there taking pictures of unsuspecting victims, and that shit needs to stop.

Mr. King has introduced legislation to require modifications to cell phones such that they cannot be used as ninja weapons:

One year after the passage of the Alert Act, all mobiles with cameras made in the United States must emit a "tone or other sound audible within a reasonable radius of the phone." And the legislation would forbid manufacturers to program an option that would allow consumers to disable the noise.

You have to be kidding, right? I think Ars Technica hit this fucker on the head:

As for politicians and parents who are worried about surreptitious cell phone camera users lurking around in dressing rooms and parks, they might want to, well, watch their children. Just a thought.

Since we seem to have found the solution to some of our problems, I'd like to suggest a few other ideas that may be helpful:

• Red-Light Douche Bag Camera. This little fella will go around looking like a regular old red-light camera, but really it's armed with missiles, ready to fire if it observes unacceptable behaviors. Popped collars, a Jesus fish, a sideways hat, and spinners will be among those on the list of things for which death-by-missile is the punishment. Freedom of expression can go fuck itself; these people don't know how to act.
• IQ Technology Exams. This one is pretty straightforward. All citizens are required to achieve an adequate score on an IQ test before they are allowed to touch computers, cars, phones, fax machines, lawn mowers, stereos...the list goes on. People do stupid shit all the time, and the rest of us are left to clean up the mess. "I didn't do anything to that spreadsheet, it just stopped working..." Fuck you, incompetent coworker. Congress is coming for you.
  
• Tubby Tina Monitoring System (TTMS). This will be implanted in all new infants born in the US, and will monitor their BMI for acceptable levels. If one should exceed the maximum level (as, of course, defined by the government), the device will instantly kill them. Clearly, people can't be trusted to watch their weight.
  

If you don't live in Mr. King's district, then write your representative, people. Tell them about the simple solutions to what the media are calling "complex" problems. Give me a fucking break. Cell phone click = world peace. Duh.

Ass Trick

Now, I know most of you people are going to need to be educated on two levels, so let's take it from the bottom. That little dude hanging out on top of the 8 key, his name is not, "the little star thingy."

By the way, since we're talking about it, it occurs to me that you have to use the shift key to enjoy the magic of the little star. I bring this up because we've talked about the caps lock and how it may be the beginning of the end, but now I'm starting to realize a whole new level of stupid here. The star dude is pretty popular on the interwebs, and most of you people who can't read, write, spell, or think are quite fond of using it. See where I'm going with this? Clearly you know how to make capital letters without the caps lock, and you still don't do it. I can't even believe you fucking people.

Back to the point. This little homey is called an asterisk. For those of you who have managed to excel beyond calling it, "the little star thingy," it seems like you peaked just a little shy of correct. How you have managed to come up with "asterick" is, quite frankly, beyond me. It's a fucking asterisk, and it has always been. Don't fuck with the asterisk.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. "B-b-b-b-but it's French! The S is silent!" The S is not silent. Also, it's NOT FRENCH. Damn you people and your French. If you don't understand something, it must be French, right? Well, fuck the French excuse. Kristy McNichol would never use that as an excuse, and you shouldn't either.

I'll concede that nobody understands those French people, and probably nobody gives a flying shit, anyway. Don't try to hide your stupidity behind something you don't understand. By that way of thinking I can just hear you people now, "B-b-b-b-but it's logic!" Yeah, well fuck logic. No, wait. Logic is good. I didn't mean logic, I meant fuck you, people.

STUD72

The most disheartening thing about this is that there are, at minimum, 71 other studs out there patrolling the streets and passing out cool.

If it wasn't already official that you're awesome, the license plate seals the deal. I understand that the limit on these things is usually seven characters, so it's not feasible to put on there what you really mean. LWM is here to help out, with a few translations of these cryptic messages.

STUD72:
Hello, fellow driver. There are a few things I would like you to know that may help explain my giant truck and aggressive driving habits. First, my daddy didn't love me, and he never missed an opportunity to let me know. His idea of showing affection toward me was missing when he threw his beer bottle at my head. My tiny penis and inability to last more than a few seconds in bed, combined with lack of daddy love have led me to buy this street tank and cut you off every chance I get. I just thought I'd let you know.

BESTMOM:
I beat my kids. There, I said it.

3M TA3:
Fuck college, I figured out all by myself how to have drivers in front of me see that I am telling them to, "EAT ME." Oh, that's right, I managed to out fox that crack squad of people down there at Texas DPS. They had NO FUCKING CLUE. HAHA, eat me, losers.

RITE ON:
"BOOGIE" was taken.

MUNNY:
I really wish I had some. I'm financed up to my eyeballs just so I could afford this fly car and people might like me. So far it hasn't really panned out. People still hate me, and I'm pretty much broke. Donations accepted.

I'm getting really sick of these fucking things. In the history of personalized plates, there have been some absolutely priceless ones, but goddamnit they are very few and most of them are just ridiculous. Stop trying to impress me with your poorly-conceived license plate, I'm not buying it.

Since we're talking about it, when you turn, oh I'm going to say about 27 or 28, it's time to ditch the custom license plate with your school's logo on it. You're really coming pretty close to creepy pedophile here.

What can I do you for, hon'?

Powdergirl writes, "I'd love to hear your take on those shit-sieves out there who call every single stinking person unfortunate enough to come into contact with them by ridiculous terms of endearment."

Here's my take: It needs to stop, sweetheart.

When the eighty-year-old IHOP waitress calls you sweetie, that's cute. When Trashy McFakenails at the salon does it it's fucking creepy. I'm not your babe. I'm not your sweetheart. I'm not your hon'. I am most definitely, without exception, NOT your darlin'.

Being a recent transplant to Texas, I can tell you that this shit is out of hand here. I know you people think you're being adorable by calling me "sugar" with that Texasy twang. You're not. "Sugar" is a bullshit nickname made up by bullshit Texas people who try to disarm us humans with their bullshit twang. Fuck your twang.

It's bad enough that I have to put up with you people on a daily basis, so why the shit do you go around making it worse by calling me "honey buns" ? I want to run for the fucking hills when you say that to me. I live in this god-forsaken state now, and I pretty much walk around with near-constant nausea.

When I hear you use one of these "cute" nicknames, it's like you're clawing through my skull and tearing out my brain with your hot pink Wal-Mart claws. You know what, Texas? I'm just about ready to let you have it. I'm quickly understanding why everyone in this dump has a gun or twelve; sticking one in your mouth doesn't sound so bad most of the time.

Pretentious Places: Beaumont, TX

Welcome to the first installment in LWM's Pretentious Places series. Some places have turned up the importance just a little too far, and I'm here to take them down a peg or two.

Beaumont, what the hell? You couldn't fit any more vowels in your name? I don't understand why you're so much better than the rest of us that you have to come up with a completely convoluted way of spelling your name.

First of all, you're in Texas. You're in fucking Texas. Excessive vowelage doesn't change that fact, and anybody who can hold back the vomit long enough to get to the little comma and "TX" after your name will realize this.

Beaumont is the walking-around-talking-loudly-on-her-cell-phone-while-drinking-a-Starbucks-coffee-and-trying-not-to-get-poor-people-germs-on-her-fancy-shoes of cities. I bet you like it when lesser cities jump out of the way of your Range Rover.

Kiss my dick, Beaumont. I know you had to finance that extra U at a ridiculous rate just so everyone would think you're cool. I don't even want to mention what (who) you did to get that A. That whole E-A-U thing you have going on, there's no way that's real. You may make other cities feel bad because of how you are on the outside, but I know deep down you're a worthless piece of shit.

I'm sick of cities living beyond their means, and Beaumont is a classic fucking example. Once again, you're in TEXAS. The name of your city should really be B'mont. Oh, but that breaks the apostrophe rule, doesn't it? Bomont it is, then.

We've talked about reaching for the stars, and how you shouldn't do it. Beaumont clearly didn't get the memo. You're dead to me, Beaumont.

Pack your shit, we're moving

Clearly apostrophes have been a hot topic here. For anyone who needs to catch up, I pretty much decided that you people aren't allowed to use them any more, because you fuck it up so bad, every time.

Somebody across the pond has taken me seriously. That's right, people. I've been on the radar for less than three weeks, and I'm driving international change. Yes I can, bitches.

England's Birmingham has officially declared: Fuck you, apostrophe. I couldn't be happier about this whole thing. Alright, I could. If they had instead decided to put to death people who misuse it, that would make me giddy. But this will do.

"But some purists are downright possessive about the punctuation mark," says the article. I'm a purist, damnit. I type my parentheses one side at a time, just like they do. But give me a damn break. Some (most) people fuck it up EVERY time they use it. We have to have some mechanism in place for the ones who can't figure it out. Again, death seems appropriate to me, but I'm not getting a lot of support on that.

What makes this whole thing most delicious is that the city officials have basically said, "You know what? I'm sick of trying. Fuck trying." I'm just so excited by this. I now have a place to which I can banish stupid people who insist on not learning how to do anything correctly. Oh, you wait. Just as soon as I get banishing powers, you people are fucked.

There is one conceivable problem, in terms of logistics. If I banish everyone who can't get their tiny brain around correct usage, we could run into a global imbalance. I haven't rigorously run the numbers, but I've done some back-of-the-envelope calculations on the subject. It seems like there would be about 6.5 billion people in Birmingham, and a few hundred of us out there in the rest of the world. Again, death seems like a perfectly reasonable option.

I will now delegate the rest of this entry to excerpts from the article (i.e. unbelievable shit that people actually said):

"I had to make a final decision on this," he said Friday. "We keep debating apostrophes in meetings and we have other things to do."

"More importantly, they confuse people. If I want to go to a restaurant, I don't want to have an A-level (high school diploma) in English to find it."

"Those spineless types who talk about abolishing the apostrophe are missing the point, and the pun is very much intended," she wrote.

You just can't make this shit up.
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Note: LWM now has stars. Calm down, they aren't magical or anything. Use the stars at the bottom of each entry to rate it on one to five. This will help me figure out what you people like and dislike, so star me up, baby. Oh, and if you want to go back and rate my previous entries, that wouldn't kill you.

My phone is set on vibrate

Ok guys, this truly is freaky, the
Phone literally rang as soon as I read the last word of this email!!!!!

Never one to miss an opportunity to praise truth and accuracy, I have to say that this is truly freaky. It's fucking freaky that people send this shit, freakier that people read this shit, and freaky to a level we should all be concerned about that people believe this shit. I think I'm pretty safe in assuming that you people fall into one or more of the above categories, and for that I am terribly disappointed.

Let me walk you through it:

Apparently the first thing you're going to want to do is make a wish. Ok, that seems sensible so far, because wishes always come true, and no we shouldn't have given up wishing when we were ten years old.

Ok, you have your wish? The next step is to read through a few stories about people for whom this whole thing has already worked. Vomit bags recommended for this part. It's actually pretty incredible that making a wish, giving a nod to Jesus, and waiting for the phone to ring will make your wishes come true. See, and this whole time I was actually putting forth effort to get the things out of life that I want. I'd like to thank you people for showing me the light, because apparently trying is bullshit.

After you trudge your way through the stories, you're told that you are going to have to wait a bit for this wish to come true. Because we're dealing with some pretty technical stuff here, the providers have graciously gone ahead and crunched the numbers for us. After you finish the instructions, your wish will come true after a number of minutes equal to your age. Did you see what just happened there? Once again, people, the children are fucking us. These little shits could just swoop in and do the whole thing and wish that your wish doesn't come true. How about that shit?

No Jemail would be complete without a little threat thrown in there, right? So here it is: If you wait around more than five minutes to forward this email to five people, you're basically fucked. As it is eloquently put in this particular dispatch, "you will have bad Luck for years!!" Yeah, that's right. Not only are you being threatened here, but there is a misplaced capital letter in there. It must be for emphasis. You will not just have bad luck, you will be so totally fucked.

Then we get to the bonus round: If you forward this to ten MORE people then holy shit, Batman all kinds of amazing stuff will happen to you. I'm sorry, but what the shit is up with this? Why not just say to send it to 15 people? Jemails continue their streak of inconsistent and illogical approaches to problem solving. Send it to 15 people and good shit happens. I can get on board with that. This whole five plus ten plus fuck you if you don't. That's bullshit.

Here's the best part, if you get to the end and make your wish and send it to all of your victims, the phone rings. No shit, it rings right after you send the email. I have questions. Who is calling? Is it Jesus? If it is, shouldn't he be quite busy with other things? Is he really such a dork that he's sitting at his computer waiting to see that you've sent this thing, thumb hovering over the send button? I don't think so. If it's not Jesus, I'm not answering.

25 things...

1. Twenty five is too many
2. I don't understand why you people want to willingly supply me with 25 new reasons to hate you.
3. When I say, "good morning," it's really just something I say. The conversation should end there.
4. I admit, sometimes I fuck with the Jesus.
5. I was told recently that the Jesus fucks back, so there's that.
6. I hate the word "blogosphere."
7. Shit, only seven so far.
8. I hate how many typos are found on major news sites like Reuters, CNN, and Bloomberg.
9. I heard someone say "orientated" at work today. The bad news is that person is still alive.
10. I've chosen not to participate in the recession.
11. Blogs about cute animals fucking piss me off.
12. I may stop blogging. I got an email from an entrepreneur who seems totally legit. He has, "a business proposal of Nineteen Million,Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars, for you from my bank." So that sounds pretty good.
13. I couldn't give two shits about how your dreams are crushed because Michael Phelps turned out to be a pot-smoking dolphin.
14. I could stop reading blogs about cute animals any time I want. I just don't want to.
15. Only 15? Fuck.
16. I just don't get the whole Groundhog Day bit.
17. I think the movie people are out of ideas, and they should stop making them for a bit until they come up with something new.
18. Oh, no, it's fine. I don't mind lending the country $890 billion. I was just going to blow it on hookers, booze, and medium-sized countries anyway.
19. I often wonder what happened to Kristy McNichol.
20. I hate the crawl. Lewis Black is right, fuck the crawl.
21. I'm continually amazed how the stupid people in class (you know who you are) manage to make themselves known as the stupid people in classes ONLINE. Jesus, somebody give them a medal. To do that in text takes effort.
22. What the shit is up with the viral effect of these self quizzes? I do not get it.
23. I don't get how a storm can shut down Kentucky. Can't them folks just go to the Wal-Mart store?
24. I'm actually kind of impressed with myself (me? nooooo) that I made it to 24.
25. I wish you people would stop copying the boss on EVERY fucking email you send. He's not stupid. Seeing your name in his inbox three hundred times a day doesn't help.
26. Oh yeah, I fucking went there...26. 26 is this: stop sending me these damned self quizzes. I don't like them, and really nobody does.

Your awesome...you and you're bad self

Dammit, people.

This one is pretty simple, but it's one that gets assed up almost constantly. Why, you ask? Jesus, I have no idea. Let's take a look.

Remember when we talked about apostrophes? No, you forgot, didn't you? Of course you did. Try and at least seem like you're paying attention, people. You may remember that I essentially revoked all apostrophe privileges (with good reason). Apostrophe abuse may turn out to be the end of civilization as we know it. Feel free to quote me on that, and in the meantime let's stand stupidly by and find out if I'm right.

Since you've made it this far into life and you're still fucking it up, there's no easy way to explain the proper usage. Here's a thought, pretend that the contraction of "you are" doesn't exist. Can you do that? Purge any memory of it from your tiny dinosaur brain, and stick with using "you are" and "your." Now, I don't want that tiny brain space to collapse in on itself (or do I?). So if it helps, replace whatever fragment of brain storage is clinging on to the "you're" with something more at your level:


Examples:
You are an idiot.
Your mom thinks you suck.

Follow the rules and everyone will be happier.