You just made my list!

Have you noticed lately that I have been neglecting my duties? Well, it’s only because I have eye cancer. Actually, that’s not true. I only said that so you would feel sorry for me and not be mad that I have been lazy. I don’t even know if eye cancer is a real thing. The truth is, I’m kind of taking a little holiday break from sharing my correct opinions. I might write a little this week but, if not, I will be back Monday to rip Baby New Year a new asshole!

I love you.

They sang…

They laughed…

They played…

Hey, these dapper dudes seem pretty fun. Who doesn’t love a good joke and a quick ride on some children’s playground equipment? Who are these festive people and where did they get those cute boots?

…And murdered millions!

WHAT? I – did – not – see – that – coming!

Jeeze, Time Life, you had me reaching for my credit card there for a second. Coming off Christmas day, where I watched “A Christmas Story” for approximately six hours in a row, I guess I’m in a 1940s kind of mood, so when I saw the happy old-timey footage and heard the lovely children’s chorus, I felt all warm and cozy inside.

Well I’ll tell you what, mister, I was not ready for the twist ending and I will NOT be buying the DVD! Although, it is free shipping…

What, you expect me to write on Christmas eve? I don’t get a day off to celebrate the day before the fake birthday of a guy who may, or may not, have actually existed?

Here, you want a post? I hate people who trample other people for Holiday sales at various shit-filled stores. Can you imagine taking your final breath on the floor of a Walmart while hundreds of fat-asses in sweatpants callously walk across your dying body so they can get a fucking Xbox for their shitty, meth-addicted, Juggalo children at a 20% discount?

Now I’m in a bad mood. Christmas is canceled!

I’ve been working long hours plus trying to get ready for stupid Christmas plus my internet was out last night plus shut up!

If you are one of the tragic gentlemen who choose this horrifying fashion accessory but do not know what vibe you are giving off, consider this… while searching for photos of men wearing choker necklaces I was only able to find photos of shirtless man-boys. I shouldn’t have to say anything else, but I will.

Lest ye think I am calling you and your little leather noodle gay, think again, I am calling you douchey. Even the most fabulous gay cage dancer could not pull this look off.

It is curious that every photo I found to illustrate my point ended up being so homoerotic because I normally associate these chokers with suburban IT guys who suffer from premature balding. They troubleshoot your Microsoft Office issues by day and play in Puddle of Mudd cover bands by night. They drink Miller Vortex and they have strong opinions about Battlestar Galactica.

Either that or they are super gay, I can’t tell the difference anymore.

Hey building, thanks for making me look like a dick every time I try to go into you. Here’s an idea, you’ve got two doors, keep them BOTH fucking unlocked! You’re an asshole, building.

What is the point of this little game of cat and mouse? Are you trying to appeal to the gambler in all of us? Should a bolt of adrenaline rush through my body as I approach your precious doors, not knowing if I will be allowed to enter the promised land or be left tugging an immovable door like some big dumb idiot? Perhaps if you actually rewarded me with money when I am lucky enough to choose the correct door I would be more excited about your dumb little game of chance. It’s like you are the older kid sitting on my chest, beating me with my own hands while saying “Stop hitting yourself, why are you hitting yourself?”

Stop fucking with me, building, I just want to go see my dentist without looking like a jerkwad.

Sorry I have been absent for a couple days, I have been helping a friend get through something difficult and I just haven’t felt motivated to complain about assholes like the Kardashians. I will be back Monday.

Thanks,
Listy
Manager

Please explain to me why it is that every time I place an order at Kinkos (yes I know it’s really called FedEx Office now) they look at me like I have just requested a handjob?

Here’s the scenario…

Brad: “Welcome to Kinkos, I mean FedEx Kinkos, um, I mean FedEx Office. Welcome to us.”

Me: “Hi. I have two PDFs on this thumb drive and I would like some signs printed. As you can see from my diamond rapper-style Rolex, I have precious little time to waste, so let’s make this happen.”

Brad: “OK, I will open your files on this computer here while giving you a dirty look for interrupting my day and making me do what I’m paid for. Do these files look correct?”

Me: “Yes, those are the files I need printed. Can we speed this along, my Lamborghini is parked in the handicap spot. Well, actually it’s parked across all three handicap spots.”

Brad: “OK. Um, how many do you need? One each?”

Me: “No, I will need 40 of each sign.”

Brad: “WHAT?!? 40 each? That’s like 80 signs total you idiot, nobody could ever have a need for 80 signs! It is literally IMPOSSIBLE to even FIND enough places on the Earth to post 80 signs! Clearly you misspoke and meant to order one each of these signs so I will go ahead and note that on the order.”

Me: “I know it’s difficult for you to believe, but when I asked for 40 each of these two signs I actually DID want 40 each of these two signs. I was also aware that 40 plus 40 equaled 80 and I even realized that 80 signs would cost more than two signs. I was under the impression that you made copies of things here at your copy shop.”

Brad: “I have to get the manager on this one. JEFF? JEFF?”

Jeff: “Hello sir, I’m Jeff and I manage this Kinkos, I mean FedEx Office, how can I help you?”

Me: “I would like to order 40 each of these two files but that request has Brad utterly perplexed for some reason. Clearly as the manager, you will sort this out and I will be on my way.”

Jeff: “You son… of… a… bitch. You God damn, motherfucking son-of-a-bitch. I suggest you remove yourself from my property before I am forced to remove you myself. Sir, you make me want to vomit! Now turn around and take your 80 signs the hell out of my Kinkos, FedEx whatever the fuck, and if I ever see your face in here asking for MULTIPLE GOD DAMN COPIES again I will not hesitate to beat you senseless with these inspirational business books.”

Me: “Can I get my drive…”

Jeff and Brad: “GOOD DAY SIR!”