You just made my list!

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!”

When I hear someone say “That’s what I’m talking about” I immediately trace my steps and try to figure out how I ended up in this frat house and where the hell did my pants go?!?

I hate this phrase. It literally makes me cringe. Actual physical cringing takes place. It’s never used to describe something genuinely awesome, like a cure for cancer or a box full of kittens. Instead, it’s used to describe important events like witnessing your buddy vomit into his own hands. Everyone knows the correct response to that situation should be a gentle nodding of the head and a quiet “beautiful” whispered to yourself.

I would also like to point this bullshit out, thanks to a comment from JulieJulieJulie on the previous Rachael Ray post. The world is ending.

Congratulations! Now eat your own ugly face.

Yum, your black golf shirt looks delicious Dennis! Or would I rather have a slice of your Dockers? It’s a tough choice, black and khaki are both such appetizing colors. I guess I could go for a piece of your beard, or maybe I should skip you altogether and just eat your golf cart. It’s so hard to choose, your Chamber of Commerce networking event is so mouthwatering!

Fuck it, I’m skipping the whole thing and eating this.

I seriously hate that I have to vote today. I can’t find a single politician worth my vote.

They all act like a bunch of asshole kids fighting over a broken toy. They don’t actually want to PLAY with the toy, they just want CONTROL of the toy.

The attack ads were so bad this year, I could barely watch People’s Court! Yeah, don’t FUCK with People’s Court if you want MY vote.

When did our country become so dumb? Were we always this dumb but I didn’t notice it because I was too busy listening to Van Halen and skateboarding?

So happy Voting-For-The-least-horrible-Choice day!

Was I in a coma?

When did every profession get its own reality show? What do you do when that profession, A.K.A. driving trucks on ice, becomes old news? Take those same truckers and force them to drive on a dangerous Himalayan mountain road and asfvvvvvbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb… Sorry, I fell asleep face down on my keyboard.

The other night, while flipping through the on-screen channel guide, my girlfriend noticed the show “Parking Wars” and asked, “What is that show about?” I answered, “Parking.” Unsatisfied with that answer, she said, “No really, what is it?” I punched her in the eye and said, “I ALREADY FUCKING TOLD YOU, IT’S ABOUT PARKING!” OK, I would never hit my girlfriend but I was forced to say, “No, seriously, it’s a show about people parking” and then cried myself to sleep.

My attention span for watching people drive trucks on TV is somewhere between less than none seconds and none seconds.

2 minutes and 35 seconds of truckers changing gears and saying shit about roads or something. How is this is real?

Guess what? This post is going to suck it hard because it’s late and I’m lazy. You see, I actually had to prepare a bunch of stuff tonight for a workshop I was asked to teach about blogging. I know, RIGHT? I am so fucking awesome! I’m going to make the world’s worst/best Power Point presentation for this thing, I can’t wait. I need to track down a corduroy jacket with elbow patches ASAP!

So anyway… let’s talk a little bit about ripped up designer jeans. They are ridiculous. Can I just say that and go to bed?

Why do people want to walk around like they were just attacked by fucking piranhas? And why do they want to pay handsomely for that privilege? When did it become cool to look homeless? Sorry bro, it doesn’t make you look edgy, it just makes you look like you were dragged behind a tractor. Ahhhhh, let me hold onto that image for a while.

The people who wear this nonsense seriously need to get their shit together and think about doing something important with their lives, like teaching blogging workshops. As a professor of blogging, I have superior intelligence and can tell you, without question, that these inconsequential simpletons know not of their own deplorable demeanor. The French have a saying, “Votre pantalon est chié” which means, “Your pants are shit.” At least that’s what Babel Fish says.

Take a nice long look at our future. We are fucking doomed.

Haven’t bought your copy of “Flirtexting,” the exciting new guide to flirting via text messages yet? Oh man are you dumb! No wonder you aren’t married yet you stupid piece of shit, you are texting all wrong!

For example, when a guy texts you at 3 am saying “hhey gurl wha yo u doingf wanna blowjon me” how would you know to respond with “I guess so, might as well.” Guess what? You just FLIRTEXTED! You are on your way to a rich and fulfilling life.

These two geniuses actually found a secret formula to make men do what they want… via text. I know, can you believe women finally know the secret? Up until now, getting a man to do what you want was virtually impossible.

And such a noble pursuit, controlling men with your cell phone. Their parents must be so proud.

Doomed.

10 easy steps to becoming a Juggalo:

1. Be white. The whiter the better. Try to be almost clear if possible.

2. Be drunk and/or high at least 65% of any given day.

3. Be so incredibly stupid that when you aren’t drunk and/or high it’s impossible to tell the difference.

4. Be poor.

5. Be shaped like a beanbag chair. Alternatively, be shockingly skinny from crystal meth abuse.

6. Have lots of free time. Don’t let bullshit like school or a job get in the way of your Juggalo activities. That fat face isn’t going to paint itself.

7. Love to braid your hair.

8. Have crooked hands. I don’t know what it is but anytime I see a photo of a Juggalo their hands and fingers are all twisted up. I wonder if this is caused by a steady diet of Faygo, off-brand beef sticks and video games.

9. Be in a wheelchair. Juggalos in wheelchairs get extra bonus points!

10. Be amazed and perplexed by magnets.

Gallery of parental failure:

“Water, fire, air and dirt. Fucking magnets, how do they work?”