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Monthly Archives: December 2013

Atomic robots that shoot lasers at your stench monsters

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Factual Fact:

If I can identify the brand of your deodorant through your winter coat, your armpit is too close to my face.

For the love of bacon, move that shit.

(Yes, at least you are wearing deodorant. I know, I know.)

QxePP

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Would you like some salt with your salt?

1wtf

Last night:

Exhausted, passed out early.

Wakes up mid-dream and/or sleepwalks-sits?

Rips off the top of a box of salt.

Sticks hand in salt.

Feels around for whatever in the fuck I thought was hiding in  the salt.

Ingests large handful of salt.

Wakes up.

Water so much water. More water. Water.

Back to sleep. Work related dreams nightmares.

Wakes up.

Swears.

Notices coffee table and a plate full  of salt, beside a box of salt with the top ripped off.

Help me.

It would be awesome if your things stopped feeling me up on the way to work.

Bags.

Bags shoved in my stomach. Bags caressing my leg. Bags pinching my ass.

So many bags.

Why? Why a separate bag for each thing you are carrying? Can’t your workout shoes and your high heels live in the same bag? Are they in a fight right now?

Mkay, sure. I get the occasional traveller that decides for some reason, leaving at rush hour is a brilliant idea, and yes, I’m aware that isn’t always a choice. So to you, random traveller, I offer forgiveness.

In general, though, can someone please explain why my fellow rush hour transit mates are carrying 5 to 7 bags on the way to work?

Too Many Bags

Where in the actual fuck do you work?

Are you a team mascot?

Are you carting around ransom money (can I have some?)?

Are you America’s Next Top Model?

Are you bringing the contents of your fridge for lunch?

Are you the mall Santa?

I know some are necessary, like computer bags.  But,  hey! They make backpacks for that too, in which you can also store: Other stuff!! Mind blowing.

And okay, fine. Work out gear. You need that larger than life GoodLife Fitness bag. I get it. You work out. You look great. You’re fucking fabulous, etcetera, etcetera.

So, can’t you stuff whatever is in the 5 or 6 other bags you’re carrying, into that workout bag?

Or, hey, here’s a thought: No one cares about your Michael Kors/Coach/Versace purse. For real style. No one.

So, assuming that the other purse you’re carrying is your real purse, and the designer one is for show… why not compile the contents of each purse…..

Wait for it…

…………………………………………………

……………………………………………………………

Wait for it…

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Into one purse!

HOLY FUCKBALLS! Who knew life could be so simple?

At any rate, I understand that people need to cart around things. I get it. But wouldn’t it be awesome if instead of carrying 7 little things, you carried 2 things, or even 3 things? You know you wanna.

Mainly, though, it would  be awesome if your things stopped feeling me up on the way to work. I’m spoken for, thanks.

Serenity now.

arnold-scream

Me:

Dear McHuh,

You’ve asked me to create this video/e-learning module and the quiz questions provided do not match the answer key provided.

In fact, they don’t even follow any kind of numeric sequence that makes sense (1, 2, 1, 2a, 3, d, f, 3, 4…).

I’ve looked in the folder in which you’ve placed 27 versions of the answer key and I can’t identify what in the actual fuck you are trying achieve.

Please explain.

Sincerely,

Irritated as fuck.

McHuh:

Oh hi!!!!!! Oh, sooo like.  Here is that answer key. I just assumed you’d use your psychic abilities and know that the most recent version was sitting in my email and it never occurred to me that I should share it with the person actually doing the work.

Also, that email includes new questions so basically everything you’ve done to this point is wrong thanks to me thinking you have magical powers. 

You’ll have to start over but I’m not like, changing your deadline because I’m a clueless fuck. Cool? Mkay. Byeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Warm regards,

McHuh? I think?

Wait…

Um… ya. Mkay ya.

~McHuh

Me:

this_is_where_you_get_the_fuck_out-s557x313-377510

The pusher.

Here’s some fucking wisdom for you (#40)

It’s winter. We’re all cold. We’re all adults (or mostly trying to be).

We are all trying to get on this bus:
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If you intentionally shove me while attempting to board public transit, and continue to repeatedly do so after the “are you really pushing me or was that an accident” eye exchange,  it’s entirely possible that I will:

a) Stop in dead in my tracks.

b) Release an elbow jab (or multiple).

c) Blindly swing a grocery bag full of canned something or other, hoping it nails you in the knees.

d) Pull this move:

Just.

Stop.

Pushing.

a8c0efcb20a8ac76da619a0ca58dbc7e

Deep thoughts.

Quote of the fucking day.

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McTeeth:  <From neighbouring cubicle, to no one in particular> Deep thoughts. With my finger in my nose. Not my head. My nose.

how_about_no_evil

Yep. This is where I work.

Classy as fuck, people.

I don’t even.

I can’t even.

Just…

Bolth.

Quote of the fucking day

20mins before a meeting to analyze our dysfunctional processes

Me: <pre-caffienated fury, finds a document I was voluntold to make on my chair with a ruffled pile of what is attempting to be revisions>

Post-it note reads: Oh, hiiiii. You’re great. Except for all of these changes. Please find them attached via scribbles, and a lined piece of paper – all attached by paper clip.

That is a direct quote. Wow. Thanks for clearing that up. Now I can live life to the fullest, knowing what the fuck a lined piece of paper looks like when it’s attached by paper clip. I’ve always wondered.

Still Me: <Tries to decipher the mess, storms into McHuh’s office> What IS this?

CYMERA_20131210_125518

McHuh: Okay well I did it because….

Me: Listen, I’ve got 15 minutes, just explain it to me so I’m not late for the meeting.

McHuh: Oh ummm well don’t you understand my drarwings and post-its and scribbles?

Me: Nope.

McHuh: Okay so here I’ll draw it again on a separate sheet.

Me: <silence>

McHuh: Okay ummm sooooooooooo take bolth (not a typo…. I know. It’s painful. Try saying it out loud. It’s a sad day for grammar) and plus this and here now go do that before the meeting.

Me: <40 minutes later> Finished. Opens email from McHuh that reads:

No need to be perfect and really need you to be here.

Still Me: <Seething with rage, goes to meeting, discusses document, finds out the revisions are incorrect, looks like an incompetent boob thanks to the brilliance that manages me>

McHuh: <Publicly corrects her MY mistake>

Me: <Dies a little inside, dreams of being far, far, away>

 Lunch

Me: <Writing this post, inside voice swears>

McHuh: I feel like, bad or something? Because like, you were late, and then it was just wrong and stuff-like. I just want to acknowledge that.

Me: <silence>

McHuh: Okay!! Great!!! Byeeeeeeeeeeee.

Me:

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