Thursday, July 22, 2010

The One-Punch Rule Is Pretty Much On Its Way To Becoming A Reality.

Wow. Let's just pretend that the last two days didn't happen, shall we?

Suffice to say that the majority of customer's at Beano really need to be threatened with a hammer, if not at least slightly tapped on the forehead just to show that we mean business. Also: not to nag on old people, because I know a lot of old people who rock (I myself happen to be getting 'old', like it's something that you order online and wait for by the mailbox expectantly, and then one day it arrives with your Doctor Who DVD sets, a couple of books concerning letting your kids eat dirt and a t-shirt that you're pretty sure you DIDN'T order, because it's got David Hasselhoff's face on a unicorn's body and it's an ungodly shade of yellow and everything about it makes you want to throttle someone in American Apparel skinny jeans and then you realize, hey, wait, I'm acting like a grumpy old man again, but you're kinda okay with it...), but, damn: I have encountered so many seniors who seem to prefer living their lives stuck in Asshole mode, either demanding tomato soup and throwing a tantrum when I tell them I have none to give them, or pointing out that the tax centre across the street won't pay for their parking and expecting me to do something about it, or calling me names when I won't laugh uproariously at their racist joke concerning Arabs, or just generally being as obstinate and as difficult as possible.

I need to get out of customer service, I think.

Also: the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club really needs to be destroyed. It's high time I did something on that front, whether it be making their half-caf drinks fully caffienated or switching their skim milk for whole milk or maybe just firebombing Lululemon. Who knows. A plan is formulating. Then, when we're finished with them, we can start on the Self-Made Millionaires Club, the guys who hang out for three or four hours every day, shrieking like three-year-olds on meth and leaving a mess that rivals Richard Dreyfuss' garbage mountain in Close Encounters.

Man, people just suck, don't they? It's a good thing there's a new Cloud Cult album out.

Anyway; forgettable things on the internet that make me smile:

1. I posted this a week ago, but it warrants repeated views; the only problem is that someone on Youtube's flagged it, most likely because of the GIANT PENIS that flashes on the screen for a millisecond towards the end, so now you have to sign in to see it, which is kinda sucky, but there ya go: Ferris Club, featuring our hero Cameron Frye and Ferris Bueller as his very own Tyler Durden.

2. I know they call it The Scariest Ads Ever Made, but really, it's only until they put another batch together next year, because you just know that next year or the year after will feature some pro-life bullshit featuring chopped up babies asking you not to murder them OH WAIT NO THAT'S ON A TRUCK THAT'S BEING DRIVEN UP AND DOWN 17TH AVENUE AS WE SPEAK. Because frightening and alienating people is the surest way to get your point across - oh but wait, you have to have a valid point to begin with, right? Right. Jerks.

3. Mumbai to place pyramids at accident-prone locations to help cut down on accidents by using positive energy. Okay, as silly as this sounds, wouldn't it be kind of awesome if this actually worked?

4. I am going to order this as a huge poster and put it up on my daughter's wall.

5. 12-year-old girl stands up to police: "If you take my computer again, I can't do my homework." Should I be worried about that batch of kombucha that's still in my fridge?

That's all for now. I have floors to clean and closets to organize and a garden to just look and sigh sadly at. Then it's time for work, wherein I'm sure someone will need to be yelled at.

Oh, Hot Snakes, why don't you love me any more?

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