Here’s a pet peeve of mine that I think all of us can agree is quite annoying. There’s a common type of person whom all of us have met at one point or another. Sometimes, he’s your history professor in college. Sometimes, he’s the strange neighbor down the street that is completely oblivious to the fact that no one likes him and who has managed to somehow identify you, of all people, as his chum. Heaven forbid this type of person is actually a member of your immediate family. He’s somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty to forty years of age, wears sweater vests and golf socks, is well versed in Shakespeare and philosophy, and, not least of all, has been boasting a glistening bald patch in the back of his head since he was twenty-three. This person (here it comes) OVEREMPHASIZES THE “H” IN EVERYTHING HE SAYS. “WHHHHHHy, HHHHHHow are you doing today?” he might say. “Excuse me, wHHHHHat was that you said? HHHHHHalitosis? Me?”
Feeling like you haven’t had enough asinine pricks in your daily diet? Maybe you should have more Brad in your life! Nobody’s day is complete until their self-esteem is assaulted and their tastes are insulted. Brad can do both–repeatedly! Order your Brad today; the last owner will be just about fed up with him! The monetary cost is only what it takes to house an unsuccessful bromeliade potter and failed English teacher in the same bunk, but the cost on your psyche will be much more draining.
“Nervestaple, some days, I feel like our conversations are just quotes from popular culture taken out of context and applied to whatever we’re talking about.”
Cellphones have revolutionized our lives. They’ve made instantaneous voice contact to anyone else in the world with a similar device and near some semblance of civilization possible. They’ve partially invalidated expensive and complicated wired infrastructure. They’ve even allowed us to ignore any situation by talking to someone who isn’t even there rather than being active participants in our own lives.
However, as with any technology sprung so quickly on the public, some people just don’t do it right. Holding one’s cellphone in a logical way has become a very confusing task indeed to some folks.
I work at a gas station. As such, a good amount of my time at work is spent on gas prepay transactions.
Typically this consists of the customer giving me some amount of money, telling me the pump number (or attempting to), then leaving. Then I put the money in the drawer and go back to doing nothing.
Recently I had a customer to whom the whole “prepay then leave” concept must have been new.
This entry can be easily understood (← lie) with the help of Google.
Partie A. Conversations.
Marc et Sophie are hiding the evidence. You will hear a series of short conversations as they discuss where to put the body. When you have heard each conversation, circle the response that is MOST APPROPRIATE.
On a day in the distant past, two boring people met in a park. They stared at each other, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. “Wouldn’t I be less boring,” each thought to themselves, “if I could engage this other gentleman in a cheery conversation about a canine’s crotch-sniffing habits?” And so, after an extremely long silence, they parted ways and went to pet stores, in order to buy something to talk about. But they met with less success than an Ethiopian in a tanning bed. The plan did not make them more interesting. It only made them more noisy.
You are a bunch of cunts. You can’t have fun without getting drunk, you can’t get drunk without breaking shit, and you can’t break shit without the same horrible repetitive techno loop stuck on repeat one. Sure, I’m unable to think of a clever way to eviscerate you with words, but that’s because the extent to which you are all dumbasses exceeds my ability to describe.
This is what happens when you buy this shit. This is why we can’t have nice things.
There are more shitty, useless, and expensive products on the Internet than I can read about—let alone review—in a year. This is the tip of an iceberg made of frozen dogshit and the decaying dreams of young children. But don’t worry, I’ve done all the work of finding the iceberg, knocking out your ship’s helmsman, and steering you toward it. When the metal rips and the screams start, remember that there aren’t enough lifeboats and that I’ve probably taken one already. You might want to rush to the railing with a door or something else that floats to escape the doom that awaits you at the end of this overextended metaphor.
“Hey, they seated us next to a light switch.”
“Oh, that’s not a light switch.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“No, but I’ve heard about these. It’s like a test. If you decide to flip the switch, the table lowers you into a pit of alligators.”
“You mean they kill you?”
“No, they’re peaceful alligators. And they’re not hungry. But then a chef wielding a katana comes at you–”
“Wait. Then what are the alligators for?”
“It’s just to add atmosphere.”
“Oh, I see.”
