Tag Archives: Weep for Humanity

Stone Tablets, Aisle 10

MISSED CONNECTIONS

To the crazy bitch behind me in line at the self-checkout:  You know who you are.  You were standing so close to me I feel like we’re dating now.  Seriously, you were all up in my bubble, man.  Don’t act like you don’t know what you did, who raised you?

Oh, and I guess your mom must be coming over for dinner – I noticed you got that wheat-grass-gluten-free-organic-locally-sourced bullshit pasta she likes.

My parents were right.  I never should have married you.

But seriously, it’s obviously time for some new Commandments up in here.  I mean, no offense to Ol’ Mo’, but the Patriarch just never had to deal with shit like this, so I present to you:

THE COMMANDMENTS OF SELF-CHECKOUT

1.  THOU SHALT NOT STAND TOO CLOSE TO OTHER PATRONS

Really, I think that woman got me pregnant, that’s how close she was.  We’re all grown folk, we all know the rules about personal space – every culture has its own, you know yours, FUCKING OBEY THAT SHIT.

And recent immigrants?  You get 6 months to learn the rules in your new country.  After that, you’re just being a dick like everyone else.

And to top it all off, Standy McTooClose starts scanning her shit before I had even picked up my shit!  Which brings us to…

2.  THOU SHALT WAIT THY GODDAMN TURN, THOU HEATHEN

Yes, I know self-checkout is intended for the speediness, but jeez Louise.  I shouldn’t be ripping off my receipt in mortal terror as you start slinging soy milk in my general direction.  Let me clear the bagging area, for fuck’s sake!  It’s like the water slide – I have to get out of the pool before they can let anyone else come down.  Otherwise, someone’s gonna get hurt.  AND IT AIN’T GONNA BE ME.

And while we’re on the subject…

3.  THOU SHALT NOT BRING FULL CARTS THROUGH THE SELF-CHECKOUT

I’d say, 15 things.  15 things is how many you can reasonably have.  Maybe 20 if you have someone with you who can bag while you scan, but you’re fucking pushing it, Janine.  15 THINGS IS PLENTY.

Oh, and every 5 coupons takes 1 thing off your allowance.  Because you know why?

4.  THOU SHALT NOT HOLD UP THE LINE

Speediness, remember?  I’m not talking about someone’s ol’ Pop-Pop who’s baffled by the newfangled machinery – although I do think that’s what regular checkout clerks are for, but then, how would he learn?  But when you think you’re gonna roll your ass up to the self-checkout with an entire Amazon Rainforest-worth of coupons, um, 2 things: 1) You have clearly exceeded your 15-thing allowance; 2) I WILL END YOU.

C’mon, man, you KNOW at least one of those motherfuckers is gonna jam up the slot and then the girl is gonna have to come over here.  NO ONE WANTS THE GIRL TO COME OVER HERE.

This is also why…

5.  PRODUCE IS FOR ADVANCED CUSTOMERS ONLY

Anything you have to weigh and/or look up is GOING TO SLOW DOWN THE LINE.  That happens even when the actual checkout clerk does it, it’s adding an extra step to the process so it naturally takes longer.  So, if you’re at all overwhelmed by the Brave New World of Self-Checkoutery, play it safe and take that shit to a human clerk.

And if you DO deem yourself ready to look up your own veggies, be advised.  You get TWO.  That basket full of 10 different things for your famous Arugula and Assholes Lima Bean Salad?  NO.  You put that nonsense back and you buy salad in a bag like decent people.

 

 

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Filed under I Rule You, Jesus and Pals, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

STEP. THE F**K. BACK.

So I think it’s safe to say that by now we’ve all seen this:

aladdin-free-genie

Complete with the rip-my-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it caption: “Genie, you’re free.”

Hell, I shared it myself the minute I saw it — To me, it perfectly summed up the way most of us felt when we heard Robin Williams had died:  Something magical had gone out of our world.

Now, I’m seeing site after site after site criticizing this image as glorifying/glamorizing/rationalizing suicide and I have just two words for those people:

FUCK.

YOU.

Fuck you SO hard.  That image DOES NOT in any way make suicide into a “happy ending” (as the articles from such outlets as “The Washington Post” and “The Independent” contend).  It expresses our collective sorrow at the passing of an iconic film and comedy legend, who happens to have provided the voice for the Genie.

And if you REALLY want to get all nit-picky, as those articles and others do, then let’s dance:  Do NOT go off on a tangent about how the starry sky visible in the background of some of the versions makes suicide seem like a good and/or desirable outcome.  SERIOUSLY?  Dude, they’re animation stills from a movie that came out YEARS ago, there’s no sinister subtext.  If that’s really all you’ve got to back up your argument, then get the fuck over yourself.

I can only speak as one specific fan who found that this picture and the accompanying quote perfectly expressed my feelings of sorrow and loss over a man who struggled with depression and addiction throughout his life.  I have been there.  I have looked at that particular “Exit” door and chosen not to open it — BUT I UNDERSTAND THE FEELINGS THAT WOULD MAKE SOMEONE PULL THAT HANDLE.  So, regardless of how Robin Williams made his own personal “exit,” one thing is for certain:  He’s done with all that pain now.  HE’S FUCKING FREE.

Second star to the right, Robin, and straight on until morning.

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Filed under At the Movies, I Rule You, Reality Bites, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

Bar Lessons – Stone Pony Edition

Last Friday, Dear Sweet Mama and I ventured to the legendary Stone Pony to see one of her favorite bands, Black 47.  And Bar Lessons ensued.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

1.  These kids today, they don’t dance, they don’t even sway… they just stand.

2.  Drunk white chickies don’t know from an Irish jig.

3.  When you do a jig in their general direction, they become frightened.

4.  The lead singer of Black 47 may in fact be a leprechaun (he’s SO WEE!)

5.  Whoever it was that reviewed the Pony online and raved about the food was VERY. FUCKING. DRUNK.

6.  DSM is hilarious when hammered (of course, this is not news).

7.  There are jobs out there worse than mine – one of them is Bathroom Attendant at the Pony.

8.  Even while asleep in the car on the way home, Hoody will still keep her finger on the station scan button and play DJ.

9.  3 hours of sleep looks like PLENTY from the front side.  From the back side, not so much.

10.  Last night’s eyeliner looks like hammered fuck at work the next day.

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity

Best of Bad Choices

So, the office today was full of Cub Scouts on a tour or something (“Explore the exciting world of radio, kids!  Now, quick, tell Mommy you’ve decided to go to medical school after all!”).  At least, I assume they were Cub Scouts – either that or a pack of midgets in creepy outfits… Cub Scouts is a better option.

As if I hadn’t already been exposed to more children than is clearly outlined in my contract, I was then confronted by a confusing situation at the Tar-jay.  Not being a parent myself, I’ll throw the question open to all of y’all:

Question:  You are teaching your tiny child how to walk.  Do you do this:

A.  At home.  Your nice, safe home.

B.  In a park or other lovely outdoor setting filled with soft, cushiony grass to fall on.

or C.  Back and forth across the aisles of a busy Target filled with self-absorbed Saturday shoppers wielding carts at dangerous speeds, not to mention one Hoody on a mission for Lobster Bites.

You can probably guess, today I was confronted by C.  And I almost ran the little fucker precious snowflake down, because I am operating on about 2 total hours of sleep. And it’s not even good sleep, it’s sleep filled with dreams about The Evil Troll, whom I’ve probably conjured up by writing about him, and who is interfering with my regularly-scheduled dreams of a certain Viper pilot.

So I wake myself up thrashing every hour or so (and NOT in the good way), which sucks… and double-sucks when you get up for work at 3am.  TIRED, yo!

Still staying up watching “Charmed” instead of sleeping, though.  Priorities, Hoody haz them.

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Filed under I Rule You, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity, ZOMBIES!!!

Dear Sweet Mama Gets All Motherf*cker

Those of you who have been reading me for awhile have probably built up a picture in your head of my Dear Sweet Mama — sweet, Southern and smartassed, slightly dingbatty (I was gonna put “dingy” but that sounds like my Mama is a little bit grimy like a chimney sweep)  at times but overall very Zen and laid-back.  Kinda like The Dude in a dress, if she ever wore dresses.

But there is another side to DSM, a side that is just as real, though not as brightly lit… A DAAAARK SIIIIIDE….

As the people at our local DMV (ok, they call it the MVA here, but whatevs) found out today.

SCENE:  The Counter at the DMV/MVA/Place Where They Do Car Stuff

Hoody and Dear Sweet Mama are transferring the title of the car from DSM’s name to Hoody’s name (‘just wait, there’s a whole big story behind THAT, as well — later post).  DSM is also trying to get a Handicapped placard since she will no longer have Handicapped plates.

DSM:  So how do I get a placard?

Clerk (poor, poor clerk):  You just have to fill out the application and get it authorized by your doctor.

DSM:  But I just did that to get the plate.  Do I have to do it again?

Clerk (who really should have called in sick today):  Well, do you have the note from your doctor’s prescription pad?

DSM:  I had to turn that in to get the plates.

Clerk (who should have studied harder in college so as not to have to work at the DMV):  Ummm…

DSM:  That’s just not right.

In DSM’s defense, that’s NOT right, but you must recognize that DSM was getting progressively LOUDER with every sentence, to the point where the Supervisor had to weigh in:

Supervisor (who will shortly wish she’d gone on lunch):  Now now now…

Hoody:  Mama, chill… (as y’all know, there is a deputy stationed at the DMV to keep order, and Hoody tries not to get aslant of the law, ever since the Unfortunate Incident — no, I’m not talking about the DUI, I’m talking about this.)

DSM:  Okay, okay, but that’s bullshit… mutter mutter mutter.

Clerk (who clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with):  I don’t make the rules, ma’am, I just have to follow them.

OH NO SHE DIDN’T

So Hoody had to talk DSM off the Motherfucker Ledge AGAIN, all because Clerk couldn’t shut the fuck up.

Upshot of all this is, DSM COULD have gotten a placard, since Supervisor was able to look up her records, but actually COULD NOT because she already has one.  And in NJ, you can either have a plate and a placard or just one placard.  Because fuck you, that’s why.  And no, even this didn’t help:

DSM:  Well, in New York we could have a placard for each car…

HH:  C’mon, Mama.

And they managed to get out of the office without getting arrested.  The End.

PS:  DSM says if I’m going to tell y’all this story, I also have to share her latest harebrained scheme brilliant idea.  She wants to put an ad on Craigslist offering to share pairs of shoes with a person who only has one leg — by posing as someone who ALSO only has one leg, but on the other side.  Like:  “ISO woman with missing left leg to share shoes with woman with missing right leg, size 7 and a half.  Please see attached for picture of missing leg.”

PPS:  Yes, you read that right.  “Please see attached for picture of MISSING leg.”

PPPS:  And yes, in case you were wondering, this IS why I’m like this.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

Like, TOTALLY!

First real day on the new job under my belt, and I’m chillin’ watching this great series on NatGeo:  “The 80’s: The Decade That Made Us.”  So Hooligans, it’s time for...

POETRY SLAM!

We grew up in the 80’s

Hair was big and life was large.

We listened to the Bangles and that freakin’ El DeBarge.

All of us just waiting for an end in fire and flame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Our fathers taught survival, our mothers taught us, too

All the skills they knew we’d need when that ol’ Red Button blew.

But the sirens never sounded and we grew up less than tame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Now we sit here all grown up now,

In our forties (either side)

We realize we’re still breathing long past when we thought we’d die.

Our skills are all but useless and we’re somewhat less than sane

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

So we crack up in our thousands

Turn to drink and drug and vice.

Our heads still filled with “WOLVERINES!” and that damn Vanilla Ice

Our parents think it’s their fault, but there’s no one left to blame

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

Now life’s all about the ‘Pocalypse and how we’re gonna die

We listen to the theories and we never bat an eye.

The enemies are different and the world is not the same

We waited for the Commies, and the Commies never came.

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I Still Rule You

HAPPY NEW YEAR,  MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!

Another day, another argument with “George” —

Hoody Hoo:  I’m actually kinda pissed the ‘Pocolypse didn’t happen… now I can’t use all my skills.

“George”:  Oh, like what?  Like you’re gonna be Mad Max or something?  Like all those fuckin’ Goth kids who think the End of The World is gonna be your ticket to the big time.

HH:  Fuck you, do not!  I don’t wanna be Mad Max, anyway, I wanna be Norman Arminger.

G:  But what I’m saying is, you won’t.  All you people think you’re gonna be in charge, you’re gonna be dead in a ditch.

HH:  Will NOT!

G:  Will TOO.  Once the whole End of the World thing happens, there’s gonna be motherfuckers MUCH crazier than you —

HH:  Not THAT much crazier —

G:  Point being, there’s no way you’re gonna be the boss.  To be the boss, you’d have to be all like Humongous and like eat a baby or something, and you won’t do that.

HH:  Might.  Might eat a baby.

G:  Won’t.

HH:  Fine, then I’m not saving your ass.  You were on the ass-saving list, but you’re not anymore.

G:  I don’t want to be in a group anyway.  Not until it gets big.  Small groups get you killed.

HH:  But where’s the tipping point?  You have to be in a small group before it becomes a large group…

G:  I only wanna be in a small group if it’s way outta the way.  Or a large group that’s right on the main throughfare, but too big to fuck with.

HH:  But before that you’d be by yourself.  You haven’t got the skills to live in the woods all by yourself for like months.

G:  I have skills.

HH:  Not those skills.  Like, you need your small group to have a hunter, a nurse… you ain’t got all those skills.

G:  I have a lot of skills.

HH:  You’re gonna die in the woods.

G:  You’re gonna die in a ditch.

 

 

 

 

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