Posts Tagged 'funny'

Things you don’t want to hear during a job interview.

We are looking for someone, how should I put this…More attractive.

Your resume and references check out, but you smell like a dead fish.

You are overqualified for the position, but I have to give the job to the unqualified boss’s son.

Why did you bother sitting down?

You look like the kid that used to steal my lunch money in elementary school.

How do you feel about punching babies?

Are you comfortable working without wearing pants?

I’m sorry. You exceed all of our requirements but, currently we are only hiring chinks, gooks, niggers, wetbacks and spics.

We don’t accept applicants that suck at life.

Did your mommy drive you here?

I wouldn’t say you’re our first choice, or even our second. On the upside, your clothes say that you are willing to work for peanuts.

You got the job! Here is a shovel. Go clean up all the shit the last guy left behind.

I’ll give you the job if you give me a handy.

Sorry, I’m not really all here today. My first born son informed me that he wants to be a woman, while I was walking out the door this morning.

Let’s see what the Magic Eight Ball says.

Just put those battery clamps on my nipples.

Why are you staring at me? Do you need something?

My wife just left me. You remind me of her.

You didn’t bring any beer? Get out. NOW.

How many acts of violence is to many for one work day?

So is relocating to North Korea out of the question?

Do you enjoy being flogged with a dead fish?

I hate your face.

I know a corpse that could probably do this job better and in half the time.

Your job application smells like vomit.

Are you crying?

I hope none of you have ever heard any of these things. OK. That’s a lie. Some of you deserve to hear things like this.
Now go get a job you damn hippies.


When it rains…

So if you were to consider me a blogger, I would be sleeping with the fail whale right now. I have always been able to keep you the reader informed of all the mayhem, death and destruction on a somewhat normal basis. I have been lax in that lately and I am truly not sorry. I have a backlog of drafts that need to be completed. As I finish these I will rain them down upon you with the same amount insanity you have come to expect from my posts. Having recently returned from another trip to the mountains, I have some more good camping stories. Some to be accompanied by video of me jumping up and down on a cable spool that we threw into the fire pit. But for now I leave you with this:
There once was a man from Nantucket.
His wife gave him a big bucket…Hold on, I bet you know that one already.

You know what? The hell with this, it’s Monday and it’s raining.
Suck it.

When Corned Beef Attacks

This weekend I got a couple guest appearances at the good old watering hole. Not as a customer, but as a bar back. Reminiscent of the days gone by, I always have a couple of thoughts concerning covering a shift. My first thought is usually about how I miss the bar business. Meeting good/strange/outright weird people is always an adventure. My next thought covers the other side of the spectrum. How glad I am to be out of the bar business. I was never able to properly adapt to working for tips. I have always preferred a steady paycheck. But this is not my point.
Friday night was uneventful, I was brought on as a spare. We were not busy. At 22:00, I told my manager I was bored and that he didn’t need me anymore, grabbed a beer and sat down at the bar. Not so bad for only three hours of work.

Saturday was a little different. Saturday I got my junk smashed by a box of Corned Beef. I’ll let that settle before I go on.

While leaning over a sea of kegs to get to a tap, I caught the corner of a box right in the nuggets. Now over the years, I have hurt myself on the job. Mostly minor cuts and bruises. This takes the cake. It was both painful and funny. As I walked out of the fridge slightly hunched over and trying to hold back some laughter I had one thought. “Man, I can’t wait until the internet hears about this.”

Enjoy your St. Patty’s Day festivities.
Don’t eat to much cabbage.

How come it never snows inside?

February was quite a crazy month. To go along with a very little amount of work, I had some problems with the law. Minor problems. Traffic violations essentially. Don’t worry, that story is still on the way. As February made way for March, things began to turn around. I got all of my problems with the law handled, and got a sizable job finished for a client. This of course led to a payday. So now that I am back to my usual slightly askew self, I have another great story to tell.

My friend, who we shall refer to as D from here on out, has been having some relationship issues. I know, who doesn’t? But on this particular night, in some rather inclement weather the pain and strife of the heart was manifested into physical pain. Not pain from one to another, but self inflicted. Now that I have your attention, I’ll give some of the back story.
D and her man were in an obviously public, but furiously denied relationship. Part of the reason they denied involvement was this simple fact. They worked together. (Now I’ve really got your attention.) Personally, I don’t think you should ever dip your pen in company ink. But, I have been know on occasion to fail. Enough about me. Back to the love story of pain and anguish.

On a snowy Sunday in March, the night was growing longer by the minute, and the bar was shrinking. Customers were leaving one or two at a time and they were being replaced with empty bar stools. A sign that most people had spent to much time watching the weather today and decided to stay in for the night. The bartender cuts half the staff. This pretty much doubles the amount of people drinking at the bar. The girls sit down and have a drink and discuss how they made no money and didn’t want to go outside because it was cold. Within a half an hour, Bert the bartender/manager/lone clocked in employee walks down the bar, looks at me and utters a few words. “Yo, I’m gonna close in a few. We need to find a place to drink.” Someone makes a mad dash for a phone book. A few calls are placed, the bar is cleaned and closed. Off we go into the wild white yonder.
We make it to another spot. There are three people at the bar. We rolled in with five more. Mel, the bartender seemed happy to see us. Now the fun begins. The original three people at the bar consisted of D’s not so boyfriend and two of his buddies. She immediately sits down at the complete opposite end of the bar and looks rather pissed. I of course, inquire about what is in the works. She explains that he was out with another girl the other night and they haven’t talked since she found this out. As she stares menacingly into her beer I now realize that tonight is going to get really interesting.
So shots are downed, and Jen decides to climb onto the bar. Funny, but since she is a klutz we convinced her to get down. D continues to drink and look mad. Bad combination. All of the sudden someone has the great idea to have a snowball fight. Idiots. They all ran outside. I walked to the bathroom. Upon returning to an empty bar I laughed and looked to the TV for company. What seemed like seconds later people come running back inside, shaking off snow like a blizzard was rolling through. D is now even more angry. Her boy and his buds pegged her a few times. One snowball even caught her in the face. Now she wants to confront him. I thought, this won’t be to bad. We know everyone in the bar. If a little bit of a scene happens, no big deal. Night proceeds, she stays mad and I’m just chatting with the manager who seems content with us running a muck. Most everybody wanders back outside to smoke/throw more snowballs.
While the manager and I are talking, D runs right by us. Our conversation stops and we both turn to see her fly out the door. And fly she did. Deciding to take a shortcut, she skips going down the ramp and hops right over the railing.
FAIL. She slips and drops like a rock on the other side of the rail. She hit so hard I didn’t even have time to find the humor in what just happened. I thought she did a faceplant. I was wrong. She was merely inches away from a faceplant. As fast as she fell she got upright and took off. The manager and I were still stunned. He turns to me and says, “Is she alright?” I calmly took a sip of my beer and replied, “She got up and ran off. I’m assuming she’s fine.” She wanders back inside a few minutes later. I asked her how her trip was and proceed to inform her that we saw everything through the extremely clean glass door. I laugh, she gets embarrassed. I shoot off a couple of text messages telling people they should be out because we are having a blast.

Fast forward to Monday afternoon. I know D hurt her wrist, so I send a quick text while I’m out running errands to see how she is doing.
She informs me her wrist hurts like hell, she bruised her knee and her leg. I then called her a mess, she agree and explained that it’s not that big of a deal and that she is glad everything is over and done with. D and her not so boy talked earlier and she got the closure she so desperately needed.

Proceed to Monday night. She’s now wearing a brace on her wrist. I still laugh, but I also feel bad for her. Then I begin to crack up. Some how I missed the most obvious joke throughout this whole ordeal. It’s now 2:34am on Tuesday and I send this text message to D: “This seriously just hit me. You give new meaning to the phrase ‘falling head over heels’.

She hasn’t talked to me since, but I’m damn sure she laughed.

I am a Slacker

So there has been a lack of updates lately. This has to do with my lack of creativity. It all started the other day when I got arrested. Now I have no problem telling that story, but since I have a little over a week before the court date, the ending is yet to be written. Now for those of you who happen to reside on the stupid side of the fence, the ending is very crucial. Now I’m not saying that the beginning and the middle aren’t as important as the ending, but seriously, without and ending there really is no story. This brings me the topic of music. Music can have the same type of structure as a story. A beginning, a middle and an end. Now there a few exceptions to that rule. They are called jam bands. They have mastered the art of playing a twenty minute songs that are about 90% middle. Weird. Somehow it works for them, and their masses of unwashed fans. If someone out there can explain to me why this works please help me out. I know if I wrote a story that was all middle I would be laughed off of the internet.
Sorry for the randomness, I should be resuming my pseudo daily posting in the near future.
Be on the lookout for more random crap that wouldn’t cut it anywhere else. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. In honor of my lack of anger, please insult someone you don’t know just to ruin their day.
That is all.

Arguing with a Sense of Purpose

There are many ways to start or end an argument. I personally enjoy one liners. They can be more effective than a paragraph of mindless dribble and they definitely bring the element of surprise if you have one at the ready. So here are some of our favorite one liners.
All of these are up for grabs. I am employing the ‘use it three times with a credit’ rule, then you own it. For those of you that are unfamiliar with the rule, the first three times you use any of these lines you have to credit where or who you got it from. After the third time you now own it.
Yes, I know it was self explanatory. Trust me. Someone will still fuck it up.
If you are easily insulted, turn back now. I have no time for you.

look like a fecal hand grenade exploded from your neck.
suck at life.
have the commonsense of a dead puppy.
make Corky look like Steven Hawking.
make licking Paris Hilton’s roast beef curtains seem like a good idea.

You are…
a waste of sperm.
a cum dumpster.
a condom error.
a sperm burping gutter slut.
a wart on the ass of society.
a wayward cum fart.
the 11th plague.
as useful as a holocaust.
the only person ever in the history of the world to be birthed anally.
a bitch. Put on booby tassels and dance.
a mistake.
a pox on the ass of society.

Random statements (if you just need to get out of a conversation):
I have AIDS.
Do you want to lick my cold sore?
By the way, I just shit myself.
I was Adolf Hitler in a past life.
I like to masturbate to comic books.
I voted for McCain. (Not to be used by white people of any kind)

I can not guarantee that all of these, or even any of these statements will help you win an arguement. One of the problems with these statements is execution. The delivery is extremely important. The situation should not call for the kind of verbal violence you are about to drop on your target. As a general rule of thumb, I also like to involve innocent bystanders. If there are other people around, drop your line at a volume that will catch some ears. This will leave your target stunned, and adds the pressure of having to respond at an elevated volume just to save face in front of strangers. Having already been embarrassed most people will bail, the fear of not being able to drop a equally harsh line will haunt them whenever they see you.

Nice Pic

What can I say about about Phelps?
Nothing. He was taking a hit. Good for him. He’s got all kinds of medals and records. Let him relax.
In the bigger picture his two main sponsors Omega and Speedo have opted to continue their support of Phelps. Now if these companies aren’t worried about a little THC in their golden boy, why should we? As far as I can tell the corporate meeting had to go something like this:

PR Guy 1: Excuse me sir.
CEO Guy: What do you have for me?
PR Guy 2: We have a problem.
PR Guy 1: It’s Phelps sir.
PR Guy 2: A British magazine ran a picture of him doing something illegal.
CEO Guy: This is not good. What was he doing?
PR Guy 1: Sir, we are already on damage control, he has already apologized.
CEO Guy: But what did he do?
PR Guy 2: Well…They have a picture of him taking a bong hit.
CEO Guy: What? That’s it? Oh thank goodness. I thought you were going to tell me they had a picture of him doing lines of coke off of a transvestite hooker’s ass.
PR Guy 1: What would you like to do sir?
CEO Guy: Nothing.
PR Guy 2: I’m not sure I understand sir.
PR Guy 1: We are going to have to do damage control. We may have to pull our sponsorship of Phelps.
CEO Guy: Over a bong hit? I don’t think so. What we should do is have him come by my house when he gets back in the states. I just got a good batch of Purple Haze that is out of this world.

Next time you celebrate 4:20, take a hit for Mikey. I’m sure he would appreciate it. And while you’re at it thank both Omega and Speedo for joining the ranks of those who get it.

For real marijuana resources, visit these sites:
The Radical Writ
Change. Marijuana laws.




When you need to offend more people in less time.

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