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All I know is that I don't know nuthin'. ![]() Links and whatnot Blogs and FriendsPreacherman Johnny Payphone Mr. Nosuch Teresa Strickland radiohodgepodge Just Cheap Dirt xpurple Fairly Crass Babble Book Staircase Wit Pezman Jack Jackson's Dirty Pictures 2000 Jgrrl's LJ lfirebrand Funny, yet true The Onion Modern Humorist Something Awful X-Entertainment Seanbaby What's Better? Homestar Runner Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog Get Your War On Maakies A Softer World News and stuff Plastic Google News Movies IMDb Roger Ebert Cinema Confidential Rotten Tomatoes Music and Art Pitchfork They Might Be Giants Bongwater Taffy Rate Your Music Rocket From The Crypt The All Music Guide 2.13.61 Publishing Tha Friendly Gangstaz Committee The Wooster Collective Star City Scene OLGA The Terminals oh my god The Zyklon Bees Strawberry Burns Lone Prairie Records eagle*seagull Genuinely Useful Stuff The Straight Dope Adbusters SpamCop Pandamail h2g2 Download.com Analog X The Free World Pilonidal.org ![]() ![]() Mail me AIM: RawkStah My Profile My MySpace Space ![]() HOME Archives: ![]() ![]() ![]() |
Friday, November 21, 2003
Man, I can't believe that no one took the bait on the Dead Baby Joke Swap-meet. Comedy GOLD is what that is. Gold, I tells ya. GOLD! Or, did I take things too far? It's been known to happen.
--- Just a hint: If you're at a restaurant, you really shouldn't engage your waitron (the gender-neutral term for a server. Which is gender-neutral in and of itself, but, really, "waitron" sounds more futuristic.) in a pissing contest, for a number of reasons: 1) It makes your waitron, who, until now, was in a reallly, really good mood, into a really, really shitty mood, and kind of makes he/she/it want to cry. 2) It confuses everyone from chef to maitre'd. 3) It embarrasses everyone you're dining with. 4) It makes you look like an asshole. Another hint: Do NOT fucking pressure me into talking to someone. Regardless of gender. I may be severely emotionally retarded, but I know when a conversation is over. I can detect vibes. I know when we have run out of things to talk about. While I understand that you want to give my parents grandchildren, seriously, lay the fuck off of me and my personal life. In fact, I think that all places of employment should adopt the following rule: LEAVE YOUR SHIT AT HOMEI don't bring my shit into work. I don't talk about the stuff that's going on with me, and, really, I don't want to hear about your shit while I'm working. Should we be hanging out after work, yes, lay it on me. If you wanna vent, go for it. My shields will be up. (One of my superpowers is that of EMOTIONAL SPONGE. I can absorb the vibe of a room and adjust my mood accordingly without exerting any effort. This leads to some strange, inappropriate outbursts from me on occasion, but, for the most part, that superpower sucks ass. However, if someone just needs to vent, I am one hell of a sounding board.) But, don't bring your relationship problems, or hyper-reactivity to small situations, or martyrdom, or whatever into work. Emotional sponge, remember? I don't dig on all that weird crap. Don't want it, don't need it, so leave it the fuck at home. Please. Comments by: YACCS |