Entries in fucktards (9)
that girl is poison
Molds excrete liquids or gases as defecatory matter; not all can be detected by smell. Some molds generate toxic liquid or gaseous compounds, called mycotoxins. Of these molds, some only produce mycotoxins under specific growing conditions. Mycotoxins are harmful or lethal to humans and animals when exposure is high enough.
~Wikipedia, Toxic Molds
Good news! Through special advancements in technology, you can grow your own toxic people right at home! Here’s how…
Take one seemingly nice human being. Mix in a sense of entitlement, low self esteem, a huge ego, and copious amounts of alcohol…and BAM! You have yourself a Toxic Person. You can have hours upon hours of fun with your new TP, as long as you are careful to not become one yourself.
Some of the things you can come to expect from your TP...
They will be able to point out the negative in almost any situation. - Almost never truly happy, the TP can quite frequently emit their gaseous bitch vapors even at celebratory occasions.
- A “why me?” attitude dripping from their pores is fun for hours of entertainment.
Use caution. TPs can run the gamut from mildly entertaining to full-on lethal. They frequently end marriages (their own and other people’s), make a workplace miserable, or drive a wedge between family members. Special care and feeding are needed for your new TP. Make sure to never give them exactly what they want…if you do, they will have nothing to piss and moan about.
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$350 a night for a room and I cannot get a cup of coffee that doesn't resemble piss water without taking a $20 cab ride downtown.
How mad do you think I am right now?
Vote.
hcg
If I was mad that night, imagine how completely out of my mind pissed I was the next morning when I had ostensibly gone 24 hours without a decent cup.
When I finally drug my ass outta bed, I showered, dressed, and set out on a mission.
Yes, I was going for the Joe.
Seeing that I had 45 minutes until the second day of the conference started, I hailed a cab and asked the driver if he could get me to a Starbuck's and back before 8:30. He folded up the crossword that he had been penning and said, "Of course. Get in." I did.
As I settled back in the shabby vehicle and watched the San Diego Bay whiz by my window, it occurred to me that I might be six ways from crazy to -for all intents and purposes- be paying $25 for a Venti fix. Then the driver asked me where I was from. When I responded, "Cleveland," he started to get really agitated. "Oh, Christ. You got a lotta fucking dems out there, dontcha? Even that troll Kucinich." I chuckled uncomfortably and said, "Yeah. He's actually in my District."
The diatribe continued and included the details of his first gunfire in Korea at age 10. That he was "an Insider, not really a cab driver", and that Dick Cheney and Don (Mr. Rumsfeld) and he are very good friends. He told me about the time that he was on Secret Service detail for Susan Ford's birthday party.
I spotted the welcoming green logo just ahead. We pulled in, and I ran in and ordered "four shots of espresso and fill the rest of a venti cup with coffee, please." "Room for cream?" "No, thanks. Just a few pieces of ice would be great." (Espresso can be a little hot for chugging.) It occurred to me as the barista was pulling that strong liquidy goodness that maybe the lack of caffeine in my system has caused some kind of cabby-hallucination. That maybe I was going to go back outside and find a normal driver, not the 6'4" craggy unshaven Insider I had conjured. I grabbed the familiar green on white paper vessel and laughed quietly at my silliness.
Fuck me, no. I had not dreamed him up. He was still there, now working on the Suduko with the same pen. I took at long swig, and got back in. On the way back, he told me of the gunfight at 10 again. He talked about how he's really a killer. That he is called in when things get tough.
I sipped the strong brew again, but instead of picturing myself on the 6 o'clock news, victim of The Crazy Cabber, I relaxed and smiled.
Because it was at that point, despite paying $25 for a cup of coffee from Starbuck's, I realized that I was not the most insane person in the vehicle.
Sometimes you have to take the little victories.
imus and the flock
Radio host Don Imus, suspended for two weeks for calling the Rutgers female basketball players “nappy-headed hos,” called the punishment appropriate but stressed, “I am not a racist.”
He’s been suspended. Should he be fired?
His comments were reprehensible. He has some measure of responsibility to conduct himself in a manner that doesn’t repeatedly require an apology of that measure. I am glad to see that the network is administering the suspension.
But I think we need to take it a step further. Yes. He should be fired.
But not for his most recent comments. And only from TV. Not radio. He should be taken off the TV or banned from any visual medium for one simple reason.
Every goddamn time I see him, I start humming the lyrics, “And I ran…I ran so far away.”
Friggin’ Flock of Seagulls.
the people you meet
You have met these people. I have met these people. And while I hate almost all people, I hate these people the most.
One-Uppers
They might briefly listen to your story, but only long enough to form their comparison. Where they are much more experienced, talented, or just generally better than you.
“You graduated with honors from college? Well, I went to Harvard, and they named a wing after me the year after I left.”
Poor Me
A sorry ass bunch. You may have something good happen to you, but the Poor-Me-res will just sigh and make you feel awful about it.
“Wow. You got a raise, huh? Well, I could have gotten a raise, but my boss is just so unfair and he never gives me the time of day. You’re lucky you have such a good boss.”
Holy Roller
These judgmental pricks will have something to say about it almost everything. And it is usually said looking down their nose at you. "Oh, okay. So you slept with him on the fifth date and he hasn't called you back yet? Don't you think that was a little slutty?"
Doomsayers
If you need someone to kill your good mood quickly, these are the people to visit. You could run to them with the greatest news ever, and they would find a way to make it bad news fast.
“You just won 2 million dollars in the lottery? Man, did you know that instant millionaires have a 30% higher rate of suicide than those who actually work for their money?” Or perhaps… “Congratulations on being cancer-free! That is so great. I hope that it stays away, what with the recidivism rate and all. Do you worry about your daughter getting the same kind of cancer?”
Fuck 'em.