Tool Selection

Could be someone I know, someone I don't know, fictional characters, dead people. I don't care, I'm an equal opportunity complainer when it comes to complete dickwads.

Wherever there's a Complete Tool, I'll follow closely behind with my anonymous bitching. 'Cuz that'll show 'em.

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Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Well, Thanks For No Nothing

The half hour after I wake up in the morning is my time.  I just sit on the couch with my coffee and pretend to watch the news.  Really, what I'm doing is nothing.  Just not one damn thing.  I'm not thinking, planning, reflecting, regretting, anything.  It's my nothing time.  My favorite time of the day.

This morning there was no nothing time.  Why?  Because Mr. A decided that, instead of waking me up at my regularly scheduled time, he would not wake me up at all and then fall asleep on the couch.  Now I'm 45 minutes past the time that I need to be awake.  I should have already had my work clothes in the dryer ironed.  I should have already showered (sorry coworkers).  I should have coffee.

Now I have 30 minutes to wash myself well enough to not be followed by stink fumes all day, get dressed in something that doesn't require any dryer time ironing, pack up my daughter for preschool, wake her, dress her and get my butt out the door.

It's a good thing my Superwoman cape didn't need to be dryer ironed.
Friday, September 25, 2009

My Other Car Is The Short Bus

To all the assholes on the road tonight: when you finally Darwin yourself into oblivion, don't take me with you.

Red means stop.  Red at a 6-way overpass means REALLY, REALLY STOP!
iPod Guy:
Take your fucking headphones off.  That emergency vehicle you can't hear might just be on its way to your mom's house, you stupid loser.
Winnebago Fucker:
You're towing a car with a Winnebago.  You're not driving a scooter.  Be a little more observant of your exits so you don't feel obligated to cut off 2 lanes of traffic.  AND USE YOUR TURN SIGNALS.
Stealth Racer:
Riding up my ass is dumb enough.  I'm universally renowned for spacing out and needing to stomp my brakes.  Doing it without your lights on is suicide.
Sunday Driver:
The speed limit is already 30.  Going 25 MPH in front of the 4 other cars trying to drive that road just because you wanted to finish listening to a song before you got home is un-neighborly.  You should be ashamed of yourself.

Yeah, that was me.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Dental Doofus

Okay, Dental Assistant, I know you went to school to learn the basics of your chosen profession.  However, you should have taken the Logic And Common Sense course.  You need it.  Here are a couple of the factoids you would have picked up on there:

  1. The mouth has a back area.  You get too close to that with that huge ass suction tube thing and you'll most likely gag your patient.  This would have saved you from gagging me 4 times with the stupid thing yesterday.
  2. People have nerves in their jaw.  When you didn't numb me at all before attempting to remove my temporary crown, it made me a little nervous.  It wouldn't have scared me at all had you been your more seasoned counterpart, but you suck, so I was fairly worried.  For good reason.  You took the damn plier-like contraption and closed it around my jaw and yanked.  As I screamed in pain, you jump out of your chair and rush to announce to the dentist that I'm "too sensitive" and will need to be numbed for the removal.  I didn't try to argue because I was MISSING HALF MY JAW.
The only good news is, that was the last of my dental work.  I will no longer have to endure your ineptitude.
Friday, September 18, 2009

Way To Assume There, Wal-Mart

This morning I learned that a couple in the area is suing Wal-Mart.  They took their family photos into one of the stores to get print outs of the pictures taken.  Some of the pictures were of a theme that I can't say any parent hasn't taken a photo of: bath time.  Of course, in a bath kids are going to be naked.  On one hand, it's probably something that should have been left at home, and not brought in on their memory card.  On the other hand, Wal-Mart's response was to:

Call the cops and tell them that the parents took sexually exploitative pictures of their children.

Whut?  I sincerely don't know a parent who's passed on that photo op.  What did they used to do in the old days of film?  Oh yeah, USE THEIR DAMN BRAIN!

This poor couple's kids were taken away and it took them a month to regain full custody.  Normally, I'm skeptical when I hear about anyone suing any big chain store.  I assume the cynical "they're just trying to get money" excuse.  Not in this case.  I hope they get m-i-l-l-i-o-n-s.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Douche Of The Day Award

I'm coming out from under my rock to bring you the first ever Douche Of The Day Award.  On my "Tool" blog.  Who cares.  I haven't slept for, like, a month so fuck it.  And the nominees are:

Irony Lady: Your "I Get My Energy From The Sun" bumper sticker on your gas guzzling truck, that obviously hasn't passed emissions for a long time, was good for a smile.  But then you had to spew stacks of cigarette smoke into the air and block my access to the energy-giving sun.  You're a douche.

Wife Man:  You're not your wife.  As much as you think you're clever in trying to pretend that we're too stupid to know the difference, we actually interact with your wife a lot and understand that she is, in fact, a lady.  One whose voice registers in, what would be considered, an average female range.  Oh, and she's Korean.  You don't even try to pull off the accent.  Why?  'Cuz you're a douche.

Not-So-Secret Agent Wife:  Okay, so you don't even hide the fact that you're calling to check up on what your husband is up to.  Lucky for him, my staff just got a good reminder of why the Consumer Privacy Act trumps community property laws.  You're outta luck douche.

Obsessive "Commercial" Guy:  I know what a "commercial" business is.  It's a business that keeps multi-millions of dollars on it's books at any given time.  It's a business that typically either has multiple offices or franchises.  It is not some stupid dickhead that has one customer and only gets paid once every 3 months.  Stop calling me telling me that my manager made some deal of the century with you because you're a bigshot commercial business man.  All. Day Long.  I have better things to do than to explain the same 4 things over and over again.  I eventually had to -- very rudely -- tell you that if you couldn't wait patiently for my manager's return to clarify the terms of the business she set, then the answer to everything you're requesting is "NO!" and "I DON'T CARE!"  Now look up the word "commercial" as it relates to "business" you douche.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Get The Lead Out, Magoo!

We leave work at around the same time every day.  For some reason, CluelessMagoo, you seem to have this weird temporal disconnect that prohibits you from experiencing your day in real-time.  Every night we have to wait while it takes you close to 5 minutes to pack your damn laptop into its bag and shuffle your papers around like you just noticed 'em. 

Today was not a good day for this routine.  We were already late leaving and I had about 5 minutes to get my kid before I was past the 10 hour maximum that I can leave her at preschool.  I warned you a few times that we needed to go and asked if you'd like us to leave you behind.  You declined, stating that you were just about done.  My ass.

You don't want to stay by yourself because you don't trust the neighborhood.  I don't blame you.  The days that I don't see a drug deal or a pussy purchase take place in the parking lot are rare.  There is an extremely unstable homeless guy who lives in our dumpster.  Working next door to a liquor store that gets robbed at all hours of the day at least once a week is unsettling to say the least.  I wouldn't be caught dead in that neighborhood by myself.  Well, I guess the point is that I actually would get caught dead if I hung around that neighborhood by myself...

What was I saying?

Oh yeah, next time I'm just going to leave your befuddled behind to stave off these wackos.  I can't get Child Protective Services called on me because you're too stupid to have worked out that whole leaving routine we do where we lock up our stuff and turn off our computers.  Oh, and the turning off the lights thing.  Usually a dead giveaway.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Schedule Schizo

Dear MisManager:

This letter is to inform you that I seriously fear for your memory.  I'm not sure if you eat a big bowl of Brain-Cell-B-Gone for breakfast every morning or if you live under high voltage power lines, but you've gotta up your Ginko Biloba intake.

Two weeks ago you tore me a new asshole because I made a schedule accommodation for an employee who is out of sick time.  She was off one day that week anyway and I moved her day from Thursday to Monday.  I didn't see the harm in it at the time, but you were citing nonsensical reasons like, "Great!  Now we have to do that for her every time." (?....Seriously?  You say yes to someone once and you never have the right to say no again?  Huh.)  and my favorite, "Now we have to do that for everyone."  (?....Again, seriously?  No one else is either out of sick time or asking for accommodations for gall bladder surgery consultations.  You know, as in "they need to remove a poor performing part of her body.")

So last week SallySicko needed another day off to meet with her surgeon.  The way she went about asking for the day off (more like telling me in front of clients and coworkers) was not the most professional thing she could have done, but that isn't the point.  I remembered that I was missing 1/2 my ass from the last time, so I made other arrangements with her.  She got to keep her appointment, I got to not make another decision that was going to have you yelling in my face.

Oh, how wrong was I?  Now you're accusing me of being unfair to her because I didn't give her the time off that she originally requested.  Wow.  How does that work?  You get to make up the rules as we go to fit whatever mood you're in?

Don't make me start bringing my voice recorder to our meetings, you stupid cow.


T. Awesomeness, Esq.