|WEEK IN CRAIG: ANGER MANAGEMENT|
I recently punched one of my co-workers because he threw an empty soda can in my paper recycling bin. He's a nice guy. He didn't mean any harm. He was just trying to throw out a can.
Another time I pushed an old Hasidic man because he stopped at the end of the subway escalator. He was reading a prayer book. Very innocent, but happened to be blocking my way off the escalator. So I wound up and let loose on the poor little praying guy. Gave him a good, hard push out of the way.
Sometimes when my roommate is being bad (hogging the remote and watching shitty shows, leaving socks around the living room, failing to feed our loving fish Juan) I grab two big handfuls of her hair and threaten to pull it all out, strand by strand. (Thankfully she likes it rough!)
Sometimes letting the anger out, and not bottling it up inside feels damn good. AND, when the crazy Craigslisters post their scary, angry little rants, it's damn funny.
So vent my irate little Craigslisters, vent! Let it all out! Come cry on Mama Amy's shoulder! Feel the catharsis, baby!
Give me back my freeking poetry books and Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVD that you are too dumb to appreciate anyway. Jerk. Why couldn't you just stop acting all immature and emo you ungrateful douche? Stop ignoring my calls.
Trip and fall.
I'm going to start dating your ex gf now too (not because of you). I know she likes smart ladies and I'm a smart lady.
I'm going to start dating your ex-girlfriend now that you dumped me and stole my shit because she likes smart ladies and I'm a smart lady? Wow, now that's what I call revenge. All this time I thought that the appropriate response to getting dumped was to either cry relentlessly on the guy's doorstep and beg him to take me back, or, alternately, to stab him in the eye with a dull fork. If I'd only thought of dating their ex-girlfriend? Shit, I could have had a lot of delightfully fantastic payback not to mention a lot of smart pussy. Alas, hindsight is always 20/20
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, girls who wear, ohmygod, I can barely even say it - FLATS?!?
THE HORROR!!! THE HORROR!!! What kind of blah, boring, plain, girl wears - cover your eyes -shoes without heels?! And paints her toenails - god forbid -- hot pink or "toupe" (which I suppose is retard for "taupe?").
Lady. You're not that unique. You're not that special. You're not that cool. You're a French-manicured be-yotch. Trade in your stilettos for a personality. Steaks on Sunday ain't so bad. Hooch.
This goes out to the woman whom I am forced to look at straight in the ugly-ass face every morning, 5 days a week. She turns my office-existence into one of hatred, and I don't mean normal, grumpy, everyday hatred, I'm talking about the purest of the pure kind-of hatred. The kind that is created in hell by little fire-demons and travels from the underworld until it reaches the earth below you thus seeping into your feet, up through your legs, into your body until it reaches every crevice of your soul. She is, and always will be, the Office Manager from hell.
I hate you, I hate your hair, I hate your existence. You come into work thinking that you're the shit and the only reason why you are in the position that you are is because you've worked in the same damn place for your entire adulthood.
You always complain about how you're allergic to everything, well you must be allergic to toothpaste because your breath smells like an animal crawled in there, took a shit and died. You smell like a dirty, shitty, dead animal you filthy whore.
Your life is your job, but you suck at your job. So you must suck at the rest of your life as well.
You hate me because I am a threat. Not only am I smart and educated, but I have a cute ass. Everyone likes me because I'm good at what I do. You hate me cause you know you're a filthy whore who smells like dirty, shitty, dead animal.
Sometimes I wish our entire operation would close down and you would be out of a job because no one would hire a stupid, ugly woman with dirty, shitty, dead animal breath.
Just because you have a real Coach bag or a Prada bag doesn't mean you are classy. You are still a whore from a trashy family with bad hair who can't dress. Unfortunately the bag does not make the woman, especially if she has dirty, shitty, dead animal breath. Next year, please do not trade in your dental plan for a pocketbook that is worth more than you.
In short, you are just plain wierd. It's wierd how you outline, scheme and tactically plan every word that comes out of your mouth so that it, in some way, shape, or form tortures and/or ruins someone's day in the office. And it almost always involves your dirty, shitty, dead animal breath.
I'm sorry that you are a miserable person, with a miserable life, and a miserable existence. But that does not mean that you have to make mine just as miserable. The sad part is that you will never succeed, because you will never be as smart, educated, personable, young or as pretty as me. Especially not with that dirty, shitty, dead animal breath.
I can't wait until the day I can walk into your office, grab you by the face, reach in and remove the dirty, shitty, dead animal that crawled in your mouth the day you were born, and then pour listerine into the nasty orface that I have to endure 5 days a week.
Until that day, I will smile to myself in my cozy, safe little cubicle, knowing that I am better than you and that you will never succeed in making my life miserable. I am a happy person, but you....you are just a filthy whore with dirty, shitty, dead animal breath.
that fucken bitch of a boyfriend of mine was bitching at me this morning for "not helping him out with the furniture". We just got our place 2 wks ago, & for these past 2 wks, I'VE been doing everything. Now we get stupid furniture & i'm fucken tireed & he's like 'you're not doing anything". that mother fucker. I just want to claw his fucken eyes out right now. How can tell me i havne't done anything you fucken bitchh. I hope you crash your fucken car on the way to work you fucken baby. Go suck on your moms teet you immature bastard. I knew moving in together was a bad idea. I hate you so much right now. You fucken coke head. If you use anymore nose candy, you'll turn into Steve Rubell at fucken studio 54. I hope you cut your fucken fingers off at work today. You lazy, broke ass piece of shit. GO FUCK WILLIAM. you fucking homo. I'm not coming home, i'm returning all the furniture & you can live in the empty $1050/ month apt. I hope you choke on a poison mushroom. OMIGOD I wish i could get you fucken beat down right now. BTW, YOUR DAD's GAY. I saw him yesterday with his "friend". Take that. Bet you didn't know daddy takes it in the pooper. No wonder you're the way you are. I hate you.
**v-word: angel** cuntbag.
Aww, and another happy couple shacks up! You know you're off to a good start when within two weeks of the co-habitation you're telling him that you hope he crashes his "fucken car" and that you want to claw his "fucken eyes out." So sweet!
Hey Craigslist - go suck your mother's teet! GO FUCK WILLIAM! And you know what? I'm angry. Your dad is totally gay. Take that.