it comes in pints?

And, dear Emily (did I ever mention that's my middle name so usually I only get to hear it if I exasperate my mom?), may I chime in with the apartment-neighbors theme: All my neighbors who spent somewhere else the first night of the snow-ice capades we've been getting most of the week, then came home and couldn't even TRY to remember how the parking spaces are (and thanks management for a nonexistent clearing job), fuck off. Those who didn't bother to re-park their cars once the snow melted somewhat and we can all see the lines now, can doubly fuck off, long and hard, with pointy icicles.

Yay! Emily got it fixed!

I guess I have two: one specific to me, one more general.

1. If I am doing something for you out of the goodness of my rather gullible and too-kind heart, and I cannot do it the very INSTANT you want it, do NOT call me up and accuse me of not "caring" about your or not "seeming interested in taking the time anymore."

I work full time. I do volunteer work that consumes at least 4 hours of my life a week. I also have to do ALL my own marketing, laundry, cleaning, cooking, etc., etc.

So, please F-off if you are going to call me two hours after you last called me and be all whiny because I didn't jump right on your little request.

I have a think called priorities. I suggest you try developing some. (Especially as very commonly the "I need it NOW" people are people who need it NOW because they didn't try dealing with it during the previous 12 weeks they had a chance to deal with it.

2. To the people, including and especially those on college campuses, who would "protect" me from being "offended" by abridging free speech:

Fuck. Off.

(And yes, I used the whole word there, which I normally don't do).

Look: I'm a big girl. If someone's acting like an a-hole, if they even use the "c-word" that polite people NEVER use to refer to a woman in my presence, I'm not going to faint dead away. I might get angry. I might call the guy out for it. But I don't NEED protection from it.

Also: Don't "protect" me from differing political opinions. Even ones I might think are dangerous or stupid (In fact, I'd argue that people SHOULD be listening to those espousing potentially dangerous political opinions, so they're aware of what may constitute a threat to their safety, liberty, or way of life on their own soil).

Don't "protect" me from people who would slander my religion - or any religion. Look. The God I believe in is a pretty big God, and my faith in that God is not going to go away because of some piss-ant speaker saying my God doesn't exist, or that he really goes by a different name, or that he's really a malevolent force in the Universe. I'm smart enough and my belief is strong enough that I can shrug and go "I don't agree with this person, but whatever."

Don't "protect" me from R-rated movies, from crude speech, from songs with nasty lyrics - now it's true I don't generally like any of those things, but I'm smart enough and grown-up enough to be able to avoid them on my own, thanks, and leave them for the people who do want to partake of them.

And also - given the place where I live - don't "protect" me from booze. Don't make it that I have to go into the ugly, scary, nasty liquor shop that you regulate out to the edge of town just so I can pick up a bottle of sherry to put in my cream of chicken soup. I promise you - if you let the grocery stores sell the stuff, the world will NOT come to an end. And it would make it a lot easier and nicer for me to get whatever enhancement I need for my food. I won't turn into a piss-bum, I promise you : I don't even LIKE most of the stuff. I'd just like to be able to get some to cook with without feeling like I need to shower five times after going to the store to purchase it.

Stop trying to turn your citizens into babies. I know that babies are cute and all, but really, the whole infantilization, "I know best for you!" thing is starting to seriously piss some of us off.

Emily - ewwww! Gross! That is pretty much saying: "Hi, bugs! Please come and invade our homes!"

I actually need to say Fuck Off to the 2 employees at the Mailboxes store I went to yesterday who acted SO PUT OUT that I wanted to send a framed fragile picture overnight mail to my parents for thier anniversary. Like - I KNOW it will be expensive. And I KNOW it will take a lot of padding to make it not so breakable. But ... uhm ... that's your fucking job. If all you want to do is handle tiny envelopes with stamps already put on them - then maybe you shouldn't be working at Mailboxes? I don't know, just a thought, asswipes. If you're PISSED at people who have specific mailing needs, then maybe you need to go into another line of work, fuckheads. I could not believe the grief they gave me. "How much is this worth?" I told them. The guy rolled his eyes, at how much more complicated it would be for HIM ... because the painting was worth a lot. I finally had to say to the guy, who kept rolling his eyes at what I said - like I said, "No, it's okay to leave it at the door ... seriously ... they live in the country, there's a porch - really, I send stuff there all the time and they just leave it and it's fine, no problem" and he rolled his eyes, in contempt ... and I finally just had to say, "Look. It's my goddamn life. I will not have my parents have to go pick up this goddamn package. I promise I won't hold you personally responsible if a freakin' grizzly bear eats my parents painting." Honest to God. Normally I am nice to customer service people, because I work in that industry myself - but with these two rolling-eyed obviously unhappy people I wanted to get all majesterial and say: Now do what I tell you to do, people, and PRONTO. NO MORE LIP. FUCK YOU.

Ricki,
Cream of chicken soup with sherry? Sounds yummy. Could you e-mail me the recipe when you get the chance? Oh, and can you please do that right away - THIS INSTANT, in fact - because I know you don't have any other priorities...;)

Kate...hahahaha. My middle name is "Frances" and since it's not really all that common of a name, I too only heard it when my parents were angry so that now, when I do, it kind of makes me duck and cover.

Fuck off to the parents of the little terrorest that live in my apartment building. My doorway is not a parking space for your brats bikes, scooters, or whatever the hell they are parking there now. Oh the car battery is a nice touch. You have a fucking back patio tell them to put the crap there. Not in my door way. If there were a fire and my kid could not get out and he died because of the crap in front of the door. I could sue your ass. My kid puts his away or he knows I would toss it in the trash. Oh and yes I will walk the 90 seconds over there to do it.

As for your trash TAKE IT OUT YOU LAZY ASS. I work 2 full time jobs and am a single mom with a mother who is dieing of cancer. AND I CAN TAKE THE TRASH OUT SO CAN YOU.

Oh, yes, it is, Emily.

but alas, I am one of those souls who usually cooks without a recipe. What I typically do is make a cream sauce, add it to chicken broth, add some sauteed onion, then add the chicken. I season it up as needed (salt, pepper, marjoram, sometimes paprika) and then add a glug of sherry at the end.

or I would, if I had sherry. I don't, because the liquor stores here are truly frightening - they're like something out of a slasher movie, they employ strange people with missing body parts, and they have sticky floors. Just the thought of going in one makes me feel like I need to lie down on the sofa with a cold compress on my forehead.

Fuck off to marketing pukes (sorry, John).

Nulanne,
Cancer can fuck off. So sorry to hear about your mom. And I second you on the brats. Look, the courtyard of our building is square and PAVED, so that if you drop a dime off the second floor balcony, you can hear it like thunder on the other side of the building. How do you think it sounds when your kids are shrieking at the top of their lungs and riding their fucking razor scooters down the hallways? I'm not talking about laughing while bouncing in the pool on a Saturday afternoon - that's actually kind of nice, listening to the laughter of children having the time of their lives on a summer day - but all the other times. The evenings, early mornings...if you can't put your kids on a leash, there's a park right around the fucking corner. Take them there so they can get it out of their system.

Ricki - I'm the same way, but you've given me enough info to drum up my own. And god - do you live in one of those states that don't let grocery stores sell alcohol? Colorado is like that and I always go into a bit of culture shock when I visit from California, but at least the liquor stores are clean and pleasant.

Ricki, condolences on your scuzzy liquor stores. (I was thinking, "I bet they have sticky floors, too" the minute you mentioned showering 5x!)

In Pennsylvania, at least the southeastern part, it's just hard to find any competent staff at the state stores.

Emily--my friend who moved to California likes to rub it in that I can't get 2-buck chuck from Trader Joe's out here. Although I'm guessing in CA they probably charge more than 2. And my sister in Virginia brags about being able to buy booze at Wegmans (which would be awesome, I imagine).

To the brain-dead teenage kids who think that putting a shitty muffler on their Honda Civic makes it a super-cool race car...FUCK OFF AND DIE!

Is this what morons do today instead of putting a playing card in their bicycle spokes?

If I have to hear that mother-fucking farting elephant sound waking me up again, somebody's gonna have a REAL set of flames on their ride instead of those decals from a box of Froot Loops.

Oh, I have been waiting for this...
FOAD with cheese knobs to: SPEAKERPHONES and the idjits who use them! I think they should be banned, personally. But you'd think that seemingly-bright people would think to SHUT their freaking DOOR when they use one! HELLO!? And if speakerphones are so damned great, why do both parties have to SHOUT? When you do that, us peons in cubicles can't shut our (nonexistant) doors, so we can't help but overhear every word! Just try to concentrate when Steve the Marketing Guy is shouting "COLD ENOUGH FOR YOU? HAR HAR HAR!" to someone in New York (the volume is directly proportional to distance). And a side-FO to those with offices who choose to stand in the cubicle farm to have loud conversations. My gosh, we're not talking rocket science here, folks! I'M WORKING HERE! GET A ROOM!! Sheesh!

Kate - yeah, laws about selling liquor are really lax in California (my dad was even surprised to learn, YEARS after we lived here, that you could buy alcohol on Sundays. Seriously. He had lived in California for like fifteen years and never tried because he just assumed you couldn't), but the problem in my neighborhood is that the stores have to lock up the higher-priced liquors because of theiving bastards. Those guys can fuck off. The people who steal fucking BOOZE so that when I want to go into a store and honestly PURCHASE a bottle of Bushmill's, I have to hunt down a store employee, who then has to ask twenty people where to find the key. Sometimes I just go two towns away to a store in Manhattan Beach so that I don't have to wait forty-five minutes to have someone take a bottle of whiskey off a shelf.

Julie,
Grrrrr. Fucking speaker phones!!!! There's this guy who works in our building - luckily, we've moved, so he's out of earshot these days - that uses his speaker phone all the time. The thing is, he hits the speaker phone so that the ugly "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu" dial tone buzzes and THEN looks for the number he needs. Slowly. All fucking day long I used to have to listen to that enless "uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu" just because this fucktard was to lazy to pick up the goddamm receiver.

And Mumblix - that's totally going into the year-end file. "Decals from Froot Loops." Hahahaha.

And with cheese to people who use speakerphones to deal with their grumpy personal business.

I really have no interest in hearing how the bank f-ed up your account, and in hearing you piss and moan to some poor teller who's been assigned to deal with you. Use the handset! Just because you're too freakin' lazy to hold it, and too freakin' impatient to wait for someone to come on the line - so you can walk down the hall and come running back to your office at "Hello?"

oh, and doing bank business on speakerphone, that's not exactly the smartest thing in the world, especially when you're reading off your account number numerous times in an increasingly loud and irritated tone. I mean, we're all honest people here, but you don't know that for sure.

This one's posted on behalf of The Pedant-General in Ordinary, who e-mailed his fuck off this morning because he's having trouble accessing the site in the UK for some reason:

------------ FFOT BEGINS ----------

1) Authors of Unicef report on children thingy that managed to do the standard "Socialism isn't working - QUICK! WE NEED MORE SOCIALISM"

They can fuck off. But only after they HAVE GIVEN BACK ALL THE MONEY THEY HAVE LOOTED FROM US ALL. Bastards.

2) US-based hosting providers who go offline and then think that there is no real need to flush DNS back to the UK, thereby leaving such fine upstanding and unimpeachably impeccable members of society such as myself open to accusations that we have been posted porn from our places of work.

They can fuck off. But only once they have lifted the 403 error that is currently preventing me from submitting my FFOT contribution myself.

Toodle Pip!

------------ FFOT ENDS ----------

HAHAHAHAHA Mumblix! That's a favorite pastime here in Jersey. I fear that my own rant is unoriginal, but idiots still have drivers licenses, so here we go:

It's been hideous, slick, cold, snowy, icy, sleeting weather around here lately. We are going slower FOR A REASON and that reason is falling from the heavens in GREAT BILLOWING CURTAINS, you jackasses. You are NOT driving in your own little pocket of summertime, so SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, and QUIT TAILGATING ME because I choose to drive carefully on SNOW-COVERED ICE. If I have to stop quickly you are going to slide into the back of my car with your ugly-ass thug SUV and will have to sell all of your atomic-powered subwoofers (poor dear) to pay me. I am trying to HELP YOU, you feeble-minded dollar-store gangstas. You should have training wheels or a fucking guide dog - unlike you, the dog is smart enough to keep his master safe.

PS - a wife-beater T, puffy jacket, untied boots, and tinted windows on your stoogemobile do NOT make you a Soprano, so you can put your finger away, moron. I'm not impressed and I'm certainly not spooked. Go back to your N*Sync video shoot and stay the fuck off the roads if you don't like it, because I am not going to risk death for your convenience.

"Go back to your N*Sync video shoot..."

Hahahaha.

Nightfly, I'll bet you a dozen doughnuts those thug SUV's aren't cleaned off either. For the price of a stupid CD they could get a telescoping scraper or--here's a concept--politely ask to borrow the thing from the guy next to you cleaning off his car.
When giant blocks of ice-coated snow are flying from their SUV's and coming at the rest of us and there's no place to swerve on a dinky bridge, I'd really love to see them do a slow painful fuck off.

Ricki, I'm with you on those University codes of speech. WTF? Yes, let's teach students to be sensitive little hot house plants. That will prepare them for life.

My fuck off goes to those people who have decided that the courtyard outside my work building is the perfect place to hold noon time concerts. Fun for everyone! Except you know, if you're trying to actually WORK! I don't need to be trying to talk on the phone with someone while fending off the dulcet tones of Sweetie Pacarro and her Karaoke Band. GOD! Shut the fuck up and go to a Korean Bar like everyone else!

At least it would've prepared me for the EEO training we had Tuesday. Afterwards everybody was either wondering what they could still talk about or figuring out how they can claim victimization.

I know this is the FFO but in light of last week's Font FO, I wanted to let people know that there is font love out there. A classmate tipped us off to "Future Librarian" t-shirts at BuyOlympia.com (someone teach me how to do the links sometime please), and while I was there I scrolled through the t-shirt designs and came across shirts for Futura, Garamond and Chicago. No TRAY-byoo-SHAY, however. That candy-ass font can still fuck off.

Bronchitis can fuck off. It feels like Tommy Lee Jones and Steven Seagal are re-enacting the final knife fight from Under Siege, and they're doing it in my lungs.

On the other hand, this morning, I coughed up something looked like a phlegmy set of car keys, so I had that little bit of entertainment going for me. Which is nice.

Ricki: I’m with you. A university is supposed to expose people to diverse points of view, popular or otherwise. The role of a university is NOT to act as some kind of mental Kaopectate.

Nancy: I can’t believe Sweetie was down at your place and you didn’t tell me!

My neighbors in the duplex next door can FTFO. Lately they’ve restricted their unwanted activities to dumping their unwanted bulky trash on the other neighbors (including ours) front lawns and sneaking their trash into our bins (I’m not sure how many of them live in that unit but they produce an inordinate amount of trash). Could you please check when the fucking bulky trash pick up day is so we don’t have to put up with your crap for two weeks? And when I say sneaking I’m not kidding. What else do you call it when between the hours of 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. the next morning your bin is suddenly full of stuff you’ve never seen before? WTF? I’m sure they’ve been bitched out by everybody on the block and they still don’t get it. Their earlier escapades included curbing their dog on people’s lawns and then denying they did it even as the dog is getting up from pinching out a few rounds! Oh and who can forget the midnight cell phone calls, the discarded (still lit) cigarettes in our hedge, and the impromptu café they used to set up in our garage? That last one was killer. One of them (they would only show up one at a time—thank goodness for small favors) always seemed to have a pressing need to talk to someone, loudly and in Chinese, during the wee hours of the morning. Cell phone reception not good? Bring a stool and come over to my driveway! Sit next to my car, hidden from view, and smoke several cigarettes (and ditch them in my yard) and talk to your friends. Look all shocked when we come out to glare at you and ask you to FO.

Sounds like a sitcom plot doesn’t it??

Tommy, tell Steven and Tommy Lee to fuck off. Hope you feel better soon.

Riye,
When my parents lived in L.A., there were these kids in one of the houses that their back yard shared a fence with and whenever the parents were away, they would have these loud parties and throw their cigarette butts over the fence into my parents' yard. Man, that pissed me off. One, you could hit a fucking PERSON and HURT THEM and two, you could BURN MY FUCKING PARENTS' HOUSE TO THE GROUND. Little shits.

Here we go with the coffee galley again…

To the brand-spanking new temp, new as in just-started-Monday-new, FTFO with tiny radiation-charged particles and a smattering of Styrofoam. The coffee galley is only slightly larger than a coffin, which is just enough for those members of polite society with a modicum of situational awareness to courteously navigate.
Spreading your FOUR FUCKING courses across the length of what passes for counter space is just plain piggish. Worse yet, guarding your spread with the wariness of a San Quentin felon while blocking access to everything else; filters, coffee stirrers, sugar earns a hearty FTFO with whatever pungent processed cheese-food product you're "cooking".
Especially as I’m one of the seeming few that actually BREWS the caramel-colored brine that passes for coffee in this joint. My suspicion is you're too dim to connect the "Food Services" building 75' feet away with eating and the ability to spread your Radarange-tailored mise en place without fear of poachers. Long story short FUCK THE FUCK OFF with knobs on.

(I'd say something but she's scary-looking and could probably take me.)

Another FTFO to the person who microwaves Cinnabon-flavored popcorn - without burning it - for an entirely different reason. It's torture.

Those "salespersons" that come by our office peddling everything from toys to tools to cookbooks can FUCK THE FUCK OFF. Apparently you are selling crap door to door because you cannot read, else you would understand what the words "NO SOLICITING" posted on our office building doors mean. They dont mean you can come in because youre not a prostitute, they mean go peddle your fucking shit somehwere else, FUCKTARDS.

The same goes for those "We're the new area reps for Quill Office Supplies" that come in on a weeky basis. I guess there's a massive employee turnaround at Quill becuase each week its two or three new fucking "Area Reps." FUCK THE FUCK OFF AND TAKE YOUR FUCKING OFFICE SUPPLIES CATALOG AND YOUR 10% DISCOUNT WITH YOU. That 10% I would be saving falls way short of the time Ive wasted explaining to the thousand Quill area reps that I DO NOT WANT TO BUY YOUR SHIT AND YOU ARE WASTING MY VALUABLE FUCKING TIME. FUCK THE FUCK OFF AND A BILL FOR ALL MY TIME YOUVE WASTED IN IS THE MAIL. TAKE THAT AND SHOVE IT IN YOUR CATALOG.

Oh, Val. I HATE those people. It's so funny, when I first started reading your comment, I thought to myself "yeah, the 'no soliciting' sign wasn't meant for the sake of the hookers.'" A double fuck off to the fucks around here who try to fence crap they probably stole off the back of a truck who won't LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE as I pass by. No, I do not want to buy worthless, stolen shit out of the trunk of your car, asshole.

All of you motherfuckers who don't clean the layer of ice and snow off the roof of your fucking cars can FUCK OFF! I don't know about you assholes, but I don't like swerving to avoid an inch thick sheet of ice that could crash through my windshield and make me look like Jayne Mansfield from the neck up.

Yeah, Riye, I can relate to the cell phone thing: the stairwell by my apartment is NOT a fucking antenna and it is most definitely NOT a fucking phone booth. You have an entire apartment in which to hold a conversation. Use it. And if you don't live here, you really should fuck off.
(Which is exactly what I would've said the other night when I was trying to study in my living room and getting pissed off at the noise echoing up at me--until I poked my head out the stairwell door and saw the guy sitting on the skanky steps was 4x my size. "Uh. . . excuse me, but I can hear everything you're saying in my apartment." Trying to make it sound more for his benefit, yeah, that's it.)

Emily,

It's not just the crap sellers and the Quill reps, but the "we have a free two day trip to Disney offer" and the "we're having a special this week at so and so unisex hair salon," and the "do you want to treat your wife to a day at the spa" that piss me off as well. I fucking working here, I dont want free tickets to Disney world if its going to make me lose my fucking job. I cut my hair with a fucking machete and only I getto massage my wife, so FUCK THE FUCK OFF.

Emily: You know how we solved the lit cigarettes in the hedge? My brother spied on the neighbors until he figured out the cigarette pitching schedule then laid in wait for them and caught them in the act. The witch had the nerve to deny she had anything to do with it. My brother politely pointed out that she had matches, a pack of cigarettes, and an ashtray full of lipstick stained butts that matched the ones she'd been pitching into our yard. Plus she had another lit cigarette in her mouth! He was very polite but I think he scared her because we haven't had to deal with it again. We're still trying to figure out if they are just totally rude, clueless, or both.

Kate: My sympathies. Thank goodness the problem neighbors are not large and scary.

Um, fuck off to y'all who HAVE liquor stores. I live in a dry county, surrounded by dry counties.

But, thank Xenu, I am NOT in Arkansas now, I am in Illinois until Monday. A state so awesome there is not ONE DRY COUNTY in the whole of it. And you can buy liquor in grocery stores, and on Sundays, and even by the can. We can't keep dead people from voting in Cook County, by God, but we can get you drunk enough not to care.

Lisa,
Hahahaha. Dry counties suck.

Lisa,

I guess the devil rum must be keep away from the folks of your county.

OH - you just reminded me, Lisa:

The NCAA has finally prevailed upon another of its member schools to scotch tradition. The Fighting Illini are retiring Chief Illiniwek so the NCAA will let them host postseason events (and thus garner the revenue therefrom).

I'm going to do a full post on this pferdkaese a little later, but for now, suffice it to say that this economic bullying is a total smoking pile of grade-A effluent. The crap about "easing white guilt" that the activists spout off can also fuck off, and the NCAA can join them with flint-arrowhead-shaped knobs on, with buffalo cheese.

Oh my fucking GOD. To the name dropping ass-fucker visiting the folks in the office next door talking on his cell phone IN THE FUCKING HALLWAY so goddamm loud I can't even hear calls I get on MY phone FUCK OFF AND FUCKING DIE. Yes, we get it. You're moving some band equipment for the Killers and Coldplay. That does not make you worthy of worship, you stupid fuck. You are the a lowly slave for a couple of fucking pop bands. So the fuck what? Shut the FUCK UP. You're giving me a fucking headache and I can't do my fucking JOB because of you, you rude idiot.

oh, man, I feel you Emily.

I freaking HATE namedroppers.

and it even happens in my line of work: someone carries Big Famous Scientist Guy's field equipment for them and suddenly it's like "Yeah, Bob (or Derek, or Julie, or whoeverthehell and you just KNOW they didn't authorize little field gremlin-twit to use their first name) are tight like that" (holding up two fingers entwined.)

It just drives me up the freaking wall.

It does not make you a good person - it does not make you a good researcher - it does not make anyone care more about your pathetic life - just because E. O. Wilson once dropped a pen and you picked it up for him. Stop pretending you have these big buddy-buddy relationships with people who wouldn't ever recognize you.

(That said? I've heard E.O. Wilson is a really nice guy and possibly the sort of person who might actually remember the toad who picked up his pen some ten years ago. But that still doesn't give the toad the right to boast about it like he and Dr. Wilson went out for beers or something.)

Fuck Off John Quiggin!

Ricki,
I once had to ride on a train from Newark to New York City where there was this woman SCREAMING at the top of her lungs into her phone about how Ben Stiller "wanted the credits to be in the movie" or some shit like that, along with the names of a couple other famous people, though I can't remember who. THE. WHOLE. FUCKING. RIDE. from Newark Airport to Penn Station. As she's talking on the phone in this packed - PACKED - train, she hears "Newark Penn Station" and mistakes it for "New York Penn Station," gets up, dragging her luggage through the crowd - still shouting on the phone the whole time, mind you - before she realizes she's about to get off at the wrong station (I was really hoping she would), then drags her shit back through the crowd and basically asked the guy who took her seat if she could have it back. I thought my head was going to explode from the headache she gave me. Um, honey? Guess what? If you're so fucking Miss. Important Hollywood Jet Set Lady, then why the fuck are you riding a TRAIN from Newark to the City? Why didn't you have a limo waiting for you at JFK? And why the fuck were you cluelessly unaware that NEWARK PENN STATION comes before NEW YORK PENN STATION? I have never wanted to strangle a stranger so badly in my life. Dumb ass, this is New York City. People see famous celebrities walking around every fucking DAY. They are NOT impressed because you are the gutter runner for a few people whose names they vaguely recognize, you stupid asstoad.

Nightfly,

There aren't enough FOs in the world for that issue. I am LIVID.

I wish it was Friday so I could do a proper fuck off.

Um...Ken? Huh?

Today is not Friday for me nor for my ace chemist, who was sick part of this week and is still not feeling great but is still willing to come in tomorrow ("Friday") to get needed material out the door to make the marketing pukes happy. This ruins her Vietnamese New Year in part, but at least she will get some OT. And I think I will buy her lunch too.

Ken,
Duh. You mentioned the rigorous work schedule earlier. Fuck off to that if there's no end in sight. And double fuck off to the marketing pukes. No, fuck off squared - no, CUBED - and give our Ken a quiet, enjoyable weekend alone with Mrs. Summers already.

Thanks for the kind thoughts. This week it actually flashed through my mind (before I chased it out with demon rum, er, Sierra Nevada), "Monday's a holiday. I don't have time for a fucking holiday."

And I've been putting off that damned yeast infection I don't have time for...

Oh, and I was just reminded. Inorganic chemistry can fuck off. Oh, and physical chemistry.

Well, not physical chemistry as such. Just PChem lab. But that's an old story and best not recounted here.

Organic Chemistry too. And Orgo Lab.

It's been a while since I've been part of a Fuck off Friday, and the way my week went, let me just say this...

The whole damn world can fuck off right now, for all I care.

Yeah, it's been a helluva couple of weeks.

Mumblix Grumph wins. Those kids can totally fuck off. I didn't think they were "cool" when I was a teenager anyway. Some of us had a special word to describe those guys who thought shit like that made them cool. We called them "skids".

So my FUCK OFF is to content thieves. Fuck you, you dumbass shitheads who think swiping posts other people have put time and effort into to entertain either ourselves or the people who actually read our blogs just so you can have some content on your dumbass lardbrain sites where you try sell your crap to stupid people or make your fucking million dollars by way of third party and ad click links. Just fuck you.

I am anal enough that I will hunt you down and humiliate you for your rotten thievery. If I so choose, I may also give your contact information to people I know who may or may not get their fucking thrills out of playing endless pranks on you or ordering you up for every reject based and kinky stupid offer that can be found online.

Got that? So save yourself the grief and stop stealing content from others. Write your own shit for your own site otherwise you don't deserve to be earning a fucking penny online.

No time to do a proper Fuck Off, so just some minor ones that occur to me as I suck down a quick lunch. Fuck Off to:

- the cretinous jerk who last night blocked the road going ever so slowly with probably 20 cars lined up behind him. They're called "pullouts" for a reason, asshole. After 12 plus hours, I don't need some clueless dipshit keeping me from my precious beer.

- the dweeb who put together the template for annual reviews but couldn't take the time to format it properly. Now, instead of one person taking 15 minutes out of his/her precious life to go through and format it properly (hint: the whole damn thing does NOT need to be bolded and all lines in a section should be aligned similarly), every single employee in the entire company, at every salary level including many far more expensive than said dweeb, must take the time to make it readable. You had time and "skill" enough to put in unnecessary section breaks, goofy clipart, and boilerplate crap, surely you have the skill to do some minimally acceptable formatting. Oh, and by the way, nobody prints these things on anything but regular paper so the document itself does not need to be automatically set for manual paper feed.

- to anyone who changes parameters without validation. More specifically, to anyone who changes test conditions after product has been targeted to previous test conditions. The new test conditions may be "better" in some sense (not yet validated) but you don't change rules in the middle of the game.

- to websites that have popups/ads/activeXcontrols/flashwhatever/any other crap ON THE FUCKING SIGNIN PAGE. I like to have my name/password come up automatically, or at least be able to type it in WITHOUT SOME DAMNED FLASHBULBSOMETHING AD FUCKING IT UP IN THE MIDDLE. It's bad enough on other pages, for chrissake take that crap off all the interactive pages.

Also, vendors who ship the wrong product. Multiple times.

Ken, I'm sorry that your chemist had an effed up Tet. We're celebrating the Northern Chinese version at this very moment, and even though this household is still inclined to view Chinese New Year as the orginal and still the best in Asia, we are celebrating with the greatest condiment known to Man, a gift from the Vietnamese-American community to all of us. The name of the comany is the name of the ship that carried the company founder to America.

And a hearty Fuck Off to your "Marketing" department that sounds as if it's dabbling in Sales. Nothing good ever comes of that. Sales people move product that's in production, marketing people think of new products or ways to position and improve old ones. Or ways to get the message out. Marketing people do not sell, and every time I see a job description that has "sales / marketing" in it, I know that the company has some fucked up managers.

To every Late Nite host other than Leno and Letterman, for screwing up that industry.