it comes in pints?

Emily, you and I must be, like, distantly related or something. Because I'm having the insomnia too, right now.

Along with the $#)(%*$## PMS-A that makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. Aaaaugh.

My real eff-off, though, is this:

People who refuse to take responsibility for crap in their own lives that they are supposed to take responsbility for, and then try to slide that responsibility on to me, can completely, totally, utterly sod off with dirt and worms mixed in. (hah. pun.)

I am pretty good at shouldering my own life-responsibilities. But to be quite honest, my responsibilities take up all of my energy and strength. If you try to load your responsibilities onto me as a way of getting out of them yourself, then you are laying an unfair burden on me and also sapping what small amount of energy I seem to have these days for doing the things I'm supposed to be doing.

In other words: irresponsible people? Either grow up or eff off and leave me alone.

Asshole drivers can Fuck Off.

I had insomnia last night too, fucking sucked. Drove to work today to get an extra hour of fitful sleep.

The little fucking bastards who my wife had to teach for the last two years can FUCK THE FUCK OFF. I'm glad she's rid of you little motherfuckers, and I look forward to seeing you five years from now when you ask me "Would you like fries with that, sir?".

I'll second that "insomnia can fuck off." I've gone through bouts as long as I can remember, but I'm stuck in the longest stretch of my life.

The whole thing where I wake up and replay the most mundane conversations and events of the day at 3 AM? It's my mind fucking with me, and I'm a more than a little pissed at it.

Speaking of insomnia, FTFO to a certain little black dog who I love very much, but goddammit, why do you have to bark from 12:30 - 3 AM every day this week? I have just gotten to sleep and your otherwise sweet little voice drags me back awake again. Look, turd, I know there are possums in your new backyard. Suck it up. You used to have all kinds of animals all the time and you got used to it. Don't make me haul your 40-pound ass to the bathroom in the middle f the night again, just so we can all get some sleep. Especially if you are planning to start barking in there, too. Again. And the possums and squirrels can fuck right the fuck off too.

Hangovers can FUCK THE FUCK OFF.

I am SO sorry to hear about all the insomnia going around. I had it all through my adolescence and after reading a couple years back about a study on depression where they found people always were up around 3 a.m. I started calling it "the witching hour" as the subjects did. Every once in a while I still need my "rain tape" to help me get back to sleep during the witching hour, so I'm totally with you guys that insomnia can fuck off.

My home DSL can fuck off for cutting out 2 days ago. I haven't had the time to sit down yet to call Rajeshwari- I mean, "Diana" in Customer Service. . . I can hardly wait!

The award for fucktards of the week goes to my neighbors who keep parking either across 4 spots or in the middle of our narrow lot while they're waiting for somebody to come out of our building. Twice this week I've come home from work and had to get them to move. I know our lot doesn't get a lot of traffic, but come the fuck on--it's 5:30, not 2 a.m. Fuck off and start being considerate of your neighbors.

Finally--and I can't believe how many inanimate things I'm wishing would fuck off this week--the nasty discarded sofa that's been sitting in the lot next to the dumpster for 2 weeks now, in the rain and sun, can fuck off. If it would spontaneously combust, taking my space-hogging neighbors' car out as well, that would be cool.

It must be some hangover if that's all you have to say, Val. =)

The exploitation media can all take long, flying, headlong jump off the pier, into shallow, rock-strewn, shark-infested waters. Parasites. And especially the infotainment types whose sole reason to be is to feed on willing psuedo-celebs until they are husks, and then move on to the next victim. No doubt, there are too many people who enjoy their brief sojourn into notoriety and fame - the parasites would die off without hosts - but neither would these attention whores be able to flourish without a whole multi-billion dollar industry specifically crafted around ruining people's lives in public and profiting off of the wreckage.

E! network and their whole sorry ilk are pathetic wretches who lack the talent even to do for themselves what the talent-free "famous for being famous" types do. They best they can ever be is the flame that boils away those other fools. ANS is dead? Fine, we'll turn on the shameless paternity fight over her daughter. And when that's spent, we'll roast Paris - she's too vain and shallow. We profit from keeping her that way, and profit from blaming her for it, and profit from he eventual demise. She may want to be a better person, but we'll see to it that she doesn't, and then keep her backslide in the public eye with our little lips quivering in moral disgust.

Pissantic vipers. Since they're collectively 85% asshole, they should have no problem just going right ahead and bending over for a well-deserved sodding off.

I have no fuck offs right now. I am being cautiously optimistic about my home purchase. I'm aware that there will most likely be hiccups, but I want to believe that everything will be just fine. So, no fuck offs today.

I do, however, reserve the right to fuck off in the future.

My condolences on the insomnia, folks, whatever the cause. I've had occasional bouts of it myself.

Otherwise, I got nothing. Indeed, I have Friday and Monday off, all the better to enjoy the annual Take My Toys To An Open Lot And Play With Them Day.

(If I've confoolzed anyone, drop me an e-mail, and I'll explain in detail. Perhaps too much detail.....)

Thought I'd only have the one post today, but:

the co-author on this one paper I'm working on can just flip right off. "Fix this" gives me NO effing way of knowing how I'm supposed to fix something, or what you don't like. Also, CO-authors, okay? Would it kill you once in a while to do a bit of the rewriting?

Gah. I think there's a rule, isn't there, when you alternate between cussing and bursting into tears over something that should neither make you angry nor sad, it's time to wrap things up and go home for a while.

Fuck Off to people who sign off on engineering changes without reading in sufficient detail. And that includes me [grumble grumble]

"Rajeshwari- I mean, "Diana" in Customer Service"

(laughing) Thanks, Kate P! I needed that! :-)

Damn, that reminds me of a local radio host talking about being on the phone to a customer service person, "Pedro" with the Indian accent.

Oh, also, FUCK THE FUCKITY FUCKING FUCK OFF TO SOMEONE WHO SENDS AROUND THE EMAIL (ON FRIDAY) SAYING AN IMPORTANT PIECE OF EQUIPMENT* WILL BE CRATED UP ON MONDAY BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD, SO GET ALL YOUR PROGRAMS BACKED UP TODAY.

*It's not like we can't limp along without it until new equipment arrives but some notice would have been nice so we could use it more before it leaves.

Oh, Ricki. I know what you mean. So FOAD to "Creative Directors" who have seen a piece of work twice already and then TODAY, on its due date, decide that it's, and I quote,

"Fatally flawed. Fix it."

Fatally flawed? Like your personality? Did you just use the word "fatal," you incomprehensible fucktwit? Good Lord, it's a crappy-ass invitation from a casino for a crappy-ass slot tournament. It's not the Space Shuttle. And guess what? The client, in all their wisdom coupled with the need to justify its existence, is going to rewrite the fucking thing anyway.

But go ahead, dickface. Make me change it so it doesn't make sense anymore. I'll just push aside all the other shit I'm working on so you can feel like you've directed me creatively, you motherfucking HACK.

You ovulating, leather Napoleon, condescending asscock. You fauxteur. You are in advertising. You are in advertising in Las Vegas. You are at the low point of the art food chain. You run a grind shop that aspires to mediocrity. You, despite your title, are neither "Creative" nor a "Director."

And the sooner I can hand in my fucking resignation, the better.

Along the sleep trouble line, a hearty FFO to the hopeless gits who felt the need to hoot and holler at 0100 this morning, all the way from the local pub to the car they had parked in front of my house. What the fuck is the matter with you people? The windows on those houses you walked past were dark because the occupants like to actually sleep in the middle of the night. Have a little respect for other people or fuck off you twatwaffles. With cheese and Mr. Sandman on top.

FOAD to the bus driver in Oregon who threw two 14-year-old girls off the bus for kissing (against company policy) after calling them "sickos".
Shame on you. I hope you lose your pension, you heartless bastard. Growing up gay has got to be hard enough without having to deal with neuron-deficient meatheads like you. Maybe someone threw you off (under?) the short bus when you were a kid, or maybe you are lacking the sympathy-gene, but that doesn't mean you have to humiliate two girls who weren't breaking any laws. You left them stranded with no way to get home, and no way to get where they were headed: The Sexual Minority Youth Center. (How ironic: they were on their way to a haven where they don't have to worry about neanderthals like you.)
I can't believe I'm saying it, but I hope the parents sue your ass. Maybe it will give someone else pause the next time a similar situation presents itself. But for now, just fuck the fuckity fuck off.

Clarification: throwing them off the bus was against company policy (kissing wasn't!)
Sowwy.

You ovulating, leather Napoleon, condescending asscock

Shannon wins this week.

Okay, more fuckoffs. After the fuckwad in the previous, I had to leave the building, and in the process acquired these:

Fuck off to Costco, for having no Roger Miller in their music section. Worse, they had to fucking mock me about it. They had Jim Reeves (I didn't look to see if the CD contained "Billy Bayou"). They had Roger Waters. They had Roger Williams. No Roger Miller. They even had some weird-ass-looking thing called "Queensryche". That one wasn't mocking me, I don't think, because I can't see any kind of connection to Roger Miller, but WTF?

I may have to make a Borders run this weekend.

Fuck off to people who wait until they are told the total before FINALLY bothering to open the purse.

Fuck off to people who don't put their toddlers in the damned shopping cart. The toddler was hanging on the front of the cart, walking VERY SLOWLY BACKWARDS and the cart was smack dab in the middle of the aisle so no one could get by in either direction. And not one of the side aisles, the main traffic one, and the clueless parents just kept pushing along VERY FUCKING SLOWLY.

Fuck off to people who stop to chat side by side in the aisle, blocking it for everybody.

Fuck off to the dimwit twatwaffle pushing the giant, industrial sized orange Mack cart piled with shit WHILE LOOKING BACKWARDS OVER HIS FUCKING SHOULDER.

And oh yeah. Fuck off again to asshole drivers.

Oh gawd, Ken...the other day, I was in Home Depot and some shithead was walking around with this really, really long board slung over his shoulder and was swinging it back and forth...as if there couldn't possibly be anybody walking nearby him expecting a guy to be swinging around a six foot long piece of lumber in Home FUCKING DEPOT on a Saturday morning. Assfuck almost decapitated me with that bloody thing.

Okay, boss of mine, perhaps it's time for a heart to heart.

See, if you send me a "carrot-and-stick" email at 10:00 a.m. which requests a reply by "the end of the day" or else "assignments will be made randomly (as punishment)," you do not then get to send me an email with my punishment assignment at 2:45 p.m.

Why? Well, it's simple, you pencil dicked megalomaniac. 2:45 is NOT THE END OF THE DAY. In fact, for someone who was so backlogged that she didn't even get to open your 10 a.m. email until 2:30, 2:45 is about as far from the end of the day as it gets!

So you can take your passive-aggressive bullshit email, as well as the 30 pages of putrefying excrescence that you call "writing" and that I now have to proofread as "punishment," and you can cram it all up your tight little pimply ass.

Have a nice day, fucknut.

They even had some weird-ass-looking thing called "Queensryche".

Queensryche is a pretty good progressive metal band who had their heyday mid-80s to early 90s.

Well known for not only MTV-friendly (at the time) tunes, but also for helping to make Steinberger guitars popular. Those were those guitars without headstocks. You put the ball end at the head of the guitar and used their transtrem system to tune. Perhaps one of the best systems ever devised for heavy rock playing, but a bit too extreme looking to ever catch on mainstream.

Cullen loves himself a good, extreme axe.

"pretty good progressive metal band"

...Does...not...compute...

Ken,
I cannot stop laughing. No kidding (not to offend, Cullen. I know musical tastes are subjective, but....).

Emily, Ken,

Today, some old fuck at Home Depot speared me in the ribs with the handle of his rake. Asshole. Doesn't he know to look where he's going?

Of course he doesn't, Bill. If he did, he'd be shopping at OSH.

To be fair, Ken...he'd have to travel a long way to go to OSH (thank you, Google). The only other option here is Lowe's.

I should probably tell myself to fuck off, since I started my home improvement project at 7:45 AM. I hope the people in the next unit are either deep sleepers or early risers.

But this closet needs to be renovated, before I go to a local Oktoberfest (in June?!) to drink some Spaten with my father in law.

Tell him it's worth it to travel that far.

It's a week early, but I really need June to fuck off. It's been beating me like a dog so far.