This Week in the Mercury

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I, Anonymous


I, Anonymous

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Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Your Dog Hated Me First

Posted by Anonymous on Tue, May 31, 2011 at 10:00 PM

"It's okay!" That's what white women in their late 20s say to me when their dog is charging me, snarling and barking, when I walk down the street. "It's okay! Come here, Perky! Come here!" They stand there in the entrance to a cafe and reason with their dog from a distance rather than taking control of it or, heaven forbid, keeping it on a leash. "He just ran at you because you're afraid." Hmmm, and here I thought that when I crossed to the other side of the sidewalk to avoid your dog I might get a break this time. Nope. No matter how many nice parks get divided up into 'off leash areas' just for you, you keep your dog off leash everywhere. It used to be that these women would get a fucked-up little rat dog as a pet accessory. Ugly to look at, but the rat dogs never pinned me against a car while their owner did nothing. Ladies, please: put your ill-behaved dog on a leash. Several years of experience has shown that saying "it's okay" doesn't work.

You’re Mean to Old People

Posted by Anonymous on Tue, May 31, 2011 at 7:49 PM

It makes me extremely sad and furious when I see a younger woman call an old man a "piece of sh**" for ALMOST (but not quite) causing a bike crash on the esplanade because of him being slow and unsteady on his bike. I can think of many reasons why this self-righteous bike pedaling B**CH should keep her "piece of sh**" mouth closed, just a few are 1) he is an old man—have some respect, 2) she was going way too fast on the esplanade—slow the f**k down, and 3) there is not a need for such bike rage no matter the age of the individual.

Monday, May 30, 2011

You are NOT Lance Armstrong

Posted by Anonymous on Mon, May 30, 2011 at 4:57 PM

Dear middle aged men that wear your crazy racing uniforms while biking,
Last time I checked, biking around downtown is not equal to the Tour de France, so leave your spandex unitards and racing helmets at home. I do not enjoy having to look at your aging bodies through the skin tight shit you wear. I get that you don't want to sweat in your normal people clothes, but COME ON. Shorts and a t-shirt works too. But kudos for wearing a helmet, more people need to do that.

For the 50th Time... I AM NOT A HIPSTER

Posted by Anonymous on Mon, May 30, 2011 at 4:45 PM

Dear almost every person in my life,
Yes, I wear glasses. Yes, I don't eat meat and I am allergic to dairy and eggs forcing me to be a vegan. Yes, some of my clothes are from vintage stores. And, YES, I do enjoy art. These things do not make me a hipster. I don't think you all understand when you call me a hipster that it is basically the same as calling me a douche bag. Even though you wear sports clothing all the time I don't label you a jock. Please, instead of feeling like you have to label me, or whatever, just get to know me, so that you can call me by my name, rather than "that hipster girl." Thanks.


To My Pot Smoking Neighbors

Posted by Anonymous on Mon, May 30, 2011 at 3:37 PM

I can smell your weed in the hallway. Why? Why on earth are you befouling your residence with smoke? Why are you allowing the common area to smell like weed?

I don't have anything against smoking pot. I've done it myself from time to time and think that it should be legal. However, I wouldn't smoke pot inside, just like I wouldn't smoke tobacco inside.

When I want to smoke a cigarette, I go out. I usually sit in front of the apartment building, and smoke while I read. Why don't you do the same thing with pot? Smoking outside is totally pleasant, especially right now in springtime, and I seriously doubt that anyone in the hipster-infested neighborhood we live in is going to be offended by someone smoking pot in public.

The hall stinks, though, and it's because of you. I take my cigarettes outside, and I suggest you do the same thing with your joints.

Less Shoving, More Loving

Posted by Anonymous on Mon, May 30, 2011 at 10:10 AM

So you and the girls came in from Tigard tonight to check out the lumbertwinks, Mr. Cleans, latex mummies, drag queens, and the girls who kissed a girl and liked it. Blow Pony is a great event because it welcomes everybody and allows everyone be themselves. Attitude and judgement are best left at the coat check. Dance, drink, have fun. Smile at those who are different, because they smile at you even if your different from their world.

A bit of advice: when your favorite song comes on it's not polite to push and two handed shove to get to the dance floor. I share your love of tasty Cosmos, just not your rudeness as you push back through once your song ended.

Try again next month. I'm not suggesting you be any less of yourself on your next visit. The mix of people is what makes Blow Pony so great. Being less pushy and aggressive will allow us all to have a good time. We're all here for a reason: to dance. Your shoving was more appropriate for a theater on fire than a dance floor lit up by my shaking booty. A gentle touch usually is enough create a little space.

Oh, by the way, I liked your shoes.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Women Who Hover

Posted by Anonymous on Sun, May 29, 2011 at 10:02 PM

I know you won't sit on a public toilet seat because you think it's disgusting. NEWSFLASH: YOU ARE THE WORST OFFENDERS FOR MAKING PUBLIC RESTROOMS DISGUSTING. I sit, and I never leave pee on the seat. You, however, leave your piss all over the seat, the bowl, the floor—and then you just leave it there! Ugh! Carry some sanitizer wipes or something, you stupid bitch!


Posted by Anonymous on Sun, May 29, 2011 at 1:53 PM

You fucking piece of shit man-whore! Since we’ve been roommates, I've not only had to suffer through countless nights of your Mike Patton tributes- didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s only cool for a girl to be a screamer? -I’ve also had to share my living space with some true fucking champions of skank. Remember that forty-something panther with the flapjacks you picked up in the Kmart parking lot? Nothing I like more than waking up hungover to find some grinning snaggletooth wandering around my kitchen, remnants of your duck butter glistening in her nasty fucking post-menopausal ‘stache. What the fuck?! And that poly hippie chick whose nappy-ass boyfriend you let crash on our couch while you were fucking her? Hmmm… why'd we all have crabs two days later? Fucking moron. But now I’m leaving this carnal cesspool and I hope you drown in your own putrid fucking semen. Remember our trip to Seattle last month? Remember how I had to piss so badly and you wouldn’t stop the fucking car because you were in a hurry to meet up with some internet ho, but you were so kind as to pass me your empty Yoo-Hoo bottle? How thoughtful of you, you fucking winner. Guess what? My doctor told me today I have fucking herpes! And don’t try and tell me it wasn’t you, you Valtrex-popping motherfucker! Now I’ll remember you for all eternity, you fucking douchebag. But wait, there’s more. Remember when your sister came over last weekend and you were out “sarging” with your fellow man-whores? Oh yes I did.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Funky Tree You're Mine All Mine.

Posted by Anonymous on Sat, May 28, 2011 at 12:10 PM

I work in the psychic field, and while I had to do some time in a telephone psychic line, I am building step by step my own saloon, or as I like to call it: "My Sphere of Mutual Entertainment". But as you may or not may not know, it can get out of hand partially fast because the minds of todays peoples are so messed up, that they start to interject with one another sexually, sometimes in the waiting room.

I try to stop it by placing ABBA records or musicals. Then it goes further, and I have to take control of the neoplasm floating around, and to stop this and to make it a safe placenta for the mind, I make them think of themselves having encounters with the plants and flowers that are placed in the room to beautify the ambience. All in the name of science and love. If one takes it as natural to relieve oneself with a tree, the next thing they can aim for is to kissy kiss at a safe distance the cutie bell or smile at that sexy homeless guy who just needs a bagel to get thru the day. I have done horrible things in my life, and am not proud of that. I record this experience as a time capsule to be judged by my peers and not so peers. - NeoCosm-43 White Goatee -


I, Anonymous Chill Out Tent!

Posted by Anonymous on Sat, May 28, 2011 at 10:18 AM

WELCOME TO THE NEW I, ANONYMOUS BLOG. While many of the rants you're currently reading are definitely entertaining—it can also be a little... much, sometimes. Don'tchathink? That's why we'll occasionally post a "I, Anonymous Chill Out Tent" where you can come in, sit down, and just... you know... chill out for a minute. It's like a palate cleanser before jumping back into the muck. So here's something we hope will help: A DACHSHUND SWIMMING LIKE AN OTTER!

Dear Stripper: I'm Not Your Monkey

Posted by Anonymous on Sat, May 28, 2011 at 2:09 AM

Dear stripper:
This is not a strip club. I am not a potential stripper's douchebag boyfriend. I don't have the hair for it, nor do I have the neck tattoo. When you walk up to me and announce that you are a stripper in a regular bar, what the shit do you expect? A free drink? Forty bucks? No. You get that shit from me when you are at your strip club stripping. There I will be amazed by your athleticism, taste in music, and pole tricks. I'll get hammered and drop forty bucks so you can pretend I'm interesting. Out here, in the world? Nobody gives a shit. Except neck-tattoo guy. A stripper girlfriend completes his image.

Response to "Bamboozled by Boners."

Posted by Anonymous on Sat, May 28, 2011 at 12:23 AM

Re: "Bamboozled by Boners"
So basically what is going on in the realm of massage therapy is this: If you are male and you accidentally get a boner while getting a massage, you forfeit the right to have the massage you paid for completed. It seems to me that this is a bullshit argument. If having an erection is reason for the therapist to cease a massage, then that information needs to be included in the informational material provided before said massage is started. Had I known that, I would have consciously focused on not getting a boner. This of course would have defeated the goal of total relaxation during massage, but at least I would have known what I was supposed to do. Seriously, is a boner so threatening that it constitutes a breach of contract on the part of the client? I am bamboozled. BYRRUS

Friday, May 27, 2011

Please Leave Me Alone (Or Don't)

Posted by Anonymous on Fri, May 27, 2011 at 1:13 PM

Crazy people, I get that I must have one of those faces. I like to smile at people on the street because, you know, it's a nice thing to do. But it's not an invitation to follow me, or tell me about your Schwinn or go on some tirade about Newports to Newport News or how you're a marine that needs money.

But really, it isn't your fault. It's our fucked up system that throws you on the streets instead of giving you the help you need. And the people who treat you like you're invisible. So fuck Oregon and if you ignore the less fortunate, fuck you too. They might be hard to deal with and you might want to be left alone, but they are still fucking people and you can spare a few minutes, even if you can't spare the cash.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Trouble Over a $10

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 5:54 PM

To the Beaverton Fred Meyers cashier that checked me out on Tuesday, I hope you didn't get written up.
I asked for $10 cash back and we were busy talking, you handed me my receipt and commented the ridiculousness of the coupons that printed out. I agreed and smiled and walked away. 11 miles later are parked my car outside my apartment and realized I didn't have the $10. You never handed me a $10. I know this. I checked my pockets, and purse and every possible place, no $10. To drive back would have cost me half that $10 in gas. So, I shrugged and didn't bother.
But then I got to thinking, I work retail too, and if my till were $10 over I'd be in trouble. Wasn't it Fred Meyers that was in the ads on buses a while back for firing people over a few cents? I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. There’s not much I can do now without causing more confusion. I really hope you didn't get in trouble.


Stop Jerking, Jerk!

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 3:16 PM

It's a gym shower, not a bath house or glory hole. What the hell are you thinking? Sure, a lot of guys vigorously clean their dicks after their workout, but there's a big difference between a thorough scrubbing and what you were doing. You were fully erect, had the four fingers under/thumb over grip and were thrashing your junk like it was on fire. Have some fucking dignity and jerk off somewhere where that behavior is expected or at least close the fucking curtain.

Asshole on the 19

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 1:54 PM

To the schmuck on the 19 downtown yesterday around 5pm, who felt it was more important that he sit next to his girlfriend than the lady who was on the bus before him use the seat: what the fuck is wrong with you? She was there first, why should she have to stand so you could sit next to your girlfriend? If you were 14 I might have not given you a dirty look and said "really?" but you're clearly in your 30s and should not only know better, but should be happy to give your seat up for a woman (or man!) older than you. Putting your arm around your girlfriend for the next several stops didn't make any of us think you were romantic or sensitive. Asking someone to give up his or her seat for your able-bodied ass on a full bus is a Class-A dick move.

Your girlfriend is clearly a very lucky gal.

I’m Sorry I Screamed at You

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 1:33 PM

To the lady in Fred Meyer's parking lot on Lombard:
I'm very sorry I screamed at you today. Though there's no excuse for my behavior, there are some extenuating circumstances you may not be aware of: I'm a new father of a three-month-old baby. I was pushing her in the stroller, when you backed out of the parking space and almost ran over us both. I screamed something like, "What the fuck lady are you fucking blind why don't you fucking learn how to drive fuck you fuck you fuck fuck fuck." I overreacted. It was raining, your windows were fogged up, and I should have taken that into account. Having a baby has made me super paranoid. Probably because I don't think I'm very good at parenting. I keep thinking she's going to die on my watch, and I'll never forgive myself. That's not your problem or fault. I know I scared you terribly with my over the top outrage, and I need to be more careful in parking lots, too. I'll probably never see you again, but I wish I could tell you I'm going to try to relax a little, and do a better job of keeping control of my temper. Again, sorry.

Does Someone Smell Smoke?

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 1:09 PM

I used to smoke cigarettes and if I'd known how bad I smelled I would've quit a lot sooner. In short smokers, you reek. If you are even within 20 feet of me I can smell your smoke and if you come within 5 after smoking I can smell your now nasty breath. You're sooooo not cool. No. You are supporting an industry that knowingly makes its profit off the poor, young and uneducated while also disproportionately targeting minorities by spending over 11 billion a year on advertising to get new consumers. Those assholes don't need your hard earned money. Fuck them and quit already.

Lazy TriMet Teens

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 1:02 PM

While its a nice of the city to help Tri-Met and give school kids a bus pass do they realize that most of them only use the damn thing to go a couple of stops at most? Service comes to a stand still because scads of pre/teens wait more than 20 minutes in order to pile onto buses so they can ride to where they could've walked in less that time. We aren't doing our ever more obese children a service by giving everyone passes. Why not issue them based proximity to the school? Anyone living under a 1/2 mile doesn't need a pass more than they need the exercise.


And Baby Makes Three (or More)

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 12:55 PM

What's with all the baby carriages on Tri-Met? They take up enough space for 3 more people and most of the time the "drivers" of these large space sucking pieces of future landfill are just using the damn thing to lug around more crap then they'll ever need. Ever try actually holding your baby? S/he wants more than anything to be held and not some excuse for you to over-accessorize. So yeah, don't do it for me and all the other passengers who have nowhere to sit because you got spunk in your vag and popped one out. Do it for the kid. Peace.

Shut Up, TriMet!

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 11:30 AM

I realize you are interested in not having any more buses crash into innocent pedestrians, but do your fucking buses have to talk so damn loud? I dutifully commute on your buses everyday, and all I want to do is read a book in peace. But your buses have to loudly announce every stop inside AND outside of the bus. Not only must I tolerate every semi-bathed rider of the bus along with poorly-parented ill-behaved children, crazy people talking too loud, cell phone chatters and other horrible dregs of society, now your stupid buses talk too! Can't you just teach your drivers to drive instead of making your buses yell in two different languages?

I, Anonymous Chill Out Tent!

Posted by Anonymous on Thu, May 26, 2011 at 10:00 AM

WELCOME TO THE NEW I, ANONYMOUS BLOG. While many of the rants you're currently reading are definitely entertaining—it can also be a little... much, sometimes. Don'tchathink? That's why we'll occasionally post a "I, Anonymous Chill Out Tent" where you can come in, sit down, and just... you know... chill out for a minute. It's like a palate cleanser before jumping back into the muck. So here's something we hope will help: KITTEN HUGS!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Attention: People I Work With

Posted by Anonymous on Wed, May 25, 2011 at 11:12 PM

hey people at work: i hate you. i guess not all of you, but most of you. i don't care about what your last marathon time was, i don't care which microbrew you drank last night, and i don't care what you did on your vacation. the only reason i tolerate the bullshit coming out of your mouth is because i'm getting paid during every second you spend boring me with the details of your stupid life. and the only reason i don't tell you i hate you to your face is because we have to hang out every day. so i'm keeping my mouth shut. but trust me, i hate you

Trollhouse Dookie

Posted by Anonymous on Wed, May 25, 2011 at 3:46 PM

I see you posting all day long, whenever I take a glance back you've already posted again. You live under a bridge. You are like a sad, angry, solipsistic muppet Gandalph furiously waving your staff at every comment thread. Get off the damn internerd already you fawking troll! You actually make me think free information to the internet may actually be a bad thing because you are always there. Fucking it up. TROLL! Go back under your bridge!

Apply for a Real Job.

Posted by Anonymous on Wed, May 25, 2011 at 3:44 PM

First of all, you don't WORK FOR 5Linx/Scentsy/Avon/whateverthefuck. And you don't "have your own business" - you're a brick in a pyramid. How much did you pay to get in, $400? When you get 400 customers, you can make $20 a month! Great! That's before self-employment taxes and the $50 per month for your "replicated website" by the way. No, I don't want to pay $150 to "save" 10% on gas. Get a real job. There's no shame in asking if I want fries with that.

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