Dear Joggers/Dog Walkers of the Springwater Corridor,
Put some fucking lights on it. Fuck, even a bird shaped reflector. They sell those. Stick that shit SOMEWHERE. On your ass, on your face, on your fucking shoes. If you go walking on an mostly UNLIT path, bring something I can see from a distance when I'm hauling ass toward you. I can't see shit when I'm staring down another cyclist heading in the opposite direction and they've decided the best way to be seen on a multi-use pathway where there are NO FUCKING CARS is to strap a fucking LIGHT HOUSE to the front of their bike and point it at my face. It's like everyone is driving with high beams on, shooting my night vision to hell. Their glare means I'm blind until two seconds after they pass. Two long ass seconds that mean I can RUN INTO YOU. I know. Simultaneously complaining about lights that are too bright while griping about joggers/walkers who don't wear any. Shits complicated. Deal with it.
Fellow cyclists: Point that shit at the ground. You don't need to fucking blind people with those LEDs until you're back on the ACTUAL road again.
Pedestrians: I will run your ass over. Put on a fucking safety vest/light/strap a cell phone with a flashlight app to your face if you want to get really Portlandia in this shit.
Dear dog loving friends, your dog is really really cute. I particularly like it when when I'm cycling in one fine parks (Forest park, Mt tabor) and you've decided that it's totally ok to let your Goddamn dog run around like it's a fucking dog park. Don't get me wrong, I love when your beloved pet thinks that it would be a great idea to try to eat my calf for lunch. There are shit tons of off leash areas in portland, fucking use them. I won't ride in them promise, and keep your fucking dog on a leash so I and the rest Portland can enjoy the parks without fear
I can smell you from across the room as soon as you open the door. When you come up to the counter, I’m sorry I can’t provide you with my usual top-notch customer service, but I’m too busy choking on whatever the shit is that you submerge yourself in. It makes me instantly dizzy. I try breathing through my mouth but it turns my stomach. I can feel it coat my fucking tongue. I don’t care if what you wear is $250/bottle, or if it’s 100% all natural hand pressed essential oils of some rare Amazonian blossom, or if it’s the purest vaginal secretions of the last living fucking unicorn, it makes me seriously sick. Maybe you’ve lost your olfactory sense and honestly don’t know why birds fall from the sky and insects die around you everywhere you go. Maybe you’re afraid you won’t be noticed, maybe you’re starved for attention and the only way you know you can get it is to drown everyone in the room with the presence of your sickly perfume stink. However afraid you might be, for whatever reason, of your natural body odor, it cannot be worse than the shit you subject me to daily. Next time you go out in public maybe try leaving the bath of eternal stench in the bottle at home. Go for some subtlety, maybe just some deodorant if you need to, a lightly scented lotion perhaps. Without the stomach-wrenching cloud of artificial stank that surrounds you, you might actually be attractive.
Dear Sunday Brunch Patron,
I really want to apologize for disturbing you last weekend. There you were, trying to enjoy your morning meal and a relaxing read, and there I was at the next table, creating a ruckus that probably could have been heard outside. I am really, really, sorry.
Unfortunately, I cannot apologize for the other people there who were also not observing your desire for peace and tranquility, most of whom were wearing Green Bay Packers football jerseys. I also cannot apologize for the proprietors, who not only elected to put up a dozen HDTVs in their restaurant, but elected to turn them all on and put football on each and every one. To make matters worse, they fanned the flames by serving this crowd of ruffians beer and cocktails.
Yes, you dumb bitch, you gave me stink eye for cheering for my team on Sunday morning in a sports bar. Next Sunday, read your fucking poetry book in your car in the garage with the engine running.
You twisted sick fuck. Maybe once upon a time you had a slight chance to become a decent human being, and for whatever you-were-unfairly-fucked-over-by-life-at-an-earlier-age reason that so did not happen. I pulled up behind your Washington-licensed Ford Explorer on the southbound I-5 off ramp at Broadway. I saw the 2 old homeless dudes with their cardboard signs looking for spare change. You saw them too. I didn't give them any because I am just a heartless asshole who doesn't believe in giving away my money like that. But not you, no, you twisted sick fuck, you needed to pelt them with change, whip quarters (I hope at least they were quarters) and laugh at them. Because old homeless guys asking for change with cardboard signs on the street are SO DAMN FUNNY! I hope you rot in a wet bed of your own piss someday.
To the pretentious asshole who believes women should be at his beckon call- go fuck yourself. I apologize profusely for having a voice and speaking my mind, as inferior as it may be to your mighty one. I actually do have a problem with your term "keeping it casual" when it entails I'm only allowed to bask in your fucking glory if a) it's on your terms b) no one is around to see me and c)it's at the shit-hole also known as your apartment. I thoroughly enjoy the fact that you think I should be thrilled, nay, accepting of your "I'm just being honest" statement made to me via text. The huge shit my cat produces for me to clean in his kitty box has more meaning and depth that your half assed text, dipshit. Contrary to what you may believe, my world doesn't revolve around your dick, especially when it lacks as much as yours does. Don't take your inability to please me sexually personally. I'm just being honest.
I feel like a jerk for shutting you down. I was working on an art assignment and you were a lovely, darling lady, overly interested in my homework.
Listen, I'm working on an assignment. It's not fun. I don't want to talk about it. I just want to do it. More importantly I was sending you really clear body language that I didn't want to talk. Is it too much to ask that I be able to work on this assignment in peace? I know I'm out in sight but I'm a working student and I have a lazy desk job that doesn't pay a lot for the express reason that I can paint here.
Believe me, I engaged you and we exchanged the required pleasantries but when, after you'd ignored my polite attempts at avoiding more conversation for five questions about my existentialist future, I calmly said, "I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it." I felt like such an asshole. Why? Why do I feel like an asshole when you're the one who should be more socially in tune.
I don't understand why you want to know my major or my life's work. Maybe you want to help me and I just shot down an opportunity but honestly how am I supposed to get my shit done if I answer the banal curiosities of every person that crosses my path? Am I painting? Yes, I am painting. Thank you for saying it is beautiful. Please listen to these hunched shoulders and leave me alone. I have provided the service to you which was required by my base rate pay.
Back in the glory days of the downtown campout the twinge of self-righteous superiority was mostly subsumed by the clarity and force of the 99 metaphor. But out of the parks and into the mall, I guess the campers are casting off the metaphor and giving in, full bore, to their simmering sense of moral superiority. Instead of sticking it to The Man, they spent the day mocking the average folks hunting for sales. "Hurry!" "Buy more stuff."
That’s not collective action, it’s moral preening. The movement now seems mostly interested in itself — its squabbles with the cops, its self-pitying exclusion from the parks, its own righteous rejection of capitalist wealth culture. When all OPS can think of is itself, it’s easy to understand how they can imagine that the common people at the mall are as much a part of the capitalist-consumerist axis of injustice as the fatcats sipping kiwi daiquiris in the BofA Tower. That’s all fine I suppose, but if that’s OPS then OPS isn’t a social movement, it’s a clique.
There are few things — yachts, silk sheets, and penthouse apartments, included — as gratifying as a robust conviction in your own righteousness. Moral bling is every bit as shiny as that ring on Kim Kardashian’s finger. When OPS gets 100 people to help the poor instead of wag its collective finger at them, the 99 will be inspired.
So, I was biking home on Waterfront on Friday night when you stepped out in front of me. I wondered "why is this crazy asshole getting in my way?" Then I saw you extend your hand and I saw why- you wanted me to high-five you while I biked by.
I didn't, though. Instead I said, "don't be a dick."
"You're a dick," you said to me, being accurate.
I'd just biked through downtown and it was filled with all kinds of fucking people there for the fucking tree because it's stupid fucking Christmas now. I was mad at all the traffic, people, cops, and other stupid festive bullshit that I'd just had to navigate around, and wasn't in the mood for another obstruction.
Look, I really should have high-fived you. You were trying to be friendly and spontaneous, and I acted like a jerk. Sorry about that. You're not a dick. High-five, dude.
Dear dreadlocked dude working at the tattoo shop on Hawthorne: why did you stop us from holding the violent drunk? He had been sexually harassing women up and down the street, and finally smashed the window at the Thai place when he didn't get the free food he wanted. That guy needed help and he needed to be accountable. Then when the cops showed up you had to put on a big show in your shop. I recommend reading up on ORS 133.225 and 161.255- what we were doing was totally fine. This wasn't a case of the "man" keeping anybody down- we were just trying to get justice. Get a fucking grip.
Attention parents - I know you like to get away as much as the rest of us and I understand that much - but the rest of us ADULTS like our booze and barrooms without the side of SCREAMING BABIES!
IT'S A BAR - I know there are a few family/kid friendly joints (Lucky Lab-Laurelwood-Applebees) but please stay the HELL OUT OF MY BAR with your brats because I do not find them amusing - that's the reason adults get away to A BAR.
To the incompetent drivers in the Milwaukie/11th + Powell intersection: I don't have an extra 15 minutes to wait behind you in the left turn lane every day. You're the moron who stops 10 feet behind the line and doesn't realize the light is connected to sensors. This causes a huge backup while your dumb ass waits around, scratching your head, confused as to why the arrow hasn't lit green yet. Meanwhile, everyone behind you inches forward. Some (I) may even honk in hopes your sorry ass moves up to the fucking line so the light knows to turn green. Here's an idea: take a fucking bus! You obviously don't know what the hell you're doing behind the wheel, and nobody wants you driving anyway.
Old man & young lady, enjoying each others company at the bar. Yes, silver fox, you looked fun-loving, even youthful, with your unabated grin & flowing locks. And sprightly gal; you looked perhaps wise, and as though you might appreciate an aged gentleman. But seeing you two canoodling, Mr. I'm-probably-pushing-60 & Ms. I'm-25-and-not-into-boys!, and then leaving together... Ultimately: gah-ross!
My old days of squeeZing one out exclusivley at home via desktop are now far behind me. Having to make sure the blinds are closed and the volume turned down whilst waxing my dolphin to hot scenes is no longer a huge chunk of time lost.
That's right. Now I can polish the bishop on the road as porn now in my pocket and on demand baby!
At work, in the bathroom (thank you locking doors), in your bathroom, my car, the possibilities are endless. I've been spraying my putty all over town ever since, and it's all in high fucking definition!
The best beatoff machine ever made and the best part is I am writing this with it now. Well, gotta go! :)
-sent from my chode choker
To the stupid fuck who broke into my place, WHILE I WAS HOME, and then claimed the door had blown open in the nonexistent wind, running away before I could get downstairs to straight up murder you — you broke my fucking door, dickwad. YOU BROKE MY DOOR, and now I have to pay for it with what little money I do have, because YOU felt like stealing something in broad daylight from someone who doesn't have much to steal. I sure hope to hell you eventually found something worth selling for the craptacular load of shit drugs you apparently are going to inject/smoke/cram into your asshole, and I dearly pray that it's somehow tainted and you wind up sickened to the brink (but not beyond) death, so you can suffer in agony for a long time, because you DESERVE IT, you LOWER THAN MONKEY-ASS-PIMPLE-PUS MISCREANT. If you decide to come back to steal whatever you saw, you will WISH it was just drugs that TORE UP YOUR SORRY ASS. I SWEAR TO MUTHERFUCKIN GOD, IF I EVER SEE YOUR ASS IN MY PLACE AGAIN I WILL MAKE YOU WISH YOU'D NEVER POKED YOUR FUCKING HEAD OUT OF YOUR MOTHER'S USED, DISEASED, DISTENDED DUMP OF A VAGINA.
Attention anyone who has never punched a clock and worked long, stressful hours in a kitchen, here are a few tips for dining out. If you don't know what you want, grab a menu and step away from the counter so someone who IS ready can go ahead of you. If you are allergic to 95 percent of the ingredients commonly found in food, learn to cook at home. If you are in a hurry, use that fantastic new invention called the telephone and place your order before you come in. Standing there giving the cooks dirty looks will NOT make your order come out faster. In fact, we will find out what you ordered and move it to the back of the line. Some things take longer to cook than others, it is not our fault that you ordered 6 pain in the ass things and the guy who ordered 1 simple thing after you got his food first. And most importantly, recognize that daycare center and restaurant are totally different things. If your brats are running laps around the dining room while you sit in the corner drinking beer and ignoring them, they WILL get a bowl of hot soup spilled all over them. Just because school is out for thanksgiving break does not mean it is OK to occupy our dining room for 3 hours with your stupid doublewide sport utility strollers blocking every possible path through the place. -Anonymous
On 11-14-2011 I saw you at a certain store in the Bridgeport area when you came through my line (for professional reasons I'll withhold the name). You had brown shoulder length hair and wore earth colored clothes. I asked what you were up to and you said "Crock potting and home remodeling." You forgot your book and I ran it out to you. I thought of doing an I Saw You, but those usually translate into "I'm a complete and total loser trying to get laid," and that's not the case. I just want you to know you made my heart skip a few beats. I'm sure a girl like you is in a relationship, and if so, I hope that person knows how special you are and treats you with respect. Anyway, I was so taken by you I couldn't think of anything else for days. If you ever feel like having a extra friend, I'm sure you can figure out how to find me. I hope that doesn't sound creepy. And because this is an I Anonymous, I guess I should bitch about something... but I just can't think of anything. Oh, um, hipsters suck!
To the Unctuous, Condescending, Schoolmarmish, Self-Righteous, Self-Righteous Natural Foods Staff Worker(s),
There are many more than one of you, hating your life and your job at the Upscale Natural Foods Store. You have a college degree, don't you, and your talents are sorely unused, and your brillliance unappreciated? I feel your pain. I too am brilliant and underappreciated.
Meanwhile: Surprise, surprise. Yes, I, who am at least twice your age do see that there are tongs for picking out the cheese cube samples. The subtlety of your pointing out to me that there are tongs there for picking out the samples was deeply impressive. I guess that post-modernist lit course you took did not go to waste, though most of us learned that level of sarcasm by the 3rd grade.
But you forgot to explain how it is that the odds of my infecting the other tiny cheese cube samples, or picking up an infection from those other samples, none of which I touched with my deft, skillful ability to touch solely the one I took for myself are greater than the 100% odds that any contamination on my fingers will be left on the tongs, and the 100% odds that anyone before me who used the tongs will leave their contamination on the tongs.
I realize you must obey state laws and want customers to use the tongs to avoid trouble with "The Man." But if you really want me to believe that you are as superior as your snide tone implies, then you better figure out how to not talk down to people and figure out how to find a job you like. Oh, and by the way....if you really give a flying fuck about cleanliness, haul your ass over to the dining area and earn your paycheck. The tables are filthy.
I didn't realize that Movie Madness was your own personal domain and that I wasn't allowed to stand and talk to a friend that I haven't seen in a long time. Your "subtle" thrusting into my shoulder was akin to being in highschool when the dumbfuck jocks were trying to make up for the lack of girth in their pants. Except you with your white hair and old yuppie vest are well past your teenage years. Maybe you feel that your small stature was threatened by my ability to see over your head. I am so sorry I dared to block you in your rush to grab the last Mr. Popper's Penguins dvd. Maybe you should try and say excuse me next time. Maybe you should just fuck off.
thank you occupy portland for blocking the streets where tri-met picks up riders so that my client missed her medical appointment. that is surely an excellent way to promote your support of local businesses. while you are there, please make sure you do not allow me access to my bank so i cannot make a deposit to cover my rent check for my business studio. please also reference 'sarcasm' on your ipad, a luxury that i as a small business owner cannot afford.
Y'all know about body language, yes? If you want to act like the baddest motherfuckers on two feet when the cops close in, have the goddam courage of your convictions when you actually collide. The whole spittle-flying, righteous indignation act loses steam and sincerity when at first physical contact you buckle like you're looking for a foul call. Just saying.
Every day, walking down busy streets, trying to avoid eye contact with overly friendly natives. (Seriously, nowhere else in the world outside of ridiculous flat state towns looks people in the eye. Shift eyes up, shift eyes down, quickly. You have acknowledged presence of person in front of you, you are not challenging them to a fight or a sexual encounter.)
We drive and ride our bikes on the right side of the road right? SO WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU WALK ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE SIDEWALK. In London the tube stations have signs near the escalator saying "stand on the right, walk on the left." Guess what? It works really fucking well! No lumbering morons clogging up the escalators. No herp derp oblivious idiots standing in the way.
This isn't rocket science you myopic freaks. Walk as though you were driving, follow some goddamned logic and let the rest of us, who have places to be and aren't interested in staring at SHOOEEESS SHOEEESSS for 30 minutes get by you! Oh but wait, that means you heliocentric assholes may have to acknowledge the presence of people who aren't you. So sorry.
And knowing that, I will take the noble quest of forcing you to behave like you're in a real fucking city. Be prepared to be forced to the right. Be prepared for me to proposition you when you stare me down as I walk down the road. You will learn. Like Pavlov's fucking dogs. Only just negative reinforcement. No food for you.
Did you know that leaving the scene of an accident without leaving your name or insurance information constitutes a felony hit and run? When you plowed into me as I walked through the intersection of N.E. 28th and Broadway just after Thanksgiving last year, you got out of your car and asked if I was okay, then hurriedly drove away. I was NOT okay; I was in shock. And I had a hairline skull fracture and multiple contusions where I landed on the pavement. A year later, the entire right side of my body thrums with dull pain which intensifies in cold and wet weather. I'm still paying off the $2,000 in medical bills my insurance wouldn't cover. But why should any of this matter to you? You certainly weren't overly concerned about my immediate well-being the night you ran me down, so why should you care a year later that I—not you—am still paying, in more ways than one, for your incompetence as a driver and shortcomings as a human being? Happy Thanksgiving, bitch.
Dude with the ho tattoo. It`s cool that you come and hang out and drum a bit, then wonder around and leave. But men, do you really have to bang every day in our drum circle and then DANCE? I don't know if you're aware, but the skins of the drums require maintenance, everyone who drums in our rented space is paying, so should you! Besides, we are playing very complex rhythms, which you record, learn while playing, and then you bring them over to your house. What's up with that? You shouldn't be allowed in here anymore, and someone should send you the bill for all the classes you've received because like a parasite you have absorbed and given nothing back. You're like a parasite that's not wanted in any way. There`s no symbiotic interaction with you, you`re like Malaria!
I don't know how many "anti-children" I have met who are crazy animal people. Treating their annoying dogs like they are human babies and even putting human emotions onto them. I wonder what this mentality is where one criticizes parenting, all the while being a horrible pet owner. You know, I have NEVER stepped on a dirty diaper. But, I can't tell you how many times a neglectful pet owner caused me to step in a pile of you know what. Also, I have never been kept up at night by a crying baby, but have countless times by a barking dog. Some of you pet owners are crazy and arrogant. Oh, how I wish you child haters had parents who adhered to your "anti-breeding" policy. Then we wouldn't have to listen to you whine and complain about children. Put your dogs on a leash and get a life.
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