Hey motherfucker, how you doing today? Oh, your head hurts? That's too bad. I cannot begin to express the immense joy that I felt when I got to see you fall on your grumpy assface after you got out of the bus. I wanted to stand up and point and laugh and tell everybody on the bus how much you deserved to be left lying on the sidewalk. I've hated you since that time you told that kid visiting our fair city from another land that we speak English in America and watched you physically push another man away from because he was standing too close to you on a crowded bus that you chose to get on. As if the 15 didn't come every ten minutes. Now I know you're just a miserable drunk. And you know what? I love me some miserable drunks, but you sir, are a piece of shit. Next time do us all a favor and just walk the 20 minutes to your stop. If you don't feel like walking, then maybe you could just jump off the Morrison. Just like the other day, nobody will rush to help you.
All you fucks, up and down 39th. What is with all the lane changing recklessness and over all aggro bullshit. You mother fuckers, we ALL arrive at the light at the same time.
And you sneaky little jerkoffs who angle for the quick route to a left turn on 39th and Halsey last minute style: I'm the assholle who will eventually have you hit my car. Yes, I slow down and wait and make sure to do it right.
There will be a fight if you keep it up, and I will win......bitch
Dear sir or madam Yelper,
Perhaps you honestly believe that your own impeccable taste and sensibilities about everything from restaurants to grocery stores to Jiffy-Lubes warrant your self indulgent diatribes. Perhaps you honestly believe that you are saving the world one Yelp at a time. Perhaps it has never occurred to you that the people you Yelp about are in fact people who are subject to good days and bad days with an array of variables involved. Perhaps you are just a huge coward who would rather hide under the veil of anonymity rather than state your grievances to the parties involved. Perhaps you should learn to cook your own damn dinner or change your own damn oil. Quit being such a wimp. If you don't like a place, don't go back. It's as simple as that. Tell your friends about how you were so grossly wronged. Tell your family. Do not slander an entire establishment on a worldwide platform simply because your mellow was harshed or you actually had to wait 15 minutes for a table during Sunday brunch. Get a life.
The entire service industry
What I would describe as an ugly yearlong break-up, came to a finale with you diving head first into a shit eating display of shear lunacy. Under the full moon, you tore up my front garden like a rabid monkey, screaming ill-convictions of my private life to the world. I watched with pity and disgust as you thrashed the groundcover, ripped at lavender, plucked the curry bush, uprooted dusty’s, yanked out leeks….then you proceeded to stomp on the 50 year old rose bush: that’s when I had to tackle your ass. The cops showed. Maliciously, you declared that you were going to tell them everything; that I was fucked; done for. So you did, you told them a number of things that had nothing to do with your violent behavior. You snitched about a pot garden that both our names were registered to. So. Fucking. Stupid. As it turned out, the cops didn’t give a shit about the ganja reek from my house nor about what you had to say and they were ready to book your ass that night. You balked and whimpered like a little brat. You probably avoided arrest because I wouldn’t report how I received that fresh shiner on my temple – you’re welcome, now here’s a fork for your shit pie. As for me, the next sunny morning I used my green-thumb to repair the entire garden – except the leeks, I used those to make an excellent potato soup. You need to drop your self-aggrandizing permaculture classes and take your pot snitching, rose-stomping ass back to Baltimore. I hate you. Portland hates you.
Me and my girls came into your shop looking to buy some wigs. My friend drawn to the blue one on display reached for it. You came yelling at us across the store for touching the wig. You then kicked us out because we "keep touching stuff". Word of advice, you might want to post a sign saying " DO NOT TOUCH THE FUCKING WIGS!!!" Of all the things we could have done to get kicked out of a sex shop, it was touching a wig. I want to thank you though because we are still laughing about it. Laughter does the soul good, you should try it sometime, but you might want to remove the stick out of your ass first.
I am excited to see that new apartment buildings in SE don't add parking, and are pissing people off. I have lived in the inner Hawthorne/Division area for thirty years, and have been happy to see it quickly grow and change. People that think parking is a biological necessity are the type that I don't want as neighbors. They are fucking tourists. Adapt to a dynamic city and take a fucking bus once in a while. Part of the beauty of living in the city is not needing a car, and you are squandering it. I have a great place for you: the outer suburbs of row houses. Plenty of parking. Just be sure to move far enough away that you die before your new neighborhood evolves for the better so I don't have to hear you whine again.
Neighbor, I get it. The walls separating our apartments are thin. I understand that I am going to hear you sometimes.. What I don't understand is why you insist on having your bed against the wall that we share? I know your apartment is set up just like mine and there is plenty of room on the other side. Almost daily I am treated to the sounds of not only your angry fight-fucking, but the sound of your bed scraping against the wall. It sounds like you are sanding something! At first it was funny, but now it's just really annoying. Please move your bed.
One night last summer at about 1:00am, a group of you woke me up with a loud argument about where you'd parked your car. You were a few houses down by the time I began following you, and I remained hidden for at least 20 minutes as you bickered and stumbled around the block looking for your fully Yakima'd Subaru Outback. By the time you found it, I was convinced that all four of your party were incapable of driving it and I took matters into my own hands: I called 911 and reported your ass for drunk driving. As soon as I hung up I fired up my police scanner app and got to hear, a few minutes later, a car fitting your description getting pulled over. One suspect, taken into custody for DUII.
I felt so good about this, I've re-arranged my work schedule for this summer. That means I'll now get to stay up late every Last Thursday hunting you assholes down and feeding your plate numbers to the po-po. Happy trails, shitbirds!
When seeing finely tuned specimen leaning over a bar stool, and a sudden urge to slap their ass consumes you. Instead of coming up from the top, and or the side, the specimen would appreciate more if you slap it from the bottom. Palm up, where the thigh and the ass cheek meet. The sound of this dirty south is luminous, and the brilliance behind the feel, just might cause euphoria.
Warning: If the specimen has balls, please higher the downward motion, so you don’t get punched in the face.
You fucking yuppie pieces of shit. 32 oz Yogurt cases are sold by the 6 pack. When you get on your hands and knees to find the better dates, I really want to earfuck you as you are working a lost cause.
Date digging never works. Want to grab the yogurt 3 deep because if it might have better dates and it might be colder?! Is that you and your theory? Check the dates!? They are the same you dumb fuck.
I see you assholes doing this same thing with eggs too! What. The. Fuck? They expire in 5 weeks! Yet you touch, caress and treat them like some sort of weird offspring. You are gonna fucking scramble(ruin) those bitches anyway.
Look, I'd expect that from some shitstained toilet sitting asshole from Freddie's but these dates are awesome, these eggs are not cracked and you are fucking trippin. Wait here, I'll pack your trip bags.
Remember when we all lived together and you tried to run my life like a parent? Remember when I said i wanted to have my girlfriend over who you didn't get along with and you thought moving out was a more reasonable reaction? That was all really fucked up, but it is so great to see how fat you've gotten now and to hear how that your boyfriend doesn't find you attractive enough for sex anymore. We both know that he wants to leave you, but can't seem to muster enough will power to actually do it. I guess you being the worst housemate that ever existed was your weak attempt to have control over something in your life. It turns out you packing up your shit and leaving was the best that could have happened.
You used to be cool. Then you married an awesome chick and had a couple kids. Still, your "coolness" was intact, but you started getting really good a drinking...REALLY good. So good were you at consuming alcohol you decided to do it full-time. It didn't work out. You lost your business, your children and your took-as-much-shit-as-she-was-going-to wife. Shit was bleak.
Fast forward a few years and you have "turned your life around"; replacing one addiction with another: Religion. Every word out of your mouth is in someway related to "your savior" now. You find some obscure passage in your Bronze Age tome to justify being an intolerant asshole to your own brother who has done nothing but support you, regardless of how drunk and belligerent you became in the past. I don't know who you are anymore or if I should even put up with the brainwashed bullshit you spew at me every chance you get.
You don't have to be "that" kind of Christian if you don't want to. Quit being a dick.
Many of us have strong feelings about fixed gear bicycles and I totally understand that. What I don't understand is these new found complete jackass, not even real hipster assholes who ride around on their single speeds with just a front brake. Are you kidding me? As if a fixed gear wasn't dangerous enough you want to limit yourself to just the stopping power or a front brake just so you can look, not even actually be, cool. Please take your bike, cover it in lighter fluid, and burn the whole thing while you ride against traffic down Hawthorne
Several weeks ago(a month?), we started fooling around a little. Making out, dry humping, nipple play etc.
Well, on my own time and in my mind, I kept that session going. I got soo excited about how We were probably going to screw real soon, that I took full advantage of all that fodder and I went to town on myself, a little too much.
For a moment, I didn't realize what was up with all that chaffing on my pecker. I hurriedly tried to "fix" it as we were about to finally fuck and I did not want to mess this up.
But I did and i fucking blew it. That chapped dick is the reason i didn't come over that night or the next after your sexy texts.
Well, my dick is healed but your feeling of rejection probably isn't as you haven't returned my texts lately. Hopefully, one day we will be together. Then I will gladly tell you of all this.
We chatted a few times online, exchanged numbers, texted back and forth, became Facebook friends - you called me, asked me out on a date. Awesome! As I'm getting ready, seriously, 40 minutes before our meet up, you text me and ask if you can bring your friend.
Seriously? I tell you to take a hike; when you're ready to ask me out on a grown up date and not bring your boy as a back up, call me.
Your response, not I'm sorry or I was kidding - you text back "Way to not be classy."
Sheesh, sometimes it feels like the dating scene is packed full of turds.
Thank you for being completely empty for me early Saturday morning. I was elated to see that getting up at 7am paid off in full. We've all played THPS before and let me tell you world, having that level to yourself is a dream come true! This goes doubly in real life. I was able to trip on a whipple dip and crete shred with no worries! Also, I enjoyed casually smoking a J there, and to whomever found the other half, you're welcome and hopefully, you earned it.
All the best,
Look, it's not my fault you have to work for a living. If you're busy, you're making money. If I ask for a drink before you're ready to take my order, please don't whine about how I'm making you feel incompetent. Again, I'm not responsible for your insecurities. If you feel like you're not doing your job, it's because you're doing a shitty job. I watch as people wait, what seems like decades, for you to get them a fucking draught or a gin and tonic. I've done your job. Your lazy and miserable. Do the world a favor and get on welfare. At least people won't have to wait a half an hour for one of your world famous PBR Tallboys.
Are you anywhere is the height bracket of 5'2-5'8? Are you 175 lbs or less? You are? Well great! Time to shut the fuck up about "how hard and annoying" it is to find jeans that fit. Forever 21, Buffalo Exchange, Crossroads, Redlight,really just "The Mall" in general is your oyster. Is that shit too long? Hem it. Me? At 5'11 and 190 I can't make jeans magically grow longer and I cannot make that waist any less tight around my stomach ( I would prefer not to flaunt a muffintop thank you very much). I know what you are thinking, "loose some weight fatty." Guess what? I tried to go to Layne Bryant and got more dirty looks than a pedophile at a circus. Now I am not fat enough for Layne Bryant? Oh I guess now you are going to insult me for wearing leggings as jeans like I am some sort of slob. I shower, I make a big effort to look nice and fashionable but until I come across the store that carries shit for the rest of us ladies in between fat and skinny land, don't hate my leggings and if you want to talk shit do it with a pair of pants that fit me in your hands.
I thought I had a perfect plan. For months I’d been getting ready as my savings slowly drained away, unable to find work, unable to find meaning in this empty, vapid country. I have lived in Portland twenty years, and have several great friends, but that was no longer enough to overcome the hopelessness and despair consuming me.
And it’s only going to get worse. We’re only going to get older. We’re going to die someday anyway, right?
I had three Oxys and six morphine pills, surely enough to do the job.
When the day finally came, I spent hours walking through the city, cherishing the crisp air. The sky was so beautiful. I watched the people going about their lives and thought about how easily the world would continue without me. I returned to my little room and started drinking a twelve pack. I listened to some of my favorite tapes from my younger days.
After ten beers I began dozing off and knew the time was ready. I looked at the baggie of pills. Am I really going to do this? I thought. Then I swallowed them.
I lay down on my bed, certain I would never wake up, yet knowing I made the right decision. I hoped none of my friends would feel any guilt.
I couldn’t believe it when I opened my eyes twelve hours later. I vomited repeatedly, then I got angry because I WAS NOT DEAD. And because I’d managed to fuck up my suicide, just like everything else. I realized why people jump off buildings, shoot themselves, drive into a semi, or point a gun at cops.
So now I sit in my room two days later, crying my eyes out, drowning in sadness, more hopeless than ever and wonder—now what?
I was trading in clothes today on Hawthorne, browsing. At the buy counter I heard a lily white employee vapidly drawl "We're buying a lot of native Navajo patterns and prints."
Bitch, that is racist and it's cultural misappropriation. The Tribes have enough problems already, so please don't make our traditional wear your outfit for The East End. It's fucking offensive.
Wearing a headdress if like wearing black face. Respect it, and us.
Dear 17 year olds practicing your skateboarding: No. I do NOT want to be in your video. No, please don't dedicate your next "trick" to me. I don't care if you can land an ollie. And please, please do not holler suggestive remarks at me as I walk past you on the street. On my way back from the post office I seriously considered walking the long way just to avoid the mild uncomfortableness of being hollered at. Was that the point? Do you like making women feel uncomfortable? Is that the secret to feeling like a BIG MAN? I wish I'd offered to put my number in your phone just so I could have called your mom to tell her what a disgrace you are to your family, your gender, and your entire species. Yuck.
Please stop using Facebook as your brag board.
I don't give a shit that you kicked ass this term and fucking "pwnd" your finals.
I don't give a shit that you're pregnant again and that you hand made all your baby shower invites ("OMG, aren't they the cutest thing? I totally found this on Pinterest! Not too shabby, if you ask me!!")
I don't give a shit that your skin is gorgeous and glowing, due to that parasite growing inside you.
I don't give a shit about anything you post (hence why I unfriended you).
And I surely don't give a shit about anything you say. ("Why did you unfriend me? Am I over doing it with the baby stuff, again?? Hee hee hee.)
Just stay in Gresham, shit out a ton of kids, graduate and stop sending me friend invites and texting me if I want to catch up. I told you you're annoying and I don't care about your life.
you don't actually believe that shit about women not being funny do you? I only bring it up because it's SO GLARINGLY OBVIOUS THAT YOU DO WHEN YOU PUT TOGETHER AN OPEN MIC LIST OF 25 COMICS WITH ONLY ONE BEING FEMALE. That happens all the time. So I started counting how many female comics sign up, and it varies from 1-2 in 5 comics. So I don't know why the math isn't represented on your open mic night. I sure fucking hope it's not because you hate women. Another thing I noticed, when I started thinking about how many female hosts you've had, is that it's only been 2 out of like 15 dudes. So you're doing a little better in that regard. Then again, you only used the punky lookin one for the shit gigs you didn't want to give anyone else, and the other woman is so fucking powerful that she can score guest spots in showcases across the country with no notice.
So show some balls and hire some women. Or atleast put them up on your open mics. While you're at it, can you start putting the people who are consistently funny on, instead of whatever illogical method you are currently using?
Portland is a town that wants comedy. But you are giving this city a lot of 1980's attitude. Harvey's is more progressive than you—- fucking Harvey's! Grow the fuck up. People with boobs are funny. I don't even have any, i'm not a female comic, but i am tired of seeing them get shit on.
I love your pussy; it's beautiful, soft, drooling, kneading, loving and cute. I feel like I had something to do with that, since I fed it and nurtured it for the last 4 months. It's time for you take care of your own pussy now. Your pussy's become a drag and, while adorable, kinda crimpin' on my time with my own pussy. I understand, since you're also a stray, that it takes time to set up house, but it's time to grow up kitten. I know your dad said he'd always be there for you, maybe you can ask him to take care of your pussy.
I appreciate the heads up regarding both (the only two) restrooms in our office building being broke, but then you left. You haven’t been back all day. Before you came in asking to borrow paper for the out of order sign, I had consumed three 16.9 oz bottles of H2O, and two cups of coffee. I also know, that you know, most of the employee’s that work in our office building are male, and finding a tree outside isn’t hard. I have a VAGINA, I don’t pee well on fucking trees!
You promised this was going to be an easy fix…
Fuck me, I have to pee so bad! I hope you look up, the exact moment a bird shits!
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