Yo BLOGGER, it’s time to…

B.O.N. me now! Yes, that’s right. No beating around the bush for me. Today for my 3 Month Anniversary in the blogosphere I want to be B.O.N.’ed baby! And nothing less than a big juicy awesome B.O.N.’ing will do for me.

Pretty please, with cupcakes on top?

Bestow me with the incredibly fantabulous title “Blog of Note” and I shall be forever grateful.

xo The Empress

PS: And to all you lovely readers, thank you for the blog love and all your amazing comments. Each and every day you bring me much happiness.

Damn song be gone …or not

For some unexplainable reason the past couple days I have had part of a song playing over and over in my mind. Apparently this rather annoying affliction is so common that it effects 98% of all people at some point in time. And it even has its own fancy-shmancy medical name. It is called having earworms.

Yes, I did say earworms …which sounds incredibly disgusting if you ask me. But earworms aren’t actually gross little wormy creatures that crawl down your ear canals and burrow around inside your noggin.

Instead earworms are song lyrics, jingles or tunes that get lodged in your mind and play on mental continuum …until such point that you go absolutely positively stark raving mad or alternatively they just magically disappear.

Anyway, my particular earworm has been caused by a song that until today I had never even heard in its entirety.

While it is true that I have never been a full-on major Katy Perry fan, I have to admit that after watching the video and listening to the lyrics I was rather amused. Apparently my dirty little pervy mind does know exactly what it likes…

You make me feel like
I’m living a teenage dream
The way you turn me on
I can’t sleep
Let’s run away
And don’t ever look back
Ever look back

My heart stops
When you look at me
Just one touch…

Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber

So recently the property in which I reside decided they would finally replace my refrigerator and stove --that they should have replaced six months ago prior to me moving in. Yay for me! Now I was finally going to be able to bake cookies while dancing around in my underwear and tiara --and not have said cookies come out burned around the edges and raw in the middle.

Anyhow, what should have been a relatively simple process that involved removing the old wonky appliances and replacing them with bright, shiny new appliances turned into a majorly convoluted production. All while the entire contents of my refrigerator and freezer sat in my kitchen sink and got hotter than a whore cranking it in 98% humidity…

I should have known that things weren’t going to go according to plan when Tweedledee, the first maintenance technician showed up 30 minutes late for our scheduled appointment -- and was empty-handed. Nary a refrigerator or stove in sight. Tweedledee mumbled something about having to return to his maintenance shop and smoke a joint. And despite my suggesting that upon his departure perhaps he might want to consider taking away one of the defective appliances, he thought otherwise and left as empty-handed as when he arrived.

45 minutes later Tweedledee came back with Tweedledum (maintenance technician #2). Not a f*cking appliance in sight. And neither one of them had the protective booties their employer requires them to wear on their shoes when working inside tenants’ homes. Tweedledee and Tweedledum decided they should go back to their maintenance shop, get their protective booties, smoke another joint, and then upon returning bring up the appliances they had so stupidly left downstairs in the parking garage.

45 minutes more go by and Tweedledee and Tweedledum showed up with Tweedledumber (maintenance technician #3). Somehow by the grace of gawd they actually managed to bring a refrigerator with them but didn’t take into account that they would have to remove the old broken one before the new one could be installed.

It was at that point I started to seriously wonder how in the effing hell any of those shit-for-brains morons could actually get themselves dressed and out of the house in the morning…

But after much trial and tribulation the Tweedles somehow managed to install my new refrigerator. The joy however was short-lived when I realized the refrigerator and freezer doors were installed on the wrong side -- rendering access to said appliance virtually impossible.

Tweedledee, Tweedledum and Tweedledumber decided amongst themselves that they would have to return yet again to the maintenance shop. This time to drink a few beers, text their girlfriends, and maybe get the necessary tools required to switch the appliance doors. … Yes, that is correct …out of three maintenance technicians, not a single one of them had the foresight to bring along any tools necessary for an appliance installation.

30 minutes later the pack of jackasses came back with the tools and proceeded amongst themselves to struggle for another 30 minutes trying to get the appliance doors removed…

And finally, three hours into the whole debacle, the Tweedles finally completed the refrigerator swap. I then had the great pleasure of having to project manage their stoned asses while they attempted to replace my stove…

Ooh! Ooh! I learned new tricks…

Whichever eejit said that you can’t teach a snarky, mermaid-vampire new tricks was sadly mistaken. I say this with the utmost confidence because over the past 24 hours, I, The Empress, have learned not one but two new tricks!

First off, despite being a self-proclaimed ‘techno moron’ somehow I managed to not only create but actually post my very first blog drawing.

After being in complete awe of Annah over at 'Red Means Go' who draws the most amazing pictures for her blog, as well as the rest of you who are also blessed with such talents, I too will now be able to create drawings to accompany my snarky rants when and if they are needed. Yay! Unless of course you decide said drawings are sucky, in which case I shall be sad…

But anyhow and without further adieu, here is my first computer drawn artistic endeavor:



Yes, I thought I would aim high by attempting a totally glamorous and regal self-portrait!

And now for trick number two. I also learned how to paint on already existing photographs:



This little trick pleases me to no end. Now I will be able to happily deface the photos of all those celebrity fame whores that I so love to ridicule. The possibilities for naughty snarkiness are beyond endless.

Things are definitely about to get fun my lovelies!
xo The Empress

The Spin Crowd spins out of control

Last night the vowel network otherwise known as E! debuted their latest craptacular reality series called ‘The Spin Crowd’. The show is meant to provide a fly-on-the-wall perspective into the supposedly glamorous world of a celebrity public relations firm called Command PR.

The firm is owned by tool head Jonathan Cheban who is reported to be a whiz when it comes to public relations but in reality is a complete failure when it comes to being an effective leader. Thank gawd Jonathan has his vice president, Simon Huck to balance out his beyond shitty managerial skills. They are also joined by four young female eye-candy worker bees named Erika, Katie, Lauren and whatever the hell her name is…

Poor little newbie Erika was chastised and humiliated in front of the entire office for not dressing glamorous enough to meet Jonathan’s unrealistic Hollywood standards. Jonathan being the employee relations nightmare that he is then asked the other girls in the office to stand up and model their outfits for Erika. All three had short, nearly hoo-ha exposing skirts on. Lauren, not to be outdone, also opted for the highly professional bra-less look to round out her ensemble. I’m guessing that when Erika signed on to her fancy PR gig that she never expected she would have to shop for her work wardrobe at Hookers-R-Us.

And as if that weren’t bad enough, Jonathan also decided that Erika’s lips were far too thin for his liking. He proceeded to pressure her into getting creepy lip injections, telling her that he already made the doctor’s appointment and was personally paying for the procedure. Terrified Erika chickened out at the doctor and opted for temporary 2-hour saline injections instead. When Jonathan found out that Erika hadn’t carried out his ridiculous demands, he threw a first rate temper tantrum and told her that she was homely and needed to step it up.

Simon then offered to give Erika a name of an employment lawyer that she could use to sue Jonathan. But being this is Erika’s big chance to make a name for herself in Hollywood, she is determined to stay put and prove to her jackass of a boss that she can succeed by using her brains and not just her looks. Yeah, we’ll see how that goes…

In an effort to give Jonathan the Tyrant a taste of his own medicine, Simon tricked Jonathan into to undergoing a painful fat freezing procedure. At the doctor’s office Simon chipped away at Jonathan’s self esteem and told him that he is actually a ‘skinny fat person’, made fun of his baggy underwear and his love handles, all while he threatened to upload unflattering mid-procedure photos of Jonathan onto the internet.

At this point I started to wonder WTF any of this had to do with public relations.

Finally the team got around to doing some actual PR work that entailed booking a celebrity to host a party for a new brand of self tanner for men. Command PR decided that Mario Lopez would be the perfect celebrity to endorse said product. During the product pitch Mario kindly reminded Jonathan and Simon that ‘being born Mexican, he already had a natural tan going on’. Despite this fact Mario eventually agreed to host the party and the audience was treated to one of Jonathan’s girls chasing Mario around the party and trying to get him to pose shirtless holding a bottle of the self-tanner. But Mario wasn’t having any of that crap… at least not on camera…

And that my lovelies is the whole shebang in a nutshell. Thirty minutes of incredibly ridiculous, brain-cell-killing television programming produced by none other than Executive Producer Kim Kardashian. To which all I can say is, Kim should be ashamed to have her name attached to this effed-up show. Oh, and someone should report Jonathan to the Department of Labor…
I'm just saying...

Veggies and shit storms

It’s rather interesting to discover which types of blog posts illicit the most comments and even outright fury by some readers. A few days ago one of my favorite bloggers ‘The Bitchy Waiter’ posted something about vegetarians. Who knew that something as innocuous as vegetables would be the spark that set off a shit storm of major proportions?

Yes, you read that correctly. Vegetables. Category 5 shit storm. Readers were leaving quite lengthy and fascinating comments supporting their case for or against being a vegetarian. Now I like a spirited debate as much as the next person but the situation quickly veered off track and started to get ugly.

The mud-slinging and casting of sticks and stones was beyond epic. And to be truthful, somewhat entertaining. Some anonymous d-bag crossed over the line and wrote a derogatory racial comment that had positively no relevance to the topic at hand. Another person alluded to some nonsense about vegetarians not being cable of having orgasms. And as to be expected, there were guilt inducing comments that had incredibly heavy political or moral undertones.

Being a vegetarian, I of course I had to share my two cents as well. I totally get that there are some wacky and sanctimonious vegans and vegetarians out there who constantly climb up on their rickety-ass soap boxes and chastise anyone who dares to consume meat. Those types of annoying and holier than thou crack pots get on my nerves too. But not all vegetarians are like that. I for one am most certainly not.

Basically I was born a vegetarian. I eat normal food just minus any sort of meat. This is because I do not like the taste, texture or even smell of meat. Eating meat does not agree with my body and therefore I do not eat anything that has a face. It is as simple as that.

However, not eating meat is where I draw the line. I am not a vegan and have zero desire to venture over into that territory. If other people choose a lifestyle of veganism, then good on them. I just happen to love the yummy deliciousness that is otherwise known as cheese, yogurt and ice cream far too much to ever imagine my life without them.

With that being said, it is true that when it comes to going out to eat the process is generally a pain in the arse. This because there are usually very limited desirable choices on the menu for a vegetarian but then why should a restaurant cater to me and my individual food preferences?

Oh but what about those gross little vegetarian restaurants you ask? I absolutely 100% avoid them like the plague. For some strange reason their menu selections tend to consist of creepy sounding ingredients and abnormally high concentrations of garlic, to which I am highly allergic.

But big deal. I go out to eat and share meals with others because I enjoy the company of those involved. I can always order a salad minus the meat or even better have dessert instead! If my dinner companions want to eat bloody, raw gianormous steaks then more power to them.

This perspective comes from understanding and appreciating that many people just so happen to salivate over big honking slabs of juicy prime rib. I just so happen to drool over chocolate cupcakes and designer handbags. And yes, many of those lovely purses just so happen to be made out of leather.

But in the grand scheme of things who really cares? Maybe if more people focused on finding common ground with others instead of looking for the things that could potentially divide them, then perhaps the world would be a happier place. …I’m just saying…

Take this job and shove it

Whether you are working now or not, at some point in time most of us have dreamt about quitting our jobs or even fantasized how exactly we would go about telling our boss to shove it.

When Steven Slater the flight attendant from JetBlue recently quit his job by allegedly making an announcement on the airplane intercom system, grabbing a beer and exiting the plane via the emergency slide, people across the world cheered and called him a hero.

And why the hell not? He did what most fed-up, unappreciated and overworked employees wish they actually had the balls to do. Not only did he quit but he quit in the grandest of fashion! For this I give Steven some major props.

Like many people I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall of that airplane, but at this point no one has been able to produce a video of Steven and his famous exit from JetBlue. No doubt there will probably be a future movie or reality show depicting the whole crazy ordeal. Until then, check out this amusing and slightly naughty video of a guy who thinks he has won the lottery and therefore takes great pleasure in quitting his job:



Now if you haven’t thought of doing at least of couple of those things then you should probably get a bit more creative with your exit strategy!
…I’m just saying…

Swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool

Combine an industrious nature with sheer stupidity and you have one reliable recipe for disaster folks! Good ole boy Dennis LeRoy Anderson of Proctor, Minnesota is known for having a way with engines, a desire for comfort and mobility, and penchant for getting regularly sauced.

Being the clever 60 something year old fella that he is, Dennis came up with the brilliant plan to take his beloved La-Z-Boy recliner and kit it out with nothing less than:

-a Briggs & Stratton engine …as you do!

-a steering wheel, headlights, and power antenna …but of course!

-hot rod racing stickers …‘cause you gots to look cool!

-a stereo …what would a tricked-out ride be without some dope tunes?

-and those ever-important cup holders …so you can take the party with you baby!

Apparently Mr. Ass-for-brains thought his ride was da bomb, so much so that one night he decided it would be good fun to take his prized converted lounge chair out on the road and down to the local pub …as you do.

Dennis proceeded to consume no less than 8 or 9 cold ones in the bar before heading out. He then strapped himself into his motorized La-Z-Boy, revved up the engine and attempted to drive off -- at which point he lost control of his furniture and crashed bumper car style into a parked Dodge Intrepid.

Shortly thereafter when our champion lounge chair rider was looking around and no doubt wondering WTF had just happened, he was arrested by local police for having a blood alcohol level more than three times the legal limit. Being that Dennis (surprisingly) already had another drunken driving conviction under his belt, there was no sweet talking himself out of this one.

Upon facing the judge he pleaded guilty to driving a recliner under the influence and was sentenced to jail time and a stiff fine. And to ensure the future safety of the public, this dumb arse’s decked-out recliner was also impounded and later put up for police auction.

Now I don’t’ know about you, but I’m thinking we should just go ahead and give this dude an honorary ‘Darwin Award’ because he is obviously swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool, and well, we all know that no good can come of that! …I’m just saying…

Insiders and Outsiders on Bachelor Pad

Last night’s 2nd episode of Bachelor Pad continued to deliver on the overly dramatic front. There was further lying, manipulation, strategizing, crying and conniving as participants sub-divided into the cool ‘insiders’ group and the less popular ‘outsiders’ group. Both groups were plotting for domination and ultimately control of the game -- despite looking like a bunch of gross, puking asshats during a hands-free pie eating contest.

Psycho Elizabeth the ‘Bunny Boiler’ still had Kovacs balls in a vice grip and was calling the shots amongst the insiders (Kovacs, Natalie, Jesse B, Tenley, Kiptyn, Dave and a few other morons). Anyone who didn’t get with her program was reminded that their ass would be next on the chopping block. Poor Kovacs wandered around the rest of the show with a concerned look on his face and his tail between his legs. The fact that he managed to get it up long enough to bang Elizabeth in the shower shows just how desperate he is to win the $250,000.

Meanwhile, swimsuit model Gia was clearly running the show amongst the outsiders (Gwen, Peyton, Krisily, Nikki, Craig, the Weatherman plus whomever else they could con over to their side). After Gia won immunity during the girl’s pie eating contest, her plan was to give immunity to creepy Craig thus saving him from being voted off by the insider girls. This plan went well up until the point slime-ball Wes professed his undying love for her during their group date. Gia caved and the rose/immunity went to Wes, leaving Craig as a marked target.

The Weatherman gleefully won immunity during the guy’s pie eating contest. He had a ridiculous group date with Gwen, Peyton and Ashley that entailed them donning swimwear and using their body parts to create a painting. Clueless Weatherman thought he was forming a real love connection with Gwen whom he bestowed with the rose/immunity. Gwen however wasn’t feeling it. She spoke directly into the camera and let everyone know that romance with her and the Weatherman wouldn’t happen in a million years.

Back at the ranch, the scheming continued along with drinking, hot tub hookup’s and various parties campaigning to save their asses from being voted off right up until the last second before elimination. Blah, blah, blah…

By the time the participants were assembled for the elimination ceremony, I honestly didn’t give a shit who got voted off. The only thing that kept me from shutting off the TV was trying to figure out why Natalie thought it would be sexy to wear a Barbie pink tutu and who the eff was responsible for dressing host Chris Harrison in his checkered shirt and polka dot tie ensemble.

In the end Jessie S. and Craig were sent home. Hopefully they are now thanking their lucky stars that neither of them has to endure another day of the jackassery that is otherwise known as Bachelor Pad …because this show sucks!

I have a dream … to get BON’ed

Once upon a time there was a young snarky blogger named The Ranter’s Box. For as long as she could remember she dreamed of becoming a writer, but not just any old writer. The Ranter’s Box wanted to become a wonderfully fantabulous, famous best-selling author with lots and lots of adoring fans. Next to eating cupcakes and reading books, writing was her greatest passion and one true love.

Over the years the necessity of having to have a ‘real’ job overshadowed her dream of becoming a writer. The Ranter’s Box discovered that in the business world she was very skilled at solving problems and telling people what to do. Somehow she managed to find a way to incorporate writing into her work but even so business writing was never the same as being able to write in her own true voice. Eventually her dream of becoming a real writer began to fade away and was all but forgotten.

Every so often someone close to her would mention that she should write a book or at the very least start a blog. However, the thought of anyone being interested in reading what she had to say sort of scared her. The Ranter’s Box contemplated becoming a blogger for several months until she finally realized that it was time to reclaim a very important part of who she was. Ever determined, she proudly proclaimed she was a writer and hell be damned she was going to start using her god given talents!

For the first few weeks she didn’t tell a soul, not even her best friend forever, that she had started a blog. Slowly but surely like the little engine that could, people that she didn’t even know started reading what she had to say -- and they liked it! It made The Ranter’s Box feel incredibly good when people wrote to her and told her that her writing was entertaining and made them laugh.

Once she regained a bit of her confidence The Ranter’s Box decided that her next goal was to get B.O.N.’ed (Blog of Note) and ultimately become the next Empress of the Blogging World. By becoming royalty in the blogosphere she would then be able to:

• Share her wit with countless followers and bring a smile to their day.

• Happily and proudly wear her sparkly tiara just like a real empress.

• Dance around in her underwear overcome with joy at being B.O.N.’ed.

• Honor her vampire genes and stay up all night writing magnificent masterpieces.

• Celebrate living her dreams by eating lots and lots of delicious chocolate cupcakes.

• Negotiate a book deal, go on tour, meet Prince Charming and live happily ever after!

And that my lovelies is how it all started… To be continued…

You know it's a bad day at the office when...

Recently a friend had a major Office Space moment and went all ballistic on his printer. Apparently there were curse words flying left and right and perhaps a punch or two which resulted in us taking an unscheduled trip to the office supply store in search of a new printer. Upon discussing the various equipment options with the store clerk and identifying a suitable replacement, I couldn’t help but ask my friend if maybe he might want to consider a printer that came upgraded with ‘roo bars’… to which his reply jokingly involved something about being bitch-slapped and we both laughed.

Now we’ve all been there before, ready to rip our hair out, seriously contemplating taking a sledge hammer to some piece of crap printer, fax machine, copier or other related piece of evil office equipment that has clearly been brought into our lives with the sole purpose of tormenting us and making our lives a living hell. Case in point, check out this man going postal at the office:



I’m sure we can all pretty much agree that it definitely isn’t funny when we are engaged in full on war with said piece of office equipment… It is however pretty hilarious watching someone else go all loco in that type of situation now isn’t it? …I’m just saying…

BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP!

Ok, I’ll admit it. I am rather fond of swearing. At times I’m certain I could give a sailor or a truck driver a run for their money when it comes to being a potty mouth. Catch me in the car stuck in nightmare traffic and sometimes I even amaze myself with the never-before-heard naughty word combinations I come up with. They. Are. Shocking.

But it’s not just the car that sets off my colorful language. I am a full-on equal opportunity curser. Perhaps I was born this way. Just ask the bus driver I called all sorts of vile names when I was a mere 5 years old. All that particular incident required was a wee bit of encouragement by the older kids and I was delightfully spewing every single bad word that was whispered into my ear.

Having my mouth washed out as a child on more than a few occasions did however help me realize that I needed to sensor where and around whom that I swore. Because of this I tend to refrain from using profanity around kids or the elderly, in church or other environments where a certain standard of decorum is required. In business environments I also tend to err on the side of caution until I suss out the communication styles of the various players. And because I don’t look like someone who gleefully punctuates my sentences with dirty words, sometimes people are actually shocked as shit to hear me curse. Secretly I kind of delight in that fact. But then if you read my blog with any sort of regularity you probably already figured this out.

Now for those of us who do indulge in the use of four-letter words, we all tend to have at least a word or two that we particularly enjoy using. Mine just so happens to be the eff word and all its wonderful variations, be they nouns, adjectives or verbs. Who knew that the root of a single word could be so multidimensional when it comes to expressing both thoughts and feelings? Case in point, check out this amusing video:



So, whether you refer to the use of expletives as commonplace, vulgar or outright blasphemous, for me there is nothing quite like getting your cuss on. …I’m just saying…

The scummy world of reality TV lives on with Bachelor Pad

Tonight the reigning mayor of Jerryspringerville, Chris Harrison, presided over the inaugural episode of Bachelor Pad. 19 fame-whoring previous cast members from the Bachelor and Bachelorette franchises were reunited to compete for US$250,000 -- and the chance to once again try and find love (or more like additional face time) in front of the cameras.

The basic premise behind the show is to NOT get voted off during weekly elimination and to ultimately be the last person standing thus winning the coveted quarter million dollar prize. The contestants are divided into two teams based on gender. Each week they compete in some sort of convoluted and sexually charged group competition -- this week it was the children’s game Twister played in bikinis and swim trunks. The winner of the competition is granted immunity from elimination as well as the opportunity to take three of the contestants from the opposing team on a mini-group date. On the date the weekly winner presents one of the men/woman with a rose and thereby grants them with immunity from elimination as well. Blah, blah, blah…

As was to be expected, the producers dug deep to cast the most sleazy, conniving, emotionally unstable, lying, deviant and just plain wackadoodle train wrecks from the world of reality TV. Quite a few of the cast members already knew one another and some of them had previously hooked up which automatically upped the drama factor. Add to that the fact that all the contestants are forced to bunk in the same room, and well I’m sure you can guess where this drama train is headed! Sex, lies, drama, booze, intrigue, crying, emotional blackmail, sabotage, backstabbing, more crying, manipulation -- and this was only the first episode!

When it came elimination time, the first casualty was some don juan major d-bag named Juan who had banged one of the contestants Nikki back in Chicago just so he could have a free place to stay while he was visiting her hometown. The next to go was the majorly psychotic Michelle who locked another female contestant in the bathroom while threatening her with her life. When crazy-ass Michelle was voted off someone appropriately summed it up by saying something like ‘there is no place on a straight jacket for a rose so that girl had to go’.

So there you have it my lovelies. Next time I will fill you in on the runner-up psycho named Elizabeth who is obsessively in love with Jesse ‘Kovacs’ despite the fact that he has made it abundantly clear the feelings aren’t mutual.
Until then, xo.

Focused on the male anatomy

It seems there is currently some kind of strange planetary alignment or otherwise bizarro cosmic anomaly going on in the universe -- one that is heavily skewed toward the male anatomy. From ocean predators with double ding-dongs (see the accompanying video in my post yesterday) to phallic fish sticks, it’s all becoming a bit much even for a pervy minded girl such as myself.

Then top it all off, I discovered a photo of a certain celebrity kitted out in his undies, one that appeared to be promoting his package as the star attraction far more so than the underwear that was allegedly being hawked. Case in point, check out this photo:


Which brings to mind just one question, is it real or highly engineered?


As for the phallic fish stick, somebody was definitely having fun at the ole fish stick factory when this one popped out on the production line:


(Credit to: Donda at http://dailylifewithbipolar.blogspot.com)


I have to run now. I’m suddenly craving fish sticks…

Chumsicles, double penises and more underwater adventures

Ok, it’s official. I am a now a bonafide, tried and true Shark Week geek! For the past couple of days I have been crazy glued to the TV set, completely mesmerized by all the mayhem and magic that is otherwise known as Shark Week. From shark survival skills, to air jaws and everything in between, I have developed a newfound perspective on the ocean’s top predatory animal. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that under the right circumstances it was possible to rub a shark’s chin or belly and for the creature to actually seem to enjoy it.

Check out this cool video of self-proclaimed ‘vulgar’ late night TV host Craig Ferguson as he swims with and feeds the sharks:



Gotta love those double penises, huh?

Shite parents are the recipe for bratty-ass kids

This past week I had the misfortune of encountering yet another example of dismally poor parenting. The parental unit in question was a female obviously lacking in any sort of natural maternal instincts or ability to set basic boundaries for her child. Case in point:

There I was out running a few errands at one of the big box stores and suddenly I heard this loud and horrific shrieking coming from a child. It sounded as if a pack of wild rapid dogs was chewing off the kid’s legs. The gawd-awful noise continued on for what seemed like ten minutes or so and was progressively getting worse, so much so that I went to go find out what the freaking hell was going on.

What I discovered was a mother completely and utterly ignoring her little boy who was throwing a major temper tantrum of gargantuan proportions. The boy was seated in a shopping cart thrashing wildly about. His mother had her back turned away from him while she was casually browsing through walls of discount handbags …maybe the bitch had a hot date that night and therefore her priorities were elsewhere. Whatever the effin deal was though, that chick looked like she definitely wasn’t getting any mother-of-the-year awards that was for sure!

I stood there shocked for a moment before putting on my ‘child whisperer’ hat and walked right up to the boy. I looked him in the eye, put my finger to my lips and firmly told him to sssshhh! His little boy eyes got wide as saucers. He stopped the blood curdling screaming for all of two seconds before testing my boundaries and commenced with yelling again.

The mother conveniently continued to ignore both me and her child. I proceeded to give the little boy a stern look and told him in a parental sort of way to ‘stop that nonsense NOW because the entire store could hear him carrying on’. He stopped crying for a couple of seconds, looked over at his mother who still had her back turned to us, and let out yet another horror movie worthy scream. Baffled by the mother’s continued neglect, I looked to see if perhaps she was wearing hearing aids. Nope! No hearing aids. And still no acknowledgement by the mother.

I threw my hands up in total disgust, not knowing whether to be sad or pissed, and walked off. There was absolutely no justifiable excuse for her lack of concern, the woman just sucked at being a parent. People like her really ought to be sterilized and have their children taken away. …I’m just saying…

Added bonus video clip of what the little boy in the store will likely grow up to be like:




Happy Weekend ya’ll!

Oh, you mean you should actually work to collect a paycheck?

At some point in time we have all probably had a lazy-ass co-worker (or two) that somehow managed to collect a paycheck while at the same time doing virtually nothing to have earned it. This phenomenon is so prevalent that lazy co-workers often top the lists of pet peeves that employees have about the workplace.

For me, this particular pet peeve developed through countless years working in the corporate jungle with a bunch of useless good-for-nothing sloths. And I’m NOT just talking about the brown-noser guy who arrives at work early only to keep up appearances with the top brass but who then spends the first three hours of work drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, surfing the internet and wandering around the office as if he were doing something productive.

What I’m more specifically referring to are lame, non-contributory, utterly useless slackers like one of the annoying paycheck collectors that I had the great displeasure of working with earlier in my career. Let’s call this incompetent little blood sausage Gertrude. Some of my fonder and ever so endearing memories (not!) of skiving Gertrude include her:

• Spending half a day calling all the cosmetic counters in the surrounding metropolitan area to locate a special kind of sparkly, light diffusing face powder. Poor Gertrude was unable to get the top off her shimmery face spackle and she absolutely, positively without a doubt needed it for some alleged hot date she was having later that night -- therefore any and all work related tasks were forced to come to a screeching halt until said magical cosmetic was located.

• Throwing a huge pile of confidential employee records into a filing cabinet where they didn’t belong -- thus potentially subjecting the office to thousands of dollars in legal fines. She justified doing so by saying she was completely unaware of any wrongdoing.

• Skipping out of the office one hour after she returned from lunch so that she could spend the next three hours getting her hair highlighted. She told her colleagues to call her if they needed help with anything work related (meaning HER work).

• Hiding stacks of client work orders in the bottom of her desk drawer. She justified this by saying she didn’t have time to keep up with unimportant things like filing.

• Leaving work on her so-called ‘lunch hour’ for five hours so that she could go to the cosmetic surgeon and have a chemical facial peel. Upon returning to work 45 minutes before the office closed, she spent the remainder of her ‘work day’ eliciting sympathy from her co-workers regarding all the trauma she was forced to endure at the doctor.

• Packing up her desk no less than 15 minutes before the office closed -- every fricking day – so that she could get a head start on rush hour traffic and f*ck everyone else!

• Leaving a candle unattended at her home and carelessly setting her coffee table on fire. When she tried to put out the fire she allegedly burned her (good-for-nothing) ass thus earning herself a month and a half of paid medical leave – and sympathy from all. The timing of this particular incident turned out to be rather interesting considering the fact that some of her previous indiscretions had come to the attention of her superior but were quickly forgotten.

By the time I had finally had enough and left not only the company but the country itself, that lazy cow Gertrude was still managing to somehow get paid for using the workday to conduct all of her ever-so-important personal business. One can only imagine what other sort of clever work-evading tactics she has since developed!

Smoking hot... smoking NOT!

After reflecting upon a recent experience, I feel like it is time to get back up on my bitchy little ranter’s box. One of my all-time greatest pet peeves is SMOKING -- especially when done by asshat’s who have zero consideration for those around them.

A few days ago I was meeting someone outside a coffee shop for a business related meeting (and no Steve G. it wasn’t for a nude photo shoot I am sorry to say). Much to my delight, this particular establishment does not allow smoking on their outdoor dining patio or anywhere within 10 feet of the premises. There are large, highly visible signs on the coffee shop doors and windows stating that smoking is not allowed.

I was seated at a table a few feet from the entrance of the coffee shop. Seated directly next to the door and smack-dab in front of a non-smoking sign was an otherwise attractive woman and a less than attractive, somewhat older man. The woman got out a cigarette and let it suggestively dangle from her lips …no doubt inspiring the man to think about what else he would like to have dangling from her mouth …but I digress…

Anyhow, I looked at the woman and then at the cigarette with a bit of the ole evil eye. She did her best to ignore my displeasure. After teasing the man with her cigarette for a few more moments she finally lit the damn thing. Two seconds later in a psychological attempt to mimic chicky-boom-boom’s behavior the man whipped out a nasty cigarette of his own.

Well, I wasn’t having any of that crap so I felt it was time to speak up. There is of course no rationalizing with idiots. When telling Mr. Asshat that smoking wasn’t allowed on the premises he argued that everyone else (all completely imaginary by the way) was smoking so he could as well. I suggested that he refer to the sign above his table. No go. The jackass was determined to keep on smoking. At that point I went a bit dragon lady on him and told him that if he wanted to smoke that was his business but he had no right to poison the rest of us with his smoke --especially not the young baby seated next to my table.

As the show down continued, it occurred to me that I might have to go all kung-fu on his ass but he eventually backed down and put out his vile little cancer stick. All I could think was thank goodness. That and hoo hah! One small victory for the Smoking Police! In honor of that victory, check out this amusing video:




FYI: Along with side effects like yellow teeth and stinky breath, smoking clogs the arteries and causes both heart attacks and strokes. Environmental tobacco smoke (a.k.a. secondhand smoke) contains the same harmful chemicals as the smoke that smokers inhale.

Smoking isn’t sexy and it kills, so please Don’t Do It!

Don't mess with the monkey!

Recently I went off about eejits who make a sport out of dressing their poor little pets in the most ridiculous of fashions. Since then it has been brought to my attention that there are actually some animals that not only enjoy wearing clothes but also believe that they are bonafide human beings. Meet Pan-kun the genius, comical and rather entertaining chimpanzee:



Just don’t tease him or f*ck with his bananas!