Monday, July 30, 2007

laughs, part two

Again, written by a genius (not me...)

Little Golden Books That Never Made It

"You Are Different and That's Bad"

"The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables"

"Dad's New Wife Robert"

"Fun four-letter Words to Know and Share"

"Hammers, Screwdrivers and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book"

"The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking"

'Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her"

"Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence"

"All Cats Go to Hell"

"The Little Sissy Who Snitched"

"Some Kittens Can Fly"

"That's it, I'm Putting You Up for Adoption"

"The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator"

"The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy"

"Strangers Have the Best Candy"

"Whining, Kicking and Crying to Get Your Way"

"You Were an Accident"

"Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will"

"Pop! Goes The Hamster...And Other Great Microwave Games"

"The Man in the Moon Is Actually Satan"

"Your Nightmares Are Real"

"Where Would You Like to Be Buried?"

"Eggs, Toilet Paper, and Your School"

"Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?"

"Places Where Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things"

"Daddy Drinks Because You Cry"

Because everyone needs to laugh...

Some wickedly funny genius came up with these - not me - but they're so fucking hilarious that I thought I'd share.

Dr. Seuss books that never made it into print:

1.  The Cat in the Blender
2. Are You My Proctologist?
3. Fox in Detox
4. Who Shat in the Hat?
5. Horton Hires a Ho
6. The Lemon-Fresh Lorax
7. How the Grich Stole Columbus Day
8. Your Colon Can Moo - Can You?
9. Zippy the Rapid Gerbil
10. One Bitch, Two Bitch, Dead Bitch, You Bitch
11. Marvin K. Mooney, Get the Fuck Out!
12. Herbert the Pervert Likes Sherbert
13. The Bitch Set Me UP
14. I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up
15. Yentl the Lentil
16. My Pocket Rocket Needs a Socket
17. Aunts In My Pants
18. Hop On Mom
19. Oh, the Places You'll Scratch and Sniff!!
20. Horton Fakes an Orgasm
21. The Grinch's Ten Inches

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Ways to let a guy know you aren't interested

One of my co-workers is being subtly stalked over e-mail by one of our would-be authors. To make this even funnier, he is a poet. A bad one. And he is asking for her opinion of his poems as well.

Which is bad enough, but the pure CHEESE he sends with the poems is just pathetic. I'm sorry, bub, but this is the 21st century (get a clue! You are e-mailing these messages, not using telegrams or morse code.) Not the 1890s. I don't feel bad for laughing at you when you include e-mail subject lines such as, "Greetings and salutations" And then, following that one, "Greetings and Salutations!" You were emboldened that she responded, ergo, the exclamation point.

Seriously, I didn't know people still wrote things (and shared them) like, "When I caught your smile across the room..." Gag.

Not only is she not single, and not only is this unprofessional of him, but, well - if he had a web site, we agreed it should be one of the following:

He said he feels like he's a relic from another time, that the world moves too fast for him, or something like that. (Bub, we figured that out from your shoes.) Maybe he just needs more of his medication.

But seriously...we kept thinking of ways she could politely let him know she had a boyfriend, but then we degenerated (of course) and started thinking of really obnoxious ways.

Some suggestions:

1. She does what I did on a date in 2004 to make sure the guy never calls you again: Tell him you are into bondage. (I still don't know how I did this with a straight face, but it worked. And he deserved it. Ask out of the blue if I prefer a guy with a decent-sized dick or one who "knows what he's doing," and you deserve what you get. FYI, there are plenty of guys with decent-sized dicks that know what to do with them.)

2. Write him really bad poetry and ask his opinion of it, hoping he'll lose all respect for her as a writer and therefore lose interest in her personally. (Ah, wishful thinking.) Perhaps something like the following:

I thought a deer
might bring you some cheer
so I drank some beer
and shot one.


E-mail me again
and I'll start hating men
well maybe I'll just hate you.

3. Suggest that he reserve the domain names above and continue the dating game. (OK, this would get her fired, but it would be funny, wouldn't it?)

4. Tell him that she's just not into older men (he's at least 10 years older than she is), and actually prefer ones that are still in high school.

5. Confess that she's really from Alabama and only dates men with the same last name as she has.

6. Tell him that when he caught her smile across the room, it was because she was trying not to laugh at his shoes.

But it's pretty likely that she won't have to do any of this, because we'll burst out laughing the next time he comes into the office anyway, and he'll probably get the hint.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Crazy motherfucker? Come publish with us!

OK, we don't have that many authors with mental problems to consider that as a new tagline.

But isn't having one or two enough?

Today, my co-worker received a six-page e-mail from such an author.

His accusations: We are holding back his "loyalties" (correct word: royalties.)

The truth: Everyone in his little cult apparently promised they'd buy his book, but no one did.

Well, one person did. That's right! He has sold one copy.

Here's an excerpt from his e-mail (identifying details omitted) just for the purposes of laughter - and by the way, his grasp of the English language is about as good as his grasp of reality:

Dear Sirs /Madams,


The (book title) was expressly commissioned by the Spiritual hierarchy and my
conceptual instrument simply served the purpose of dishing out these spiritual
veracities to humanity as a whole. The message contained in The (book title) was
Divine-coded message that was decoded into my instrument for transmission to
humanity. The spiritul hierachy itself that commissioned this volume is
meticulously supervising all transactional elements pertaining to the product.

*I don't even want to know what instrument he's referring to.*

The Hierarchy have urged me to thank you a million fold for publishing The (Book
title) and that by opting to do so, you will abound in various forms of
blessings to your greatest delight.

*Who is the Hierarchy? The Bush Administration? The Queen of England? I need more enlightenment.*

Nonetheless, the Hierarchy has also instructed me to urge you to treat me with
the highest and strickest degree of justice and fairness as layed down in our
mutually-consented contract. That not treating me with due justice can generate
very severe karmic physical and spiritual repercussions for you, that will be
very undesirable indeed. This implies paying me the correct proportion and
correct amounts of loyalties. I love you very much and that is why I have taken
the time to humbly advice you of the potential consequences that can arise by
not treating me justly.

*Translation: we either give him money, or we're all going to shrivel up, become sick and fucking die!*

The law of karma fundamentally entails that every deed performed by us, whether
good or bad, will generate the corresponding positive or negative consequent or
consequences that will inevitably and ultimately come back and be borne by the
performer of that deed, to the fullest magnitude.

Given below are two different practical scenarios where karma has manifested:

Scenarion 1: Positive Karma

There was a homeless man who always helped me push my shopping trolley when ever
I went to the supermarket in the UK. Indeed, after three months of his
association with me in this way, a certain charity offered him accommodation, he
was then subjected to training and got a job. He joyfully got married and he is
now a father of one. He has his own car and his own mortgage. He loves me very
much and I am extremely happy for him and the beautiful blessings he had.

*It's scenario, asshole.*

Scnarion 2: Negative Karma

I worked somewhere where the department head sometimes treated me unreasonably
and unjustly despite my acute humility and good-nature at all times.
Nonetheless, at a certain time, a chain of events occured whereby this
department head was dismissed from her job. I later heard that she suffers from
cancer, that she is divorced with her husband and at this present juncture, the
individual is in chronic misery of sickness and other troubles. I love this
person and feel much sympathy for their situation, but she has but herself to
blame for her current state of affairs.

*At least keep your misspellings straight!*

So here are the responses I would like to send him:

1. Dear Author,
We no longer accept e-mail from crazy motherfuckers like you.

(name withheld)

2. Dear Author,
I redirect you to your own philosophy on this issue: your bad book is to blame for your bad sales karma.
(Name withheld)

3. Dear Author,
How are you technically savvy enough to be able to use e-mail, but be a completely incoherent fuckhead in every other aspect of your life?

Just curious,
Name Withheld

4. Dear Author,
Because you are in Britain and originally of non-Caucasian descent, we have forwarded your e-mail to the Department of Homeland Security, which will now put you on the no-fly list and probably get Scotland Yard to bug your home.

Name Withheld

Sunday, July 15, 2007

To the mailman: keep your paws off our cake

I thought about many potential titles for this post, including "The Rude Mailman,"
"The Impolite Postman," etc.

Then I realized (no offense to the nice mailmen out there) that those titles were, for the most part, redundant.

I have met more than my share of, shall we say, unprofessional postmen (and women) in my life. I have met grumpy ones, mean ones, lazy ones, incompetent ones, and ones who I suspected had serious trouble tying their shoe laces in the morning, let alone dropping my mail into its box. (Aha! That's where velcro comes in.)

But now, at work, we have a mailman who eats our treats. Without asking.

This is rude and disgusting enough when he grabs a grubby fistful of moose munch. We know those hands have handled dirty and dusty mail and who knows what else. I am half-tempted to walk up to him and ask if he washes his hands after he takes a piss. I am never tempted to eat from the mailmanhandled jar of moose munch.

But it's an all-out declaration of war when he swipes a slice of cake made for a co-worker's birthday.

Mind you, if said mailman came into our office some fine afternoon and said, "Say, that cake looks yummy! Would you mind if I had a piece?" we'd surely say yes, if only out of politeness. (Note to reader: the editor in my office makes fantastic desserts and could seriously have her own bakery if she were so inclined.)

But he doesn't ask. He simply helps himself.

I would love to say, "Hey! How about asking first?" Or, "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" But I am terrified that somehow our mail would not be long for this world if I vocalized such sentiments.

So the only thing to do, it seems, is move the treats to another location. Or call the post office and request a new carrier.

Decisions, decisions.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Congratulations, Drew and Em!

So this is a serious blog for once - I would like to say congratulations to Emily and Drew! Yippee!!

We are so happy to be your friends.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

From a guest blogger inspired by a real live author!

What she would like to e-mail him, but diplomatically did not, is below, for all to see and (hopefully) draw inspiration from. By the way, she's being kind. And his wife is a huge pain in the ass, too. They probably sit at home and argue about what to get annoyed about and how to annoy others. But that's just a guess.

Dear Author,

I received the copy you were complaining about. Unfortunately, there is nothing more that we can do for you. If you'd like to be an asshole about this, that is your problem and I just wanted to let you know that any sort of respect I had for you will be blown out of the water which is too bad because I originally thought you were a decent writer which is a situation that is extremely rare at my job and you have already completely destroyed any respect I had for you as a person due to your whiny compulsiveness but now even your turns of phrase and clever alliteration seem just like another remnant of your pretentious self centeredness instead of a glimmer of intelligence or talent so I hope you decide to take the high road but I highly doubt this is likely so until I receive your most likely dick-ish and smarmy reply, have a lovely day and a happy 4th and remember not to let a firework poke your eye out.

All the best,

Ann Oyed

Monday, July 02, 2007

No such thing as a free chicken

So despite my political rants and my love for Kurt Vonnegut, and my bitching about injustice, the most popular postings on this blog, I am told, are the ones featuring ads about - guess what? - chickens!

So here you are, guys and gals.

Another gem from Portland craigslist - actually, another Clark County one posting on the Portland list, so that's a disclaimer:

free chickens

Reply to:
Date: 2007-07-02, 12:42PM PDT

i want free chckens that lay eggs so call

Well, okey-dokey! I just happen to have a few choice hens laying farm-fresh eggs that I am dying for someone like you to take off my hands.

How, dare I ask, does one dream up the ideas for these kinds of posts?

I imagine it goes something like this:

Mr. Y (we will call him) wakes up one fine Saturday morning. He's hungry. He suddenly craves an omelette like nobody's business.

He looks around outside the window of his dwelling in Vancouver, Washington. Alas, there are plenty of Republicans and hicks, but no chickens that lay eggs.

But Mr. Y does not despair. A-ha! He thinks. Being Internet savvy, he will hunt down an egg-laying hen on the web. Better yet, he will post a note to the Internet community that communicates his needs.

Today will be the day.

He will visit craigslist. He will post. He will get his omelette. His dream will come true.

Then he will realize he has no Tabasco for the eggs and the vicious cycle will begin once again.