Did Someone Say "Funny?"
Look, it's with great pleasure that I have received your many (4) comments about how "hilarious" and how "highly amusing" I am.
That's why I'm writing today in very good spirits, as this will be my funniest entry to date.
I promise:
Laughs
Tears
Giggles
Snickers
Loss of bowel control
In fact, you might as well email this article to a friend right now.
Seriously, do it. You'll thank yourself later.
So, without further ado:
Migrant Owls
The migrant owl swoops down to catch her prey.
This is a good day for her, as she has caught a wild marmot. The marmots don't usually come out at night and this migrant owl will not see this phenomenon for many years.
Watch as she borrows in to the tree to eat her kill for the night.
The migrant owl's breathtaking coat of amber and orange is a result of millions of years of evolution. It shields her from such predators as the bald eagle and the many human invaders that hunt her for sport.
The migrant owl has been on the endangered species list for nine years, and nothing has changed.
Even more so now, the migrant owl needs protection from hunters, poachers, and the wholesale logging of the Brazilian rain forest.
Without the help from donors such as the Sierra Club and the Natural Resources Institute, the migrant owl may be seeing her last days.
It's daybreak. The migrant owl cleans and preens herself before the day's sleep.
Like a good soldier, she sleeps standing up, shedding the evening's light and falling quietly into the day.
For more information on migrant owls, visit our website at www.LLMO.com.
From all of us here at Levi Larrington, have a good night.
A portion of the proceeds donated to the Levi Larrington website go the consumer group for the Connelly watershed.
Good lord. I can't stop laughing. I hope you enjoyed THE FUNNIEST LEVI LARRINGTON ARTICLE EVER.
Pleace,
Snow White
Monday, August 9, 2010
Chair-Thrower
Dude, it Must Suck to be the Chair Thrower Right About Now
CLICK ME
Hey, I really didn't think it was that big of a deal – the whole brawl up in there. I mean, if they gave this much attention to the high school brawls back in my day, they wouldn't have the webspace to fit anything about Iraq.
But, man. Can you imagine how the Chair Thrower feels right about now?
He's probably been checking CNN and every other news site for any pictures or info on him. Now, finally, his story comes out and I'm sure he's seen it. He's probably wondering if his friends know it's him, or if they went with him to the game, are they going to tell?
Hell, I wouldn't trust my friends not to blab their mouths. And these are basketball fans, not chess club people, so they're probably bar dwellers and such – so you know they'll talk.
So, the Chair Thrower can either give himself up now, which he's probably doing, or wait for that ugly flashlight knock on the door.
But, he could flee. Now THAT would be a good made-for-TV movie: Chair Thrower: Portrait of a Chair Thrower. That would be dope.
He could make it to Mexico, get lost in the holiday traffic and live off oranges.
Poor son-of-a-bitch.
Oh, well. Here's to you, Chair Thrower!
Pleace,
Johnvandonivan
CLICK ME
Hey, I really didn't think it was that big of a deal – the whole brawl up in there. I mean, if they gave this much attention to the high school brawls back in my day, they wouldn't have the webspace to fit anything about Iraq.
But, man. Can you imagine how the Chair Thrower feels right about now?
He's probably been checking CNN and every other news site for any pictures or info on him. Now, finally, his story comes out and I'm sure he's seen it. He's probably wondering if his friends know it's him, or if they went with him to the game, are they going to tell?
Hell, I wouldn't trust my friends not to blab their mouths. And these are basketball fans, not chess club people, so they're probably bar dwellers and such – so you know they'll talk.
So, the Chair Thrower can either give himself up now, which he's probably doing, or wait for that ugly flashlight knock on the door.
But, he could flee. Now THAT would be a good made-for-TV movie: Chair Thrower: Portrait of a Chair Thrower. That would be dope.
He could make it to Mexico, get lost in the holiday traffic and live off oranges.
Poor son-of-a-bitch.
Oh, well. Here's to you, Chair Thrower!
Pleace,
Johnvandonivan
Automated Lumberyard
Automatic Lumberyard
"Did you get your fucking bargain?" reads the sign outside.
It's the automatic lumberyard. God, I've been waiting on this my whole life.
I woke up early, and drove to Taco Bell for food. But, Taco Bell was closed, so I ate at Dick's.
I got so sick that I swore to Billy Idol that I would never eat at Dick's again, no matter what Sir Mix-A-Lot says.
My sickness ran into a headache and I had to drive clutching my head. I wanted to peel it open and rip out the sickness, but I kept driving to the automatic lumberyard instead.
Lumber is very important to me. I've been collecting it since I was 27. I'm 28 now, and my collection has grown by leaps and bounds. I have a 2-by-4 from Italy that's worth .29$. I have it on my mantle, above my fireplace; my wife thinks that's dangerous, but I told her the kids always play nice with the lumber.
My kids love the lumber. My son Roger made a small fort out of it up in our Birch tree. The fort has fallen under his weight about nine times, but he keeps rebuilding it. He's a real scout. I just wish that last fall didn't make him retarded.
Did I mention I've had every item on the Taco Bell menu?
Good, cause I'd be lying. I've only eaten at Taco Bell twice and it was for the kid's birthdays. Yeah, they get all excited when we take them someplace nice for dinner. We get all dressed up and drink a bunch of milk beforehand, so that nobody can eat too much.
But, back to the lumber: my collection of "Choose Your Own Adventure Books" is now 45 books deep. I've chosen more adventures than Buzz Aldren. Like the one about where I flew a plane into the Andes and died. I really thought I was dead for a while, until my wife told me that it was just a book, and not real. Even though it was my choice to fly into the Andes.
My wife is a real sport. She plays Golden-T and Pong most of the day and has lost none pounds.
God, I wanna get really fat one day and buy lumber.
So, I get to the Automatic Lumberyard and there's this sign that says "Did you get a fucking bargain today, or what?" I think that sign answers its own question.
I drove in up the gravelliness of the ingrade that was retrograde to the car's balance and fucking forgot what I was doing and ended up in this other dimension before I could adjust my sandtree and jesus this is some wild turkey.
The automaticlumberyard was created in 1986 and was first used to make the second hand on Swatches.
Here's how it works:
Root around in the clutter of bottles and boxes under your kitchen sink and you'll realize that, in most houses, storage for household items gets much less attention than storage for clothes. You wouldn't be willing to crawl around on all fours to get to your favorite sweater, yet most of us do this all the time to get to Mr. Clean. It's a rare architect that provides handy space for such items.
And it's been doing things their way since 1926. So, to follow up:
I have shingles and it hurts to bleed.
My wife and I have bought stock in the automaticlumberyard and one day we're going to buy the "Toys R Us" at the mall and then we will live like Kings. Which reminds me to tape my favorite show "King of Queens."
It's this show about ants.
So, when I got to the lumberyard the manager is all like "Hey, what kind of lumber do you want to buy?"
So, I tell him that it's important that I get my hands on some dowels. You see, my children have never heard of dowels, so I thought they'd make a good stocking stuffer.
So, he goes "Well, my friend, you just push that dowel button and you'll be in dowel heaven."
So, I push this button that says "Chipper" and it kills me and I die and go to dowel heaven and I get these dowels for my kids and then on Christmas I ram my head through the chimney and give my kids these dowels and then I go back to dowel heaven.
Which really doesn't explain why I'm in Ballard, Washington right now, but, I am. I'm at Denny's and all I can say is: Hey, life's like that.
"Did you get your fucking bargain?" reads the sign outside.
It's the automatic lumberyard. God, I've been waiting on this my whole life.
I woke up early, and drove to Taco Bell for food. But, Taco Bell was closed, so I ate at Dick's.
I got so sick that I swore to Billy Idol that I would never eat at Dick's again, no matter what Sir Mix-A-Lot says.
My sickness ran into a headache and I had to drive clutching my head. I wanted to peel it open and rip out the sickness, but I kept driving to the automatic lumberyard instead.
Lumber is very important to me. I've been collecting it since I was 27. I'm 28 now, and my collection has grown by leaps and bounds. I have a 2-by-4 from Italy that's worth .29$. I have it on my mantle, above my fireplace; my wife thinks that's dangerous, but I told her the kids always play nice with the lumber.
My kids love the lumber. My son Roger made a small fort out of it up in our Birch tree. The fort has fallen under his weight about nine times, but he keeps rebuilding it. He's a real scout. I just wish that last fall didn't make him retarded.
Did I mention I've had every item on the Taco Bell menu?
Good, cause I'd be lying. I've only eaten at Taco Bell twice and it was for the kid's birthdays. Yeah, they get all excited when we take them someplace nice for dinner. We get all dressed up and drink a bunch of milk beforehand, so that nobody can eat too much.
But, back to the lumber: my collection of "Choose Your Own Adventure Books" is now 45 books deep. I've chosen more adventures than Buzz Aldren. Like the one about where I flew a plane into the Andes and died. I really thought I was dead for a while, until my wife told me that it was just a book, and not real. Even though it was my choice to fly into the Andes.
My wife is a real sport. She plays Golden-T and Pong most of the day and has lost none pounds.
God, I wanna get really fat one day and buy lumber.
So, I get to the Automatic Lumberyard and there's this sign that says "Did you get a fucking bargain today, or what?" I think that sign answers its own question.
I drove in up the gravelliness of the ingrade that was retrograde to the car's balance and fucking forgot what I was doing and ended up in this other dimension before I could adjust my sandtree and jesus this is some wild turkey.
The automaticlumberyard was created in 1986 and was first used to make the second hand on Swatches.
Here's how it works:
Root around in the clutter of bottles and boxes under your kitchen sink and you'll realize that, in most houses, storage for household items gets much less attention than storage for clothes. You wouldn't be willing to crawl around on all fours to get to your favorite sweater, yet most of us do this all the time to get to Mr. Clean. It's a rare architect that provides handy space for such items.
And it's been doing things their way since 1926. So, to follow up:
I have shingles and it hurts to bleed.
My wife and I have bought stock in the automaticlumberyard and one day we're going to buy the "Toys R Us" at the mall and then we will live like Kings. Which reminds me to tape my favorite show "King of Queens."
It's this show about ants.
So, when I got to the lumberyard the manager is all like "Hey, what kind of lumber do you want to buy?"
So, I tell him that it's important that I get my hands on some dowels. You see, my children have never heard of dowels, so I thought they'd make a good stocking stuffer.
So, he goes "Well, my friend, you just push that dowel button and you'll be in dowel heaven."
So, I push this button that says "Chipper" and it kills me and I die and go to dowel heaven and I get these dowels for my kids and then on Christmas I ram my head through the chimney and give my kids these dowels and then I go back to dowel heaven.
Which really doesn't explain why I'm in Ballard, Washington right now, but, I am. I'm at Denny's and all I can say is: Hey, life's like that.
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is all Around Depressing
So, once again, Thanksgiving was downright depressing.
I think it's just the change of seasons coming on, but man, I just don't feel right.
It's actually not that bad. It's something new, even if it's all hollow and cold feeling.
Wednesday I went over to Josh's and watched some entertainment magazine show, got bored, went to Shooters, got bored, went back to Josh's and watched Dawn of the Dead.
Not an entirely bad movie. Ving Rahmes pulls off the first shitty acting job I've seen him do. Other than that, it's a lot of cabin fever and killing.
What is the world's fascination with the dead walking the Earth? Is it from the Bible stuff? If so, when did we decide they eat human flesh?
After the movie, I drove through neighborhoods back to my mom's and crashed there.
Thanksgiving, I woke up, wondered why I was in my older sister's old bedroom and then went for coffee.
In the morning, we had quiche and my mom tried to cook hash browns that came out tasting like pure Crisco. I stuck around and watched the Seinfeld box set, then left around 12.
Traffic was amazing. I've driven back to Seattle on a few Thanksgivings, but I've never seen traffic like this. It took me an hour and a half to get from Kent to Seattle.
On the way, pretty much half the cars were from out of state. I found this odd, as you don't usually travel on the day of Thanksgiving, especially if you're from Missouri or Florida. You'd think they'd already be where they wanted to go. Also, where the fuck was everyone going? B.C.? It's not like there was a buttload going on downtown Seattle that day....
The rest of the day I watched Seinfeld and read. I'm reading this "Portable Nietzsche." I don't understand one red lick of it. I hate it. But, somehow I got 400 pages into it and now I feel like I have to finish it. Luckily, I bought a couple of books to spike it: "The Informers" by Brett Easton Ellis and "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula LeGuin.
The Informers is typical drugged-out, sexaploid, soap opera fare that Ellis usually cums up with. He shoulda stopped at "Less than Zero." Every other book, barring "American Psycho," are pretty much "Less than Zero" parts 1 – 3. Now, "American Psycho" is a whole other animal and a better book than the acclaimed "Zero." In fact, I highly recommend "Psycho," but fair warning: it's the most violent piece of art I have ever seen. On the other hand, the "Zero" books are good on deadpan, deadend, drugged out dialogue. And "Zero" should be picked up.
The LeGuin book was billed as one of the top ten Sci Fi books, but isn't really holding up to that notion. There's a lot of sociology and not much story. It's not boring the pants off me, but I expected a lot better.
Friday I went out for drinx at the Joker with Scott and Ross. This woman with fake boobs was there. It was entertaining, but the entire dialogue of the evening centered on her tits. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with talking a good tit, but once you've run out of jokes and you're among three grown men just salivating at a woman's chest, it becomes pathetic.
Later, we saw this very E'd out chick come in and start hugging everyone.
I left after four beers, went home, watched Seinfeld and went to bed.
Saturday I met up with Scott, Shanna and Ross over at Jillians. We drank, Shanna and Scott left, and Ross and I went to Hooters.
Ross got the dead eyes staring at ass after ass and I got Hootersblind and, again, actually thought I had a chance with this one girl.
I hate that place – it's like Neverland.
Sunday, ugly news found me. My nephew was in the hospital, in Chicago – my sister went to visit my aunt, for pneumonia.
He's fine now, but it was scary and I don't want to write about it anymore.
Today, I woke up, showered, got coffee and some juice, went to work, read email, scanned the internet, went to a meeting, and now I'm here.
The new Nirvana box set is pretty much the soundtrack of my life right now. I haven't stopped listening to it since I got it.
I'm really surprised. I really thought it would be crap, but it's the best Nirvana purchase I've ever made. I can't get enough of it. I didn't even like that Wishkah thing, but this is...well, Nirvana.
Pleace,
Jeremy O'Davidleeroth
So, once again, Thanksgiving was downright depressing.
I think it's just the change of seasons coming on, but man, I just don't feel right.
It's actually not that bad. It's something new, even if it's all hollow and cold feeling.
Wednesday I went over to Josh's and watched some entertainment magazine show, got bored, went to Shooters, got bored, went back to Josh's and watched Dawn of the Dead.
Not an entirely bad movie. Ving Rahmes pulls off the first shitty acting job I've seen him do. Other than that, it's a lot of cabin fever and killing.
What is the world's fascination with the dead walking the Earth? Is it from the Bible stuff? If so, when did we decide they eat human flesh?
After the movie, I drove through neighborhoods back to my mom's and crashed there.
Thanksgiving, I woke up, wondered why I was in my older sister's old bedroom and then went for coffee.
In the morning, we had quiche and my mom tried to cook hash browns that came out tasting like pure Crisco. I stuck around and watched the Seinfeld box set, then left around 12.
Traffic was amazing. I've driven back to Seattle on a few Thanksgivings, but I've never seen traffic like this. It took me an hour and a half to get from Kent to Seattle.
On the way, pretty much half the cars were from out of state. I found this odd, as you don't usually travel on the day of Thanksgiving, especially if you're from Missouri or Florida. You'd think they'd already be where they wanted to go. Also, where the fuck was everyone going? B.C.? It's not like there was a buttload going on downtown Seattle that day....
The rest of the day I watched Seinfeld and read. I'm reading this "Portable Nietzsche." I don't understand one red lick of it. I hate it. But, somehow I got 400 pages into it and now I feel like I have to finish it. Luckily, I bought a couple of books to spike it: "The Informers" by Brett Easton Ellis and "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula LeGuin.
The Informers is typical drugged-out, sexaploid, soap opera fare that Ellis usually cums up with. He shoulda stopped at "Less than Zero." Every other book, barring "American Psycho," are pretty much "Less than Zero" parts 1 – 3. Now, "American Psycho" is a whole other animal and a better book than the acclaimed "Zero." In fact, I highly recommend "Psycho," but fair warning: it's the most violent piece of art I have ever seen. On the other hand, the "Zero" books are good on deadpan, deadend, drugged out dialogue. And "Zero" should be picked up.
The LeGuin book was billed as one of the top ten Sci Fi books, but isn't really holding up to that notion. There's a lot of sociology and not much story. It's not boring the pants off me, but I expected a lot better.
Friday I went out for drinx at the Joker with Scott and Ross. This woman with fake boobs was there. It was entertaining, but the entire dialogue of the evening centered on her tits. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with talking a good tit, but once you've run out of jokes and you're among three grown men just salivating at a woman's chest, it becomes pathetic.
Later, we saw this very E'd out chick come in and start hugging everyone.
I left after four beers, went home, watched Seinfeld and went to bed.
Saturday I met up with Scott, Shanna and Ross over at Jillians. We drank, Shanna and Scott left, and Ross and I went to Hooters.
Ross got the dead eyes staring at ass after ass and I got Hootersblind and, again, actually thought I had a chance with this one girl.
I hate that place – it's like Neverland.
Sunday, ugly news found me. My nephew was in the hospital, in Chicago – my sister went to visit my aunt, for pneumonia.
He's fine now, but it was scary and I don't want to write about it anymore.
Today, I woke up, showered, got coffee and some juice, went to work, read email, scanned the internet, went to a meeting, and now I'm here.
The new Nirvana box set is pretty much the soundtrack of my life right now. I haven't stopped listening to it since I got it.
I'm really surprised. I really thought it would be crap, but it's the best Nirvana purchase I've ever made. I can't get enough of it. I didn't even like that Wishkah thing, but this is...well, Nirvana.
Pleace,
Jeremy O'Davidleeroth
Chocolate Milk
I Hate Grown Ups who Drink Chocolate Milk
Yeah, I guess I'm prejudice, I guess I generalize, but I really think this should be a rule of thumb.
Every time I see someone drinking chocolate milk, and they're over 18, I think to myself I hate them.
Is that wrong?
I make this judgment by using five people I dislike as proof, and they all drink chocolate milk.
They're usually religious, too. It's like this thing where they don't drink or smoke, but they allow themselves the indulgence of chocolate milk.
No soft drinks – chocolate milk.
And you know how chocolate milk is all curdly and makes the breath smell like anus.
C'mon, give in to your hatred – you hate adults who drink chocolate milk.
I know every morning you come in, and every morning there is that one guy (it's always a guy, never a girl) who is drinking chocolate milk.
No coffee, god forbid – chocolate milk.
Dude, if you're drinking chocolate milk right now, and you're old enough to vote – shoot yourself. Seriously. Commit suicide, I grant you a pardon.
OK, OK, don't kill yourself, but stop drinking chocolate milk. But, beat yourself with your keyboard first.
I don't like you chocolate milk people.
Pleace,
Jonathon Larry
Yeah, I guess I'm prejudice, I guess I generalize, but I really think this should be a rule of thumb.
Every time I see someone drinking chocolate milk, and they're over 18, I think to myself I hate them.
Is that wrong?
I make this judgment by using five people I dislike as proof, and they all drink chocolate milk.
They're usually religious, too. It's like this thing where they don't drink or smoke, but they allow themselves the indulgence of chocolate milk.
No soft drinks – chocolate milk.
And you know how chocolate milk is all curdly and makes the breath smell like anus.
C'mon, give in to your hatred – you hate adults who drink chocolate milk.
I know every morning you come in, and every morning there is that one guy (it's always a guy, never a girl) who is drinking chocolate milk.
No coffee, god forbid – chocolate milk.
Dude, if you're drinking chocolate milk right now, and you're old enough to vote – shoot yourself. Seriously. Commit suicide, I grant you a pardon.
OK, OK, don't kill yourself, but stop drinking chocolate milk. But, beat yourself with your keyboard first.
I don't like you chocolate milk people.
Pleace,
Jonathon Larry
Tidal
Hate People who Take the Elevator Down or Take it up Only One or Two Floors
Immediate execution! Seriously. If I was head-king of America, I would call for the genitalia of these cretins and I would hang it on my huge diamond encrusted castle.
K, so here's the story:
I work in a P, 1, 2, 3 building.
The only time it should be acceptable to take the elevator is if you are going from P to 3, up. Or, if you are handicapped, but you have to be really handicapped, none of this pussy neck injury or bad knee shit.
Otherwise: you should walk your ass up the two floors up max, or three floors down max.
But, its not just this – it's the people.
Like adults who drink chocolate milk, you can generalize these fuckers too.
They're normally fat.
Now, being fat is no big deal, but these people are the kind of fat that flaunt it. The kind that not only take an elevator up one floor, they rub their laziness in. They'll get on the elevator at 1, and the damn thing will nearly plummet under their weight, but at the same time, they'll have all this fucking food and a mug the size of a midget full of Pepsi.
If they're really annoying, they'll have something like a burrito, pizza, and a ham sandwich, fries, chips, and then a Diet Coke.
Fucking Diet Coke? Why the fuck? I mean, all you have to do is take the damn chips out of the program and you could have the regular coke and it'd be the same caloric value.
But, no, you need to make that statement that you're doing something to change things...LIKE TAKING THE FUCKING ELEVATOR UP ONE FUCKING FLOOR!
Look, I'm not a monster. But, when I'm on that elevator, I make sure that I'm riding the entire building up, or I don't take it.
So, when I'm going up P, 1, 2, 3 I normally have to stop at each and every floor, because some dirigible with a frosty mug full of milk shake and a tub of fries needs to avoid the one flight of stairs it takes them to get where they're going.
I think the only time I really can feel my brain bleed is when these fucks will take it DOWN one floor. Like the physical exertion of walking DOWN a flight of steps is going to kill you.
But, even worse than this is the dumb fucker who doesn't know where they're going. It's a P – 3 building and these fuckers will push every floor, just in case they get lost again.
"Oopps, wrong floor, lucky I pushed all four buttons, including the one I came up on."
Fucking dirtbags. I want to remove their skulls from their mouth holes.
But, the worst, the fucking worst is the fuckers that will hold the door for their friends.
"Oh, Chantel, how you doing, girl? Don't worry, I'll hold the door for you!"
GODDAMNIT! FUCK YOU! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE OUTSIDE OF THIS FUCKING ELEVATOR!
I've then got to sit and wait for some troglodyte white-trash, fatchick to hobble to the elevator at some subatomic level of time/distance measurement that I can't calculate without a OUJI board and Carl Sagan's scrotum.
Then, I have to listen to these conversations that last a floor, but seem forever:
"Oh, girl, how was the movie?"
"Well, I brought Brody, James, Lasandra, Earl, Little May, the triplets, and my mother and we went to that Country Buffet beforehand. Ummmm, girl!"
"Oh, looks like this is our floor."
LIKE THERE'S MORE THAN FOUR FLOORS THAT IT COULD BE!!!!! WE'RE NOT IN THE FUCKING SEARS TOWER YOU DUMB, WHITE TRASH, HAIRY CUNT BITCH!!!
See, my brain is bleeding.
God I hate elevator people.
Pleace,
George Walter Sabbath
Immediate execution! Seriously. If I was head-king of America, I would call for the genitalia of these cretins and I would hang it on my huge diamond encrusted castle.
K, so here's the story:
I work in a P, 1, 2, 3 building.
The only time it should be acceptable to take the elevator is if you are going from P to 3, up. Or, if you are handicapped, but you have to be really handicapped, none of this pussy neck injury or bad knee shit.
Otherwise: you should walk your ass up the two floors up max, or three floors down max.
But, its not just this – it's the people.
Like adults who drink chocolate milk, you can generalize these fuckers too.
They're normally fat.
Now, being fat is no big deal, but these people are the kind of fat that flaunt it. The kind that not only take an elevator up one floor, they rub their laziness in. They'll get on the elevator at 1, and the damn thing will nearly plummet under their weight, but at the same time, they'll have all this fucking food and a mug the size of a midget full of Pepsi.
If they're really annoying, they'll have something like a burrito, pizza, and a ham sandwich, fries, chips, and then a Diet Coke.
Fucking Diet Coke? Why the fuck? I mean, all you have to do is take the damn chips out of the program and you could have the regular coke and it'd be the same caloric value.
But, no, you need to make that statement that you're doing something to change things...LIKE TAKING THE FUCKING ELEVATOR UP ONE FUCKING FLOOR!
Look, I'm not a monster. But, when I'm on that elevator, I make sure that I'm riding the entire building up, or I don't take it.
So, when I'm going up P, 1, 2, 3 I normally have to stop at each and every floor, because some dirigible with a frosty mug full of milk shake and a tub of fries needs to avoid the one flight of stairs it takes them to get where they're going.
I think the only time I really can feel my brain bleed is when these fucks will take it DOWN one floor. Like the physical exertion of walking DOWN a flight of steps is going to kill you.
But, even worse than this is the dumb fucker who doesn't know where they're going. It's a P – 3 building and these fuckers will push every floor, just in case they get lost again.
"Oopps, wrong floor, lucky I pushed all four buttons, including the one I came up on."
Fucking dirtbags. I want to remove their skulls from their mouth holes.
But, the worst, the fucking worst is the fuckers that will hold the door for their friends.
"Oh, Chantel, how you doing, girl? Don't worry, I'll hold the door for you!"
GODDAMNIT! FUCK YOU! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE OUTSIDE OF THIS FUCKING ELEVATOR!
I've then got to sit and wait for some troglodyte white-trash, fatchick to hobble to the elevator at some subatomic level of time/distance measurement that I can't calculate without a OUJI board and Carl Sagan's scrotum.
Then, I have to listen to these conversations that last a floor, but seem forever:
"Oh, girl, how was the movie?"
"Well, I brought Brody, James, Lasandra, Earl, Little May, the triplets, and my mother and we went to that Country Buffet beforehand. Ummmm, girl!"
"Oh, looks like this is our floor."
LIKE THERE'S MORE THAN FOUR FLOORS THAT IT COULD BE!!!!! WE'RE NOT IN THE FUCKING SEARS TOWER YOU DUMB, WHITE TRASH, HAIRY CUNT BITCH!!!
See, my brain is bleeding.
God I hate elevator people.
Pleace,
George Walter Sabbath
My Tractor is Big
maybe I can get my chopsticks around the placenta.
Subject: RE: the machinist
dude, they can fry up the cord for you and you'd gain the nutrional equivalent of godzilla sperm.
Subject: RE: the machinist
cool, I might witness a live birth while eating fried rice
Subject: RE: the machinist
Her due date is 12/11, so she could go any time now.....
Subject: RE: the machinist
Is she due to blow anytime?
Subject: RE: the machinist
Yes, Shanna and I are still planning on meeting up for dinner. Assuming she doesn't have the baby by then.
Subject: RE: the machinist
Cool. We'll plan something.
Scott, you still planning on meeting Monica and I for dinner at Benihana's on Sat night? Dinner is at 7pm. Address is 1200 Fifth Ave.
Matt, you still planning on meeting up with us after dinner?
Subject: the machinist
starts friday at the theater up the street from me. i think it's only playing in seattle, but you can check and see if it's elsewhere
Subject: RE: the machinist
dude, they can fry up the cord for you and you'd gain the nutrional equivalent of godzilla sperm.
Subject: RE: the machinist
cool, I might witness a live birth while eating fried rice
Subject: RE: the machinist
Her due date is 12/11, so she could go any time now.....
Subject: RE: the machinist
Is she due to blow anytime?
Subject: RE: the machinist
Yes, Shanna and I are still planning on meeting up for dinner. Assuming she doesn't have the baby by then.
Subject: RE: the machinist
Cool. We'll plan something.
Scott, you still planning on meeting Monica and I for dinner at Benihana's on Sat night? Dinner is at 7pm. Address is 1200 Fifth Ave.
Matt, you still planning on meeting up with us after dinner?
Subject: the machinist
starts friday at the theater up the street from me. i think it's only playing in seattle, but you can check and see if it's elsewhere
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