You are fucking fired. Who do you think you are with that 'ehh I'm casual but still kind of dressy' bullshit? Make up your fucking mind. Are you trying to be dressy or are you trying to be casual? Most cannot be both, and you certainly fall under that category. Look at you with your bullshit commercials boasting 4 losers, sitting around a table, and then a girl comes up and checks out your stupid shoes.. Who ever got laid wearing Skechers? NO ONE! That's who, FUCKING NO ONE. Your commercials are houses of lies. I bet that girl was either forced into saying she liked your stupid shoes or was just confused. And, please don't get me started on the types of dudebro's that wear your shoes, that is another discussion for another day. Just do everyone a favor and go out of business. Stop producing your stupid shoes so that the majority of the population doesn't have to look at them and think how fucking ridiculous they are. To any of my friends who own or have previously owned a pair of these mockeries, I'm sure you have learned your lesson by now, and we forgive you. Just please, do not make the same mistake again. We know you won't. Skechers, you are fired. And you are welcome for me being so mature and professional about his whole situation.
Good day stupid shoes.
A concerned citizen
Brit. Sups. Out.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
An Hour Outside
Dear Dentist,
It is now 1:59 AM and I am now back inside having spent the last hour locked out. So this is how it went down. I didn't grab my keys on the way out to smoke the cigritttss because I am a moron and as the door downstairs closed I knew that I was fucked. I had a cig, a lighter, my phone (I have an IPhone, its no big deal), and a fucking hibernating bear for a motherfucking roommate. Its fortunate that the four fire sprinklers in our apartment are all in your room because a fire alarm alone would not penetrate your dream bubble of sordid brace porn and media manipulation. I called your cellphone over ten times, texted you and rang the buzzer for about 3 minutes if you were to add it all up. And I called 411 to get the apartment phone number. Yeah I called 411 for my own number. Sups. That phone has the loudest most abrasive ring known to man. I called that over 10 times as well. I could hear it from downstairs and even from there it was harsh. During this time all I had for entertainment was scoping the passing honey wagons and grooving to the hot beats that occasionally rolled by. But as the hour passed they dwindled. Things were looking grim. But I kept at it and eventually I heard footsteps upstairs and the door getting buzzed open. I sprang up, climbed 6 steps, and barreled through the door in about a second. I was like a coiled snake. And I burst open the door of the apartment to sing your praises and renounce Jebus only to see that you are still asleep. The footsteps I heard thumping were not those of a lumbering half-asleep dentist but of a rightfully angry neighbor. I must have dominated her world for that hour with the apartment phone and the buzzer.
Five things I have learned:
1. Keys open doors. Bring them with you when you go places.
2. I am mildly retarded.
3. I have little to no ass. It is currently killing me, not from the training, but from sitting on the concrete steps.
4. I have an apology to make to a neighbor.
5. You're toast in the event of an emergency or intruder.
Best of the day to you sir,
Face
A Concerned Citizen
It is now 1:59 AM and I am now back inside having spent the last hour locked out. So this is how it went down. I didn't grab my keys on the way out to smoke the cigritttss because I am a moron and as the door downstairs closed I knew that I was fucked. I had a cig, a lighter, my phone (I have an IPhone, its no big deal), and a fucking hibernating bear for a motherfucking roommate. Its fortunate that the four fire sprinklers in our apartment are all in your room because a fire alarm alone would not penetrate your dream bubble of sordid brace porn and media manipulation. I called your cellphone over ten times, texted you and rang the buzzer for about 3 minutes if you were to add it all up. And I called 411 to get the apartment phone number. Yeah I called 411 for my own number. Sups. That phone has the loudest most abrasive ring known to man. I called that over 10 times as well. I could hear it from downstairs and even from there it was harsh. During this time all I had for entertainment was scoping the passing honey wagons and grooving to the hot beats that occasionally rolled by. But as the hour passed they dwindled. Things were looking grim. But I kept at it and eventually I heard footsteps upstairs and the door getting buzzed open. I sprang up, climbed 6 steps, and barreled through the door in about a second. I was like a coiled snake. And I burst open the door of the apartment to sing your praises and renounce Jebus only to see that you are still asleep. The footsteps I heard thumping were not those of a lumbering half-asleep dentist but of a rightfully angry neighbor. I must have dominated her world for that hour with the apartment phone and the buzzer.
Five things I have learned:
1. Keys open doors. Bring them with you when you go places.
2. I am mildly retarded.
3. I have little to no ass. It is currently killing me, not from the training, but from sitting on the concrete steps.
4. I have an apology to make to a neighbor.
5. You're toast in the event of an emergency or intruder.
Best of the day to you sir,
Face
A Concerned Citizen
Friday, September 18, 2009
I'm On A Train
Dear Random Dude on the Red Line,
Hey, how’s it going man? Are you having a good morning? I bet you’re thinking: it’s Thursday, the work week (if you even have a job) is coming to a close, I got some cool shit (at least whatever a man of your character considers that to be) going on this weekend and I just stepped on to an almost empty T car @ 8AM which is about as rare as seeing a one eyed dog. Just a note here as I got myself thinking, my writing style basically consists of run-on sentences. Oh how Mrs. Cupp would scream at me if she were reading this. I mean it’s not totally impossible but when you see a one eyed dog, much like a near empty T car at this time, you really reflect and wonder how the hell that happened.
Anyway, dude, you get on to this empty car and look around, here’s where I take exception to your actions/lifestyle/hating your dad. You’re looking around, I can see the excitement in your eyes, wondering where the hell am I going to settle myself for the next 20-25 minutes? I have so many options and options are a beautiful thing, I agree. So you’re looking around, first to the right, wow three people all in seats and then to the left, four seats out of a possible six seats available and then there’s me, standing in the doorway that leads betwixt subway cars.
I am minding my own business. I’m reading the WSJ, I have headphones on (iPod shuffle has taken me to a little land I like to call MGMT town this morning) and I look up to see if any hot chicks are getting on, I notice you peering around, and all of a sudden your logical decision making skills turn off. This is where I’m utterly confused. There’s six total feet between the door you just used to enter the train and myself. You’ve already assessed the situation to the right of you and HAD to have noticed that there was a plethora of seating available. HAD TO HAVE! In this time, your split second of indecision, an attractive (T attractive (I’ll break down that another time)) lady steps on and moves toward me. SWEET. I now can relax the WSJ and ogle this girl for the extent of my miserable ride to work. As she sits down in the seat to my immediate right and smiles at me (I obviously smile/head nod back at her) you in your pathetic tight eh I borrowed these from my girlfriend jeans, effin wicked gay ass haircut, bracelets and shit and just overall non-showered appearance make the executive decision to come stand RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME. I mean, again, you HAD to have seen this but you still came and stood perpendicular to me totally invading my personal space (my bubble of Vibe if you will (you will don’t fight it)).
I’m totally aghast, I don’t even want to write you this letter anymore but I’ll continue. You’re a douche bag. That’s actually the end of it. I’m not continuing. I hate you. You should know that you ruined the first couple hours of what would turn out to be an awesome day. Stand next to me again, I dare you. Seriously.
-Squid
Hey, how’s it going man? Are you having a good morning? I bet you’re thinking: it’s Thursday, the work week (if you even have a job) is coming to a close, I got some cool shit (at least whatever a man of your character considers that to be) going on this weekend and I just stepped on to an almost empty T car @ 8AM which is about as rare as seeing a one eyed dog. Just a note here as I got myself thinking, my writing style basically consists of run-on sentences. Oh how Mrs. Cupp would scream at me if she were reading this. I mean it’s not totally impossible but when you see a one eyed dog, much like a near empty T car at this time, you really reflect and wonder how the hell that happened.
Anyway, dude, you get on to this empty car and look around, here’s where I take exception to your actions/lifestyle/hating your dad. You’re looking around, I can see the excitement in your eyes, wondering where the hell am I going to settle myself for the next 20-25 minutes? I have so many options and options are a beautiful thing, I agree. So you’re looking around, first to the right, wow three people all in seats and then to the left, four seats out of a possible six seats available and then there’s me, standing in the doorway that leads betwixt subway cars.
I am minding my own business. I’m reading the WSJ, I have headphones on (iPod shuffle has taken me to a little land I like to call MGMT town this morning) and I look up to see if any hot chicks are getting on, I notice you peering around, and all of a sudden your logical decision making skills turn off. This is where I’m utterly confused. There’s six total feet between the door you just used to enter the train and myself. You’ve already assessed the situation to the right of you and HAD to have noticed that there was a plethora of seating available. HAD TO HAVE! In this time, your split second of indecision, an attractive (T attractive (I’ll break down that another time)) lady steps on and moves toward me. SWEET. I now can relax the WSJ and ogle this girl for the extent of my miserable ride to work. As she sits down in the seat to my immediate right and smiles at me (I obviously smile/head nod back at her) you in your pathetic tight eh I borrowed these from my girlfriend jeans, effin wicked gay ass haircut, bracelets and shit and just overall non-showered appearance make the executive decision to come stand RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO ME. I mean, again, you HAD to have seen this but you still came and stood perpendicular to me totally invading my personal space (my bubble of Vibe if you will (you will don’t fight it)).
I’m totally aghast, I don’t even want to write you this letter anymore but I’ll continue. You’re a douche bag. That’s actually the end of it. I’m not continuing. I hate you. You should know that you ruined the first couple hours of what would turn out to be an awesome day. Stand next to me again, I dare you. Seriously.
-Squid
Monday, August 31, 2009
Dear DTS
Who the fuck do you think you are?! That was a rhetorical question so don’t even bother answering. I’ll tell you who you are; you are a guy who thinks he is too cool for school. Well I got news for you Walter Cronkite…you’re not. That’s right I said it! I know for a fact you have hundreds of letters floating around in your head just itching to get out and put people in their respective places.
"Oh look at me, I’m DTS and I am just so effing busy, blah blah blah. I couldn’t possibly spare one second to type in takeaneffingletter.blogspot.com into my interweb browser and effing write a goddamn letter!"
That was you. Ok so I know you are technologically challenged but last time I checked you were moving past that. I have seen you utilize at least 4 television channels at the same time, you have a cellular telephone (I still can’t believe you sold out like that), and you now have your very own personal computer. All the pieces are there just pull the trigger. Also I think you should be aware that holding in letters when they should be written can damage the prostate gland, making it very difficult to get an erection, or even become aroused!
Final thought for you friend, as a concerned citizen it pains me to see a fellow concerned citizen such as yourself, not sharing your concerns with the citizens of the world. The People need these letters to shine light upon the dark, shine your light good sir, SHINE!
With Love,
The Dentist
A Concerned Citizen
"Oh look at me, I’m DTS and I am just so effing busy, blah blah blah. I couldn’t possibly spare one second to type in takeaneffingletter.blogspot.com into my interweb browser and effing write a goddamn letter!"
That was you. Ok so I know you are technologically challenged but last time I checked you were moving past that. I have seen you utilize at least 4 television channels at the same time, you have a cellular telephone (I still can’t believe you sold out like that), and you now have your very own personal computer. All the pieces are there just pull the trigger. Also I think you should be aware that holding in letters when they should be written can damage the prostate gland, making it very difficult to get an erection, or even become aroused!
Final thought for you friend, as a concerned citizen it pains me to see a fellow concerned citizen such as yourself, not sharing your concerns with the citizens of the world. The People need these letters to shine light upon the dark, shine your light good sir, SHINE!
With Love,
The Dentist
A Concerned Citizen
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Dear Loud Desk Fart
Why must you plague me so? You come out to play at the most inopportune times and I can't figure out why. Was it something I said? I'm just sitting there minding my own beeswax, trying to get some 'work' done, and out of nowhere....there you are. It is very unsettling to know that at any point in time, with co-workers around, you may drop in to say a quick 'hello'. Yes, sometimes I may gamble a bit, but who doesn't? What am I to do? Get up everytime I get that special feeling? That just does not seem reasonable and I'm sure my work would suffer from it. Sometimes it would be nice if you used a little discretion. Come out after work, when I'm outside, in the subway, or even at home! Just please leave me alone when my boss and co-workers are present. They do not appreciate your presence, which I know, is strange. Please don't get me wrong, I like having you around, just not at my desk. I will work on this but you need to contribute something too if this is going to work. Perhaps we can have chat chit on the train tonight after work? We are getting ahead of ourselves. I just ask that you have a bit of humility at times. That's all. Thank you. And, see you soon. Probably very soon..
Sincerely,
Britastic
A Concerned Citizen
Sincerely,
Britastic
A Concerned Citizen
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
From the Desk of: A Concerned Citizen
Date: 7/14/2009
From: Squidland
RE: Leggings
Priority: URGENT
Skirt’s with leggings on underneath are wicked effin dumb. If it is too cold out to wear a skirt, put pants on, believe me none of us will lose sleep over a nice pair of tight jeans as opposed to a skirt and leggings. In fact, I bet you would find that a majority of men prefer that look in the winter. I mean, we all know that you all are crazy, no offense (really), it’s just science. I recently took in the theatrical adventure that is “He’s Just Not That Into You” the movie itself is fit for the subject of another letter but really that movie must have been written, directed and produced by men making fun of women (or could it be you’re all lunatics?) because there is no way women would do that to their fellow kind. I digress (and just wrote on of the longest run-on’s ever) the point is: If you are cold wear pants, if you are doing this to make a fashion point, point taken: you have no taste and finally if you think that you don’t look good in a skirt: go to the effin gym, go for a run, do Pilates or yoga or something b/c summer is right around the corner and we want to see you in skirts. (Run-on number two for those of you counting @ home) Finally, I love a great set of legs but make up your mind either put them out there to be enjoyed or cover 'em up; the legging/skirt combo is not attractive and it makes you appear retardedly indecisive to the rest of the population.
Date: 7/14/2009
From: Squidland
RE: Leggings
Priority: URGENT
Skirt’s with leggings on underneath are wicked effin dumb. If it is too cold out to wear a skirt, put pants on, believe me none of us will lose sleep over a nice pair of tight jeans as opposed to a skirt and leggings. In fact, I bet you would find that a majority of men prefer that look in the winter. I mean, we all know that you all are crazy, no offense (really), it’s just science. I recently took in the theatrical adventure that is “He’s Just Not That Into You” the movie itself is fit for the subject of another letter but really that movie must have been written, directed and produced by men making fun of women (or could it be you’re all lunatics?) because there is no way women would do that to their fellow kind. I digress (and just wrote on of the longest run-on’s ever) the point is: If you are cold wear pants, if you are doing this to make a fashion point, point taken: you have no taste and finally if you think that you don’t look good in a skirt: go to the effin gym, go for a run, do Pilates or yoga or something b/c summer is right around the corner and we want to see you in skirts. (Run-on number two for those of you counting @ home) Finally, I love a great set of legs but make up your mind either put them out there to be enjoyed or cover 'em up; the legging/skirt combo is not attractive and it makes you appear retardedly indecisive to the rest of the population.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Dear Scurred Drivers
Dear Scurred Drivers,
I know you are scurred. Don’t be. Everything is going to be OK, just take a deep breath. Feeling better? Good, I’m glad. Hopefully some of your fear (or furr) has subsided and perhaps, if I am lucky, your elbows are no longer locked in position with your hands firmly grasping the wheel at 10 and 2. Now listen up, because we are about to have some words…
Question: Would you causally step on a treadmill going at max speed? Oh, you wouldn’t? That’s interesting, that’s fucking interesting, then why do you think its perfectly fine to enter the highway at forty effing miles per hour? I know those on-ramps are tricky, with their slight curves and such, but I believe in you. I mean, think about, even the slowest people on the road are still going at least 20 mph faster than you are. You really think entering the highway at that speed is safe??? But apparently you DO think its safe having people slam on their brakes or abruptly changes lanes to avoiding crashing into you. You are the one going slower so how could you possibly be in the wrong?! And do you even know how to use your rear view mirror, or are you so stricken with fear when you are behind the wheel you can only focus on the cars in front of you? It seems like the latter is true, because you fail to notice the 10 car pile up behind you when you are going 65 in the passing lane. Uhhhhhh, it’s called the passing lane and you ain’t going to passing shit at that speed my friend, so get the EFF out of my lane! You know when someone is riding up your ass on the highway they aren’t doing for just shits and giggles; they’re doing it because you are driving where you don’t belong. You belong in the right lanes, so say something like, "This jerk just keeps tailing me, wah wah wah, blah blah blah" put your pacifier back in your mouth, slow down more, change lanes as slow as you possibly can and just go to your home.
And one more thing, going through that yellow light was MY decision to make, NOT yours! I almost rear-ended you because you are such a fucking pussy driving. Whoa, I better call it quits before I say something I’ll regret…I want to murder you. Damn. Well, I’m glad we had this talk, see you out there.
Sincerely,
The Dentist
A Concerned Citizen
I know you are scurred. Don’t be. Everything is going to be OK, just take a deep breath. Feeling better? Good, I’m glad. Hopefully some of your fear (or furr) has subsided and perhaps, if I am lucky, your elbows are no longer locked in position with your hands firmly grasping the wheel at 10 and 2. Now listen up, because we are about to have some words…
Question: Would you causally step on a treadmill going at max speed? Oh, you wouldn’t? That’s interesting, that’s fucking interesting, then why do you think its perfectly fine to enter the highway at forty effing miles per hour? I know those on-ramps are tricky, with their slight curves and such, but I believe in you. I mean, think about, even the slowest people on the road are still going at least 20 mph faster than you are. You really think entering the highway at that speed is safe??? But apparently you DO think its safe having people slam on their brakes or abruptly changes lanes to avoiding crashing into you. You are the one going slower so how could you possibly be in the wrong?! And do you even know how to use your rear view mirror, or are you so stricken with fear when you are behind the wheel you can only focus on the cars in front of you? It seems like the latter is true, because you fail to notice the 10 car pile up behind you when you are going 65 in the passing lane. Uhhhhhh, it’s called the passing lane and you ain’t going to passing shit at that speed my friend, so get the EFF out of my lane! You know when someone is riding up your ass on the highway they aren’t doing for just shits and giggles; they’re doing it because you are driving where you don’t belong. You belong in the right lanes, so say something like, "This jerk just keeps tailing me, wah wah wah, blah blah blah" put your pacifier back in your mouth, slow down more, change lanes as slow as you possibly can and just go to your home.
And one more thing, going through that yellow light was MY decision to make, NOT yours! I almost rear-ended you because you are such a fucking pussy driving. Whoa, I better call it quits before I say something I’ll regret…I want to murder you. Damn. Well, I’m glad we had this talk, see you out there.
Sincerely,
The Dentist
A Concerned Citizen
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Dear Blog
Dear Blog,
I once thought you were the worst word/idea in the entire world. The word used to raise my blood pressure 100 pts. However, the personal health impact of the word blog has been reduced since the advent of Twitter. It just doesn't seem as cataclysmic anymore. However, I view this less as a web log chronicling the daily minutia of our lives, but more as a supplemental unifying POTV source, or a SUPS if you will (or not, whatever's funnier), used to bring people the world over the good word about the storied history and state of the vibe (by chronicling the minutia of our lives and raising our voices against irritants). In the future I will have more in depth posts, but for now know that you are no longer on thin ice.
Sincerely,
Face
A Concerned Citizen
I once thought you were the worst word/idea in the entire world. The word used to raise my blood pressure 100 pts. However, the personal health impact of the word blog has been reduced since the advent of Twitter. It just doesn't seem as cataclysmic anymore. However, I view this less as a web log chronicling the daily minutia of our lives, but more as a supplemental unifying POTV source, or a SUPS if you will (or not, whatever's funnier), used to bring people the world over the good word about the storied history and state of the vibe (by chronicling the minutia of our lives and raising our voices against irritants). In the future I will have more in depth posts, but for now know that you are no longer on thin ice.
Sincerely,
Face
A Concerned Citizen
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