Cockroaches and Bic Pens will be the only things remaining after the apocalypse.
The asshole who coined the term ‘team-member’ should be afflicted with oral herpes. Being called a team-member doesn’t boost anyone’s morale when they’re working the graveyard shift for minimum wage at the mayonnaise bottling plant four miles off the bus line.
I’ll bet there are some language geeks who enjoy bondage as much for the opportunity to create inventive safe words as the gimp suits. What shall we select tonight, dear? We’ve already used palindromes during the candle wax phase…
There are to be no more niche musical genres. Something that’s championed by all of seven horribly isolated, horny music critics does not deserve a place in the verbiage. Sorry, but it’s a guy with a laptop adding echo effects to his coughing fit, it isn’t Dubstep.
The next time I’m required to surrender my pride to a drug test, I’m going to insist that the urologist not only hold my dick while I pee, but move it around in a circular motion to parts of the ‘Rent’ soundtrack.
If increasing portions of my paychecks go to the military, I want a say in what kinds of weapons they make. I wouldn’t even have to be on the panda bear-mounted laser canon design team, but I should at least get to vote on what kind of stealth helicopters they fly.
The first guy I talked to during orientation not only participates in Renaissance Festivals, but in his abundant free time does comedy improv and makes chainmail; yet another reason why I do not play the lottery.
Sudafed used to work really well for nasal congestion. Its replacement ingredient not only doesn’t work, but has been shown to actually cause stuffiness. Instead of making me visit the doctor with no health insurance to get a fucking prescription for a box of something that will allow me to breathe, put it back on the shelves, and keep track of anybody who twitches, has a P.O. Box and always asks if anyone watches the security tapes.
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