Feb 01

Love Letters of DOOM (Part Two)

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It seems that everyone has been a little blah lately – blame the winter doldrums or whatever. I’ve never been prone to seasonal affective disorders, myself. What I can say, however, is that I’m sicker now than I’ve been since the (not-so) Great Cancer Debacle of ’05. We’re talking 3 days and counting of feverish, incoherent babbling intermingled with half-hearted attempts to throttle Ken for infecting me with this misery, hocking up big chunky mouthfuls of lung (OH MY GOD! IS THAT BLOOD?!?), and 10 hour nights of delirious fever dreams (I totally dreamt that I junk punched a frat boy last night and laughed so hard that I woke myself up hacking up a phlegm ball.)

Imagine the fireworks these bad boys are holding back!

In short, I am completely useless right now. I haven’t cooked or cleaned. I haven’t crafted.  I haven’t blogged. I haven’t even played Angry Birds. I go to work and use what little energy I have to get shit done (5 leases signed this week so far… woo!), then I go home and give myself over to my inevitable death, and while it’s taking its sweet ass time in picking me up, I yell at Ken incessantly for killing me.

 This morning on the car ride to work, he offered to peel the safety seal off my juice bottle, which I managed just fine on my own, thank you very much.

 Ken: You were probably a delight anytime you were sick as a kid. “Nyeh! I can do it myself. Leave me alone! I don’t feel good! Kill me!”
Me: I didn’t really get sick very much as a kid.
Ken: But when you did…?
Me: Oh, I’m sure I was an insufferable bitch.

You heard it here first, people.

So to recap, I’m sick and/or dying; I’m short tempered; I’m an insufferable bitch. Are we all on the same page? Okay then, here we go –

Love Letters of DOOM to the monkey humping shitfucks in my life who so righteously deserve them:

 Dear Husband,

                I haven’t become infected any of the last 3 dozen times you’ve found yourself beset by unidentifiable malaise. But you take one business trip to California and suddenly it’s the rhinovirus apocalypse up in our shit. I suppose I should be thankful that you didn’t bring me herpes or something equally unsavory from one of your Petri dishes, but I’d be ecstatic if, in the future, you could bring me flowers or a snow globe instead of the CDC’s least wanted virus. Thaaaaaanks.

Flowers for me? No, no... that's the herpes virus.

 Dear Frat-tards,

                When I got 3 voice mails and an email on Monday telling me that you little knob slobberers threw an epic kegger in my building on Friday AND Saturday night, I wasn’t really surprised. I expected the broken windows and discarded Solo cups. I could not, however, have realized that I would open the doors later that day to find what can only be described as ground zero of Jonestown with shitty beer instead of Kool-aid, 14 days worth of the Wall Street Journal shredded all over the building (seriously, wtf?), and the smell of dirty kitty litter rolled in unwashed jock strap. I started entertaining elaborate fantasies of myself pissing in your juice bottles, and hocking phlegm into your cereal boxes. Then I remember that I’m your landlord, and fuck you – enjoy the $2500 invoice for building repairs. I look forward to your eviction proceeding with the glee of a fat child devouring a tray of brownies. Shalom, motherfuckers.

You let me know when you're ready for this kind of party. I'll promote the shit out of that, free of charge.

 Dear Spineless, Cunt puffin’ Carny Jerkers,

                I know you think you’re trying to be all cool and laid-back landlord by letting these whining bitches out of their leases every time they have a change of heart about the apartment, but I’m over all this extra work you’re dumping on me. I don’t have time to keep showing and renting these places for you. I’ve done the work once (and in this case, twice!) already and you’re going to be paying the commission every single time. But don’t let that fool you into thinking you’re somehow a more important customer now. Newsflash, Sugar Tits –  when I told you that I’d get right on it, I was actually sitting back with my feet on the desk and filing my nails. And what I really meant is that I’ll get to it when you get around to paying us for the last 6 leases. Stifle yourselves, bitches.

Anyone else have a backhanded love letter they’d like to deliver, postage paid? Pour your heart out in the comments.


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  1. Jana

    Dear Slow Asswipe Drivers in Front of Me,

    I know that you are being all “cool” and “conservationist” when you drive like MUTHA FUCKIN 20 MILES under the speed limit but in reality it makes me want to go all Fried Green Tomatoes on your ass. It doesn’t teach me a “lesson” when you drive like a fucktard, it makes me want to take my Jeep and ram your ass like a BAZILLION times for being so fucking stupid. So take your prius and shove it.

    Lots of love and kisses,
    The girl with the big grille
    Jana recently posted..How we frightened the taco manMy Profile

  2. admin

    The Prius has done so much to set environmentalism back 20 years because of the douchebags who drive them. Much like Steve Perry is rock music’s greatest monster, the Prius is similarly the Gargamel to the environment’s Smurfs.

    Or something like that. I’ve either had too much cold medicine today, or not enough.

  3. Jen

    Damn, Girl! Warn a bitch before you post a picture of a hairy scrot! Must. Bleach. Corneas. . .
    Jen recently posted..Foodie Friday: It’s Peanut Butter Jelly Time!My Profile

    1. admin

      Me thinkest thou dost protest too much.

      1. Misty

        She loves every hairy ballsack minute of it! Don’t let her fool ya! :)
        Misty recently posted..Weekly Whacked: Baby, You Can Drive My CarMy Profile

  4. Charity

    “I’m sorry you’re a twat’

    I laughed.

    Omfg at the ballz pic.
    Charity recently posted..Fuck You Friday: Metamorphosis Edition (in honor of The Wily Weez)My Profile

    1. admin

      You know you wanna bring those boys home.

  5. Misty

    I am so finding a way to use that picture. Cool, right?

    It’s hard to be all fuck you, today of all days, but I did drive behind this fucking waste of space last night, in a minivan, natch, who was in the fast lane going 20 miles less than every other single person on the road who just wanted to GET THE FUCK HOME ALREADY!! When I got on her ass, she slowed down. Then put on her brakes to try to get me to back off. Oh hellz no! I’ve been playing this game for way too long, bitch. High beams. Driving so close I can kiss your stinky ass. Finally pull around and give finger. Yes yes, I am very mature. But she was a cunt. Totally deserved.

    Ok, so maybe I do have a little rage left in me. :)
    Misty recently posted..Weekly Whacked: Baby, You Can Drive My CarMy Profile

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