Almost Everyone That Calls Me On the Phone Can Get Fucked.

Now, if someone wants to call me to tell me how much they love me, how they're going to repay that money I lent them, or to fill me in on the details of our impending hang out, I am more than happy to converse with them. I am a pretty pleasant dude to talk to. In fact, some might say I'm quite the conversationalist.

However, perhaps this may come as a shock to you, but that's probably less than 1% of the phone calls I receive, on average.

The other 99% of the phone calls I receive slowly make small parts of me die. I really want to tell the following people to get fucked. Sometimes I do tell these people to get fucked.

People that call to try to sell me shit. I'll get this one out of the way first, because it's the obvious one. The thing that really amazes me is that people still do this for a living. Is there really that much of a market these days for remanufactured laser printer toner for your home or office, sold by someone that sounds like they're reading a script that's spelled out for them phonetically on a kitchen sponge upon which they are simultaneously chewing? Because I sure as shit have gotten thousands of those calls at work.

People that call trying to get me to take a survey. No, I don't have time for a survey, from which I gain nothing but wasted time and you gain valuable market research. Don't act all hurt and confused as to why I don't want to take valuable time out of my work day to do you this tremendous "solid." Besides, if you start off the conversation with "I'm not trying to sell you anything," I assume that you actually are trying to sell me something, so I hang up on you right after telling you to get fucked.

People that are either trying to recruit me or make me hire some other asshole. I have no authority to hire anyone at work. In addition, I will not sit at my desk at work and tell some dude that calls me out of the blue about how I'd rather have a sweeter job. My boss sits right next to me, and I'd tell him somewhat sooner than I'd tell some random douchebag that called me at work if I had any beef with his managerial style. Furthermore, I will not tell this dude the intricacies of how our office runs, so he can find people to do all of our jobs better than we currently do them. I will, in fact, half-heartedly tell them that I'm either transferring their call to the HR department, or they can ask me another question and they'll get hung up on. You can never get these fuckfaces off of the phone when they call you, so they always choose to get hung up on. Every time, without fail. I really enjoy hanging up on them mid-sentence. Almost as much as telling someone they can get fucked.

People that call me when I'm very busy, and say "I know you're really busy but..." Fuck you then, don't call me. That's what email is for--being deleted by me when I'm too busy to talk to you.

People that call me to tell me they're going to call me later. I would have pieced that information together when you called me later. I'm a fuckin' genius that way.

People that call me, don't leave a message, and then call again soon after. That is one of my major pet peeves. I check my voicemail. I am diligent about returning your call if you aren't someone that I really wish would just go get fucked. Usually I don't answer the phone because I'm busy, I'm on the crapper, I'm in a hot makeout session, or I'm talking to someone that, say, owns the company I work for. All of these things are way more important than whatever the call is about. Seriously, have you ever gotten called repeatedly when you're taking a dump that is like "HEY MAN YOUR CAR IS BEING STOLEN!!!!"? Nope, it's always something like "Hey man. I'm bored. What are you doing tomorrow night?" Even if you are my friend you can get fucked in this instance.

People that take the scenic route towards the point of why they are calling you, and then they start repeating themselves. In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm not the kind of guy that likes to sit around jibber jabbering on the phone all day. I quickly grow bored with pretty much any conversation within less than 2 minutes, I'd say, on average. So as a rule, if you call me, I don't really care about the entire back story of why you decided it was important that you called me. Just get to the point. None of this "you see, all this really boring stuff happened that you don't care about and I thought that I knew what was going on but then I thought wait a minute that isn't right so I thought I'd call you and find out if you knew what was going on..." I fucking hate that! And, when the conversation has run its course, there is no need to rehash what was said. I was there when you kept talking earlier. I totally heard you the first time, asshole. Just fucking stop. Because I will end the phone call in the most awkward way possible and not give any craps about it.

So if you are guilty of any of these things, please, for the love of crap, don't call me, and get fucked.

UPDATE: Ray Szmanda Possibly Up to No Good?

"Phony Doctor Gives Free Breast Exams"

Hmmmm...who does this guy remind me of...



I might have actually just gained a little bit of respect for our pal Ray Ray.

Apparently, the King of Nepal is Getting Fucked.

And as a result, perhaps my favorite picture of all time has been produced:



The guy riding that motorcycle gets a free pass. Throughout the rest of his life, let it be known that he unequivicably cannot get fucked.

(from http://www.rajeshkc.com/phalano/?m=200604)

Blogger's Somewhat Confusing Wording on the Comments Setting of This Blog Can Get Fucked.

I just noticed that a few people had commented on my blog, but it wasn't emailing me so I just assumed that everyone was taking my rantings as the holy gospel of who can get fucked. I have excellent reading comprehension skills, so obviously, blogger can get fucked in this situation, and not me.

You can all read my replies and then get fucked. Or don't. Good night.

The People in Charge of Advertising at Menard's Can Get Fucked.

Menard's has two billboards on the interstate that I must travel to get to work, and they're within less than a mile of each other. Man, it's not enough that I have to put up with all those people (AND MORE!) who can get fucked on the highway that I already bitched about in post #2, but now I have to stare at these things while I'm inevitably stopped because of a FUCKING GAPERS' DELAY or some shit.

These unbelievably annoying billboards have a picture of Dale Earnhart Jr, a common home improvement item, and the word "Great" in there. However, here's the "genius" of these billboards: Dale Earnhart Jr.'s car number in NASCAR is number eight. And they change it so that the word "great" is spelled like "GR-8!" I think that what really burns me up is that it's already the stupidest thing I've ever seen, and then they just decide to throw a hyphen in there FOR NO FUCKING REASON WHATSOEVER.

So anyway, the first billboard has some ceiling fans on it, and it says "GR-8 FANS!" Next to this, "Junior" is up there just fuckin' laughin' it up at the hilarious pun. This billboard just stood tall up there mocking the ever-living fuck out of my intelligence, so I was pretty fucking pissed about that when I saw it. But at least there was a semblance of a connection to something--I guess NASCAR has fans, Menards has a different kind of fans, so yeah, he's saying they are both "GR-8?" I dunno, it's a stretch. But at least it kind of made sense. My rage was lacking a murderous quality when I saw it.

The next one down the road says "GREAT PAINT!", except good ol' "Junior" is holding a bucket of paint, and has crossed out the word "GREAT" and painted "GR-8" above it. When I saw this, I was so pissed that I almost crapped my pants in rage. Just imagining the chain of events leading up to this billboard's inception just blew my mind. Did it go something like this?

Menards Ad Exec: Hey Menard's Ad Agency Guy, that "GR-8 FANS!" billboard was genius! We need another one RIGHT NEXT TO IT or those fuckers at Home Depot are going to win over the NASCAR demographic! Hurry! We stocked way too much fucking duct tape this month!

Menards Ad Agency Guy: We can do that! Let's see...we already made a hilarious pun about how Menards and NASCAR both have fans...so we can't do that one again...in fact, let's just put the whole "things NASCAR and Menards have in common" thing totally to bed. It's done. Shit's last week. ...I've got it. Hold on to your ass, Menards Ad Exec!

Menards Ad Exec: (silently pops boner)

Menards Ad Agency Guy: Two words. One of which is spelled with a dash and a number. Give up? "GR-8 PAINT!"

Menards Ad Exec: ...Jesus. I am in awe of your advertising prowess. Just...awe!

Menards Ad Agency Guy: And you haven't even heard the best part, my friend. "Junior"...has crossed out the word "GREAT" in its dictionary spelling, and has painted...using the paint that NASCAR fans can buy AT MENARDS...the "hip" spelling. The...MENARDS...spelling.

Menards Ad Exec: (signs check for $1 Million)

FUCK that pisses me off.

Also, this guy from their TV commercials totally touches kids:

I totally have no proof of this, but just look at him. You know he drives a van with no windows, and you know that van has boxes upon boxes of candy in it. Some of which are already empty.

Everyone involved with advertising at Menards can get fucked.

Things That I Have To Carry That Are Not Shaped Appropriately For This Task Can Get Fucked.

You'll have to stay with me here. I had been having a string of perfectly nice, uneventful days, which means not much action on the who-can-get-fucked blog. But the last couple of days have involved spending extra hours at work for total bullshit reasons. I don't get paid overtime. So at the present I'm pissed and everyone can get fucked. Even inanimate objects can get fucked.

I'm a man that often finds himself carrying things from place to place. I'm sure you can all relate, unless you don't have any arms. In that case, I suppose you've got more of a bone to pick here with life in general than I do. You can disregard this post if you have no arms. Everyone else, please read on.

Seriously, why can't they just make everything that is likely to be carried from place to place shaped in a uniform manor so that it can be stacked with other things that must be carried along with it? I'm talking as close to the cube shape as possible, even weight distribution, all flat surfaces and none of that curved surface bullshit. This is something that seriously makes me pissed off.

I'll give you an example. I can think of literally thousands of times I've carried a computer tower from one location to another, and on many occasions, I wish to stack something on top of it to save myself extra and unneeded trips. Perhaps a box of software that goes with this computer. Why would fucking Joe Dell (or whatever asshole designed the case of the computer) make the top of the tower curved? Out of these thousands of times I've carried a computer somewhere, I can think of exactly zero god damn times that I've wished to stack something on top of this tower in which the bottom of this object is curved concavely in such a way that it will fit neatly on top of the computer. It's always something flat. So I try to balance this flat object on the curved computer and carry it out to my car. Then I get halfway out to my car and everything slides off of the computer. A gust of wind siezes the opportunity to fuck me over, and an important stack of papers I was also carrying just fucking bolts in all directions across the parking lot like so many teenagers at a house party that's been busted by the cops. At the same time, a useless plastic bag that had been skulking around the corner until I walked by flies up into my face in an attempt to shield my eyes while the papers escape, and I trip over some stupid concrete block and almost smash the $1000 piece of crap into a million pieces of crap worth 1/1oth of a penny each. Luckily, I stop that from happening by a sheer force of will that can only be attained by getting really pissed off at inanimate objects.

There are at least a million people I want to tell that they can get fucked in this scenario, and not one of them is me, even though I stacked a bunch of shit that most would deem unstackable.

Such is my life.

Ryan Seacrest Can Get Fucked.

Scientists Can Get Fucked.

Well, not all scientists. Some scientists are pretty stand up guys. For instance, the scientists who created the Internet were cool. Scientists that found Dinosaurs were indirectly responsible for many of my happy memories as a child in school. Scientists that created effective methods of birth control have been pretty integral to my happiness as an adult. (Well, in all honesty, not enough of the early part, but the parts they did have an effect on have been pretty sweet, and I thank them for this.)

However, I am specifically irate at the scientists that are telling me that I can't barbecue any more because I'll get prostate cancer. (Link to story here.) First of all, these scientists totally gave cancer to some poor helpless creatures that probably thought they were eating hamburgers. Then, these scientists told me that I'm going to die as a result of the only method of cooking that I am particularly good at--grilling delicious meat. Why couldn't they link pancreatic cancer to a compound created during the cutting of yellow bell peppers? I don't dislike eating yellow bell peppers or anything, but we've already got green, orange, and red bell peppers, probably a few other colors I don't even know about, and they're all pretty delicious. If the yellow ones went away, I wouldn't even notice. But barbecued meat? Come on, that is bullshit!

Scientists that claim you'll get cancer from barbecueing meat are worse than Hitler, and they can get fucked.