Best. Cab Ride. Ever.

A play in One Act.

Cabbie: Where to?
Me: 200 Independence.
Cabbie: Oh..HHS? I've been there. Nice building.
Me: Yes..it's very cool on the inside, but old.
Cabbie: Meeting?
Me: Yes, actually. Do you take a lot of people there?
Cabbie: (silence.)
Me: (expectant.)
Cabbie: (silence.)
Me: (uninterested. but curious...are you deaf?) Do you take a lot of people there?
Cabbie: (silence.) (motions to sign on passenger window)

Sign:


Me: Bullets aren’t personal. [pffft, pffft]


Fin.

Lame (the scrolldown)

Lame*:

Lamer*:

Are you fucking serious?



*in the interest of full disclosure, this movie also qualified as "lamest", but when measured against another John Travolta "fat years" flick, it seemed a shade less egregious.

An Open Letter to Everyone from the North that is Living in the South Voluntarily

I heard you the first 5,000 times when you complained about people in the south “not knowing how to deal with snow” and how “people from the north just deal with this shit so much better.” First of all, fuck you, you don’t, and unless people from the north have snow plows growing from their asses, they don’t either.

Listen, asshole.

There are FEWER PLOWS IN THE SOUTH and FEWER PEOPLE TO DO IT because IT DOESN’T FUCKING SNOW THAT MUCH. That’s like saying—“oh, we deal so much better with homicide in New York…fucking southerners don’t know how to MAIM.” I’m not one to ride the whole “southerners aren’t bad people just because of slavery” train. I mean seriously, fuck ‘em. But if it’s such a fucking problem, DON’T LIVE HERE because I don’t want to hear your shit anymore.

Also…which one of you assholes nominated Romney?

Best. I.M. Ever.

hotstuff07: fyi: anna nicole smith is dead.


***for the life of such a woman to be boiled down to a single line in an IM window... that, my friends, is perfection.

NASA

Where Scientific Advancement meets Lifetime...Television for Women.

Coke Cares About Black People

Dear Coca-Cola,

Thank you for helping us celebrate the HISTORIC occasion of TWO African-Americans reaching the Super Bowl as coaches. As your advertisements suggest, this was a ground-breaking event that is on-par with "I have a dream" and Rosa Parks. Now, young, clean, bright, fresh black men everywhere will aspire to do more with their lives -- JUST LIKE LOVIE SMITH!

If you continue to help us break down these stereotypes and commemorate the advancement of equality, I'm certain we can one day (my fingers are crossed!!!) proudly extol the virtues of our first black President of the United States!

I just hope he's articulate -- because f** me if I don't understand a word of what most black people say.

Thanks again for creating commercials that trivialize an entire half-century of civil-rights advancement. You are our "bruthas in this struggle." Stay strong. We're all in this together!

Kisses,
Q

Citizen Justice is So Hot Right Now

So I was in the ABC Liquor Store last night (I needed gin) waiting to check out. It was taking a long time because in front of me was this dreadlock-wearing, indeterminate-aged woman. Holding a baby. And buying booze. And taking a really long time.

Because (and you may not know this) it takes soooome effort to: hold-a-baby-pull-out-your-credit-card-swipe-your-card-put-your-card-back-sign-the-receipt-continue-to-hold-the-baby.

Not to mention, now that you’ve run THAT gauntlet, you’ve got to figure out how to put your booze in the small-ish ABC Store grocery cart. Why is that difficult? Oh, because you have WEDGED your baby’s car-seat into said grocery cart.

Can the check-out girl help you with the car-seat? She sure can... and she did.

Can you take this grocery cart out to your car to load everything in? You sure can... and you did.

Can I help you do the loading? Yep, I sure can. And let me just take THIS BABY off your hands. You don’t really want it anyway... apparently.

We should be able to summarily shoot people like this woman.
With a silenced pistol.

[pffft.... pffft]

Sigh.

Does anyone want a baby? Looks to be a girl. I’ve got one if you need one.

An Open Letter to the Cashier at My Neighborhood Grocery Store

I don’t hate you, you should know that. I want to you to make better choices in life so that you don’t have to wait on assholes who buy individual bananas, but I don’t hate you.

You should also know that this isn’t an elitist thing, because although I am better than you, I don’t care about how much money you make or the number of federally funded programs you are currently taking advantage of.

Really, I just want you to hurry the fuck up.

There are 15 people behind me and since the asshole in front of me singled out YOU to get him a box of Camels unfiltered (are you fucking serious?) then I guess you better pick up the goddamn pace.

I do not have time for you to shuffle to the cigarette case, try 23 different keys, and then stare back at your now 20 person deep line, daring me to tell you to hurry up.

Listen.

I will end your life right here and right now. I will beat you to death with that loaf of french bread that the lady behind me is EATING BEFORE SHE PURCHASED. I will tie you to the conveyer belt using slim jim wrappers and then I will see you in hell.

So hurry up. And get me a pack of Parliaments while you’re in there.