No goo-goo ga-ga
When projectile vomiting
Babies are not cute
Wednesday, June 3: Reader Submission
Today's reader submission comes from Danielle, who not unlike me passes about 47% of her week on the Paris metro:
Fripsters* on the train
Your hair reeks of your own pee
But I like your shoes
*fripe (from the verb "friper" for crumple) refers to thrift and vintage stores in French
Fripsters* on the train
Your hair reeks of your own pee
But I like your shoes
*fripe (from the verb "friper" for crumple) refers to thrift and vintage stores in French
Monday, June 1
This one goes out to all of the consumers who make a giant scene in public:
Crazy customer
Not sure that’s the best way to
Get your money back
Crazy customer
Not sure that’s the best way to
Get your money back
Friday, May 29
This lifeku is dedicated to the fact that I will be sans internet for at least 10 days as I leave crap internet provider in the dust to switch to SFR Neuf...
Orange Internet
Your service is a big joke
I hope you all die.
Orange Internet
Your service is a big joke
I hope you all die.
Wednesday, May 27: Reader Submission
This weeks reader submission comes from Nancy, wgo tells us about her debacle in The Dam:
When i recently arrived in Amsterdam for travel's sake, i needed to locate my hostel that i had quickly booked online; unbeknownst to me, my map led me into the red light district, where i found no street names. Being completely tired and unbothered, i stopped the first Dutch person i saw to ask them the name of the street we were on, so i could know if i was near the hostel. As soon as i said 'Excuse me..', a recieved a very awkward, rushed response as the man looked to the ground and shuffled away, saying 'No, thank you, thank you, i'm happily married'. Yes, he thought i was a prostitute. Hence these:
Hey, dirty old man
I just wanted the street name
Sorry, not for sale.
In a strange city
In need of some direction
No, I'm not a whore.
When i recently arrived in Amsterdam for travel's sake, i needed to locate my hostel that i had quickly booked online; unbeknownst to me, my map led me into the red light district, where i found no street names. Being completely tired and unbothered, i stopped the first Dutch person i saw to ask them the name of the street we were on, so i could know if i was near the hostel. As soon as i said 'Excuse me..', a recieved a very awkward, rushed response as the man looked to the ground and shuffled away, saying 'No, thank you, thank you, i'm happily married'. Yes, he thought i was a prostitute. Hence these:
Hey, dirty old man
I just wanted the street name
Sorry, not for sale.
In a strange city
In need of some direction
No, I'm not a whore.
Monday, May 25
I am a dog owner and lover, that is for sure. I love those big brown puppy eyes that gaze up at you with a sweet wagging tail. I love how my puppy (I call her that even though she's 5) gets so excited every time I come home that she almost pees herself, even if I've only been gone 5 minutes.
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Yes, dogs really are our best friends... but do you want to know who are not our best friends?
I'll tell you: Dog owners who for some reason believe they are exempt from "the ramassing of the merde." What am I talking about? Pick up your poop for crying out loud. I do it, so can you, it's really not that bad. See, the plastic bag serves as the appropriate buffer between the poop matter and your actual hand, but some of you don't seem to understand this concept. Some of you believe it's okay to let your dog drop one in front of me while I am drinking coffee and then just leave it there as if it were some sort of treasured gift. Newsflash: it's not a treasured gift. At all. So just bend over and pick it up like the rest of us:
Woman with toy dog
You still have to pick it up
Even if it’s small
Thursday, May 21
This one goes out to every "young person" who thinks that user edited encyclopedic content serves as undisputed fact:
Generation “Net”
Stop quoting all your facts from
Wikipedia
Wednesday, May 20: Reader Submission
Today's reader submission comes from Chris, who must've had the flu on the one day the opposite sex was thinking about giving him the goodies:
I am so damn sick.
Ladies check me out at store.
Why today? Why now!?
I am so damn sick.
Ladies check me out at store.
Why today? Why now!?
Tuesday, May 19
I recently stumbled across this article about a super awesome van offering every parents nightmare: free candy. After a lot of freaking out and a police investigation, it turns out that this pedophilic parents' nightmare was in fact a prank being played by who else: college kids. Ahhh those crazy college kids...
Hey little children
Let's have some fun in my van!
I've got free candy
Saturday, May 16
I used to talk about Marie-France all of the time... a pigeon who somehow managed to find refuge in the gaps between my 300 year old walls. Marie-France would walk around cooing and strutting and doing other annoying pigeon things at all sorts of inappropriate early hours of the morning. I would be comfortable in my bed, enjoying that moment in between asleep and awake when the sheets conform to your body and are softer than they will ever be, and cluck cluck coo coo went Marie-France, waking me from my peaceful bliss. I cursed her name every morning and began considering whether or not it was worth it to punch holes in my walls to find her... and then one day, she was gone. Just like that. It was the first day I noticed that I had slept until 9:30 without interruption that I realized she was mysteriously absent, and that I was mysteriously relaxed and rested. For two years I lived in peace (obviously not counting those times when my guardienne decides 6:00 am is the perfect time to sort the glass recycling), a glorious, pigeon-free peaceful Parisian existence with baguettes and accordion music and berets and strikes. Then, last week, I was up at 6:30 making myself a cup of coffee when I heard a most unsettling scratching noise coming from behind the stove. The sound of claws against loose drywall... and then, I heard the cooing as I formed my angry fists of fury:
Pigeon in my walls
Loud early morning cooing
Murderous rage
Pigeon in my walls
Loud early morning cooing
Murderous rage
Friday, May 15
Everyday, my guardienne (a French version of a super) performs various tasks throughout the buildings and courtyards like sweeping, taking out the trash, watering the flowers, and of course washing the ground. The ground is so very dirty that it needs to be washed absolutely everyday. With fresh water. She acts as if this is the most logical necessity that could have ever existed. Ground-washing. I mean seriously, it's the ground... it's just going to get dirty again... but she continues to waste fresh drinking water by hosing down the courtyard (which is rather large might I add) because in her world the environment must not be important:
Idiot waster
You don't have to rinse that
Because it's the ground
Idiot waster
You don't have to rinse that
Because it's the ground
Wednesday, May 13: Reader Submission
Today's reader submission comes from Moomie, who has just recently put her house on the market because she found a better one. While this is all fine and dandy, in order to prepare her house for a non-stop influx of total strangers Moomie has transformed herself into the alter ego "Tina Sparkle" (who handles all of the cleaning and is rather OCD) and has thus begun cleaning, sweeping, wiping, bleaching, scrubbing, swiffering, buffing, vacuuming, shining, windexing, folding, pressing, steaming, waxing, and many other verbs in -ing form:
Where's my privacy?
An open house invasion
I'm just so tired
Where's my privacy?
An open house invasion
I'm just so tired
Tuesday, May 12
Do you ever disagree with someone about something, but somehow remain unable to tell them because they cut you off every time you open your mouth?
Loud argument guy
A discussion goes both ways
You’re talking at me
Loud argument guy
A discussion goes both ways
You’re talking at me
Monday, May 11
I recently watched this documentary on compulsive hoarding on TLC (technically I watched it on YouTube since I have no TV, and you can to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=daKsMsa8YAc). I basically spent the whole time with my mouth gaping open and one hand glued to my face in horror and when it was over I threw away all of my shoes that I never wear because they eat my feet... well, most of them...Compulsive hoarder
You live in a garbage dump
Is that lamp molding?
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