View Full Version : Shoot These People. Please.

04-25-2005, 01:53 PM
Taken from the Best of Craigslist:


Shoot These People. Please.

1. Bad Drivers. I don't care about your race. I don't care if you're male or female. If you have a license, just learn how to ****ing drive. It's really not that difficult, people. Green means go. Yellow means "slow down". Yellow does NOT mean SLAM ON YOUR ****ING BREAKS with three cars behind you. If one more person does this to me, so help me I will not only not stop, but I will gun my engine and purposely smash into you. Repeatedly. And I will make sure to decapitate your stupid Oakland A's bobble-head in the process. Now, a red light means STOP - but I know this can be a bit tricky. Try real hard to stop BEFORE YOU ENTER THE INTERSECTION. Here's a little hint: If the car AHEAD of you is blocking the intersection, pulling up behind that car probably isn't the brightest idea. If you end up sitting in the middle of the intersection, blocking cross-traffic ... it's open season on you, my friend. Anyone who's had "one of those days" should be free to ram your stupid, gridlock-creating, worthless ass at will.

2. Cell-Phone Abusers. Look, I have one. It's convenient. But there is a time and a place. It's called common sense. Let me break it down for you. Ask yourself these questions: Am I watching a movie? Am I eating in a decent restaurant? Am I driving? If the answer is yes, don't even THINK of flipping that ****ing phone. And turn off or change your stupid-assclown Beethoven's 5th polyphonic ring-tone. Nobody thinks you are sophisticated, or smart. Quite the contrary, we all think you're a complete moron, and sincerely want to slowly stab blunt toothpicks into your eyes.

3. Happy Office People. **** people with company spirit. This is work. I'm hung over, tired, and I hate your guts. And if you wear that smelly-ass, stained shirt with the company logo ONE MORE ****ING TIME this week, I will rip it off your body and expose your pasty-white man-boobs for all to see. And to our HR manager who is trying diligently to organize a company softball team: Look lady, this is a tech company. A haven for high school geeks everywhere. They certainly weren't athletes back then, and years of pecking on a keyboard hasn't magically changed them into Barry Bonds. Why you want Lewis and Gilbert out there in stretch pants and cleats is really beyond me.

4. Chatty Taxi Drivers. Just shut the **** up and DRIVE already. Really, there is no need for you to even speak to me. I tell you where I want to go. You drive there. The little meter tells me how much I owe you when we arrive. Absolutely no need for conversation. A little tip: When I haven't responded to your repeated attempts at "small talk" - might be a pretty good indication I'm not interested in talking with you. If you continue to talk, don't be surprised when I reach through the Plexiglas opening and choke you out with my forearm.

5. Complicated Coffee Order-ers. I know you think it's really "hip" to order a "triple, no foam soy latte with one pump of sugar-free vanilla swirled" -- but get over your ****ing self already. It's coffee, not a five course meal.

6. Email forwarders. No, I don't think your joke was funny. I think you are an idiot. I think I want to ram my keyboard through your teeth. Oh, and those chain-emails that instruct me to "forward 7 times, and the one I love will come back" -- those are even better. Those are fantastic. Next time you send me one of those, how about I just smash your face with my stapler 7 times, and see if you come back?


04-25-2005, 02:06 PM
Found the perfect girl for Brian (EnDelt), if not myself:


I'm still trying to understand the precise moment our encounter went to shit. At the bar you were about the hottest guy I'd ever met and I wanted to ride you like a Pony Express rider fleeing from an indian attack. With or without my beer goggles on (OK, 3 cocktails and 2 beers), you are one hot man--that ass, those fine blue eyes, ripped abs, beautiful arms. And when you made me reach my hand down your pants to feel your thickness, I got so wet I nearly slid off the barstool.

Warning sign #1: your car. Empty Big Gulp cups stacked so high I'm sure they spilled out the window when you turned a corner. SCREEEEEE #2: your fish tank. The smell hit me when you we were walking down the hall to your apartment. Scum so thick I expected Nemo to kamikaze his way towards the ocean and his father at any moment. EEEEEEEEEEEEEE #3: your toilet. Where apparently a bag of Hershey kisses met its demise at the hands of a suicide bomber. EEEEEEEEEEE #4: your technique. Just lick the damn thing, don't jab at it like it's fighting back. EEEEEEEEECH Hear that sound? It's my libido screeching to a halt.

And I thought it would have been trashy for you to **** me outside the bar by that dumpster where that bum barfed all over himself and the dog was eating his own feces. At least I could have pulled my panties up and gone in for another drink.