May 27, 2008

Complaining is a spectator sport.

  • New rule: no more Anus Angus Burgers. I was a picosecond away from Wiki-ing this, but the truth is, I actually don't care what Angus means. Unless the patty is wearing a school uniform and bobbing its head like a yes-man with Parkinson's, I'm not buying it. If Wendy and Harvey McDonald think we are fooled by this for one minute, they should probably fast-track their heirloom tomato ketchup.
  • Hey, bike courier guy who balances for minutes at a stretch at red lights... We're all very impressed. Now see if you can't balance a real career in there.
  • Hey, otherwise normal cycling guy in the city. You're not in a race, and have never been sponsored by those companies on your shirt. Quit trying to look like a stock-car and wear some real clothes. While you're at it, give that wiener-wrap a rest, Pants Armstrong.
  • Drivers... if you cut me off, here's your choice: give me the wave, or get far away from me and my family. If you're a real sport, you'll flush that cop out of the next trap for me, too.
  • CD jewel-case inventor: I hope you are dipped in beef stock and chased by pit bulls into an active volcano.
  • Memo to streetcar drivers: buy donuts before your shift, and quit complaining about how "stressful" your job is. You don't need to be a red-rocket scientist to press a pedal without steering.
  • Russell Oliver: I pledge you my father's family ring, made from the gold in his grandfather's mine if you put a frackin' sock in it for one calendar year.

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