Let me just clue you in a little.
Those people that you love so much? They just put up with you. It’s called being polite.
Hanging out with someone 7 times in 5 years does not best friends make.
I’m glad they were dear enough to worth sacrificing a real friendship over.
Good job, asshole.
I don’t understand why people feel the need to qualify a statement of their opinion with the phrase, “I’m not going to lie…”
I have seen and heard it done both before and after, such as:
I’m not going to lie…I didn’t love that movie.
or
I hated that movie…I’m not going to lie.
Well ok, thanks, genius, but nobody asked you to fucking lie. Most times, when people ask your opinion, they’re actually looking for your opinion not something you made up on the spot.
And it implies that most of the time, you are lying.
And it implies that you are a douchebag…I’m not going to lie.
First off, your tattoo is not attractive, so those ‘compliments’ you get on it are probably people trying to figure out how to be nice without drawing attention to the fact that they are inwardly rolling their eyes at how unoriginal it is, not to mention ugly.
The very fact that someone actually thinks it sounds ‘original’ leads me to believe that you surround yourself with idiots to make yourself feel smart.
Secondly, if it’s meant to be an outward expression of what you want people to know about you, why is it such a fucking secret about what it ’stands for’?!? Once again, a lame power trip attempt. You feel all good and strong and powerful because you know something and we don’t, na na na boo boo!! Guess what? Nobody gives a fuck what it stands for or what the colors represent, all they can see is that you got the lamest, most overdone tattoo ever and you put it on your fucking foot.
I hope it did hurt.
Hey, Asshole. If you hate your job so fucking much, here’s a thought: quit.
And maybe quit complaining about how broke you are if you keep buying monogrammed designer handbags, mmmkay?
If you are dealing with something ‘confidential’ and can’t talk about it, how about…not fucking talking about it?
Telling me how stressed you are because you’re dealing with something – but it’s top secret, so you can’t talk about it – and expecting me to forgive you for acting like a douchebag because you’re so stressed from dealing with it, does not make my sympathetic in the slightest.
It just makes me annoyed that you won’t shut the fuck up about this thing you can’t talk about.
Here’s another thing that pisses me off, and makes me not miss you.
Are you really that insecure that you need to make yourself feel powerful by withholding information?
Example.
You: Oh my God, I read the most horrendous article yesterday. It was just awful. I can’t even believe it.
Me: Oh yeah? Send me the link, I’ll check it out.
You: Oh, no. It’s too bad. I can’t share. It’s just ridiculous.
Me: Huh? You built it up, and now I want to see what the fuck you’re talking about. You won’t send me the link?!?
You: No, really. Trust me. It’s too bad. I’m not sharing it.
Seriously, wtf?? Why even bother telling me in the first place? Oh, right, you need to feel big and strong and powerful so you purposely whet my tastebuds and then take pleasure in denying me the taste.
You have serious issues, and? And, you are a douchebag.
There’s this guy. Isn’t that how all of my stories start? Sometimes I wish I liked women just to give my shitty stories some fucking variety.
Moving on….
There’s this guy…we went out twice. A friend of a friend. Let’s call him, um, Ren. He was the short, ugly sidekick to Stimpy, right? Good. Like I said, we went out twice and he scared himself because apparently he didn’t realize that GIRLS LIKE TO KISS. Especially after a date. Never in my life did I think that counted as “moving too fast.” Thank god I didn’t reach for his zipper. His dick probably would have ended up in his own damn throat.
He im’d me on Friday to congratulate me on graduating and threw in some feeder lines like “you deserve this moment” and “i’m so happy for you.” Blah, blah, blah. So maybe this means we’re friends?
Well, surprise, no it doesn’t. I im’d the bastard today to see if he owns a typewriter. Since the im convo was primarily me, me, me, I figured I’d throw him a bone and asked him to tell me one good thing that happened to him today.
His answer? “I followed a woman with a great ass down the hallway and into the elevator.”
Lovely, Stalker Ren.
He doesn’t seem to understand that being friends with girls does NOT mean talking about girls with that girl. I don’t want to hear about her ass. Or her boobs. Or her hair. All it does is drive home the point that I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. Or, at least you didn’t think that I was good enough for you. Clearly I’m better than you deserved. I am not your wingman. I am not your buddy.
So, I did the only appropriate thing and pointed out his social gaffe and logged off before he could respond. Sometimes the only way to deal with assholes is to act like an asshole too.
People that are willfully ignorant really piss me off. It’s one thing to not know a basic fact. It’s another to just not believe it. Especially when it’s oh, say, science.
It just makes you look like a conspiracy theorist.
I had a conversation that went like this:
Me: Well because of A, then B, and of course C.
Him: No, that’s not how it works at all. That’s ridiculous.
Me: Uh…what? It’s science, it’s not an opinion.
Him: Please. Whatever. I’ll tell you what, we’ll look it up, how about that.
Me: Dude. I already looked it up. I know that it’s true.
Him: Whatever, that’s not how it works.
Ok, let’s recap.
You admitted that you haven’t looked it up, aka you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
But it just doesn’t sound right to you.
So you refuse to believe me, when I have actually researched it and know what the fuck I am talking about.
Conclusion?
You are a douchebag.
