Campanie contra-electorala

Semi-pamflet de sensibilizare sociala, creat intr-o stare de “imi bag p**a”, dupa ce am vazut, din greseala, in repetate randuri, un avatar care spunea “VOTEAZA!”. Cel mai nasol articol de pana acum, deci nu citi, mai ales daca inca mai visezi curcubee si crezi in unicorni. De asemenea, mamaie, daca citesti articolul asta (apropo, iti multumesc ca-mi citesti blogul, esti singura), te rog nu ma pune sa stau in genunchi pe coji de nuca, promit ca nu mai zic niciodata “imi bag P” si ca pana la urma o sa fiu un cetatean model, si o sa merg la vot, asa cum m-ai invatat. Si dupa o saptamana o sa sterg articolul asta. Te pup, transmite-i sanatate lui tataie.

Dupa cum ziceam…Poate fi cineva dragut sa-mi faca si mie un avatar cu “NU VOTATI ! EMIGRATI !” ? Va rog? De dragul terapiei...

P.S. : Nu accept decat comentarii anti-vot Da, nu o sa am niciun comentariu si da, pe blogul asta nu e democratie. well guess what? Nici in tara asta nu e democratie. E hotie. Ca in codru. Si stiu ca vrei sa-mi spui ca ai tu in minte un candidat care nu fura, dar nu e asa. Toti fura.

Multumiri unui anumit cucos…pentru avatar. Anarhistii te iubesc!

Professional loser

Dear Fuck-Wads that live one floor above my apartment,

I just wanted to write to let you know that I really did not appreciate you waking me up this morning (and the last 364 mornings, including saturday mornings, since I’ve been living in this apartment). Altough I understand your claim that your apartment needs capital repairs, it might have been wiser to do the hammer-drilling stuff somewhere AFTER 12:00 PM. Oh, and I would have appreciated if it didn’t take ALL DAMN YEAR, working from 8:00 AM to 9:00 AM every fucking morning!

Your “golly fucking gee, Ma’am, it won’t take longer than a couple of days” response does not account for the fact that I never actually got to sleep for the past couple of MONTHS!

Your hammer-drill perforating my ceiling has not only caused me hours of sleeplessnes, but also headaches in ways that may cause a permanent tick. Your “Ma’am, the new professional plumber I hired told me his work will be done by the end of this week and I cannot explain what’s taking so long” is a load of horse shit that you should be forced to eat. And “plumber” is not a profession, it barely qualifies as a hobby. Your “As a courtesy Ma’am, we would be willing to do the renovations only after 12 o’clock in the morning” is really NOT A COURTESY WHEN YOU CAUSED THIS MESS TO BEGIN WITH. I have an idea, why don’t you torture us 8 hours a day, working from 8:00 to 16:00, like NORMAL people work, and end this hell on earth thing once and for all? Umm…just a suggestion, you total and utter DIPSHITS.

I wish a pestilence on you and your families so that you are effectively driven out of the gene pool.

Sincerely,

Your much too tolerant flatmate.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

.

They say it’s a woman’s job to prove men wrong. But I’m afraid I have failed. I can not spend less than an hour in the bathroom getting ready. It doesn’t matter that I have to be somewhere in 10 minutes, I don’t care that you’re dressed ready, the taxi outside horn blaring doesn’t seem to get my attention…if my hair doesn’t look perfect, I am not going out!

So I feel like I should appologize to all men on behalf of all women who spend half of their lifes (and a quarter of their men’s life) in front of the mirror. We do not intend to start getting ready 3 hours before you and actually finish 2 hours after you’re ready. It just happens. Yes, every time. Or, as you often express it… “every fucking time!!!”.

And yes, when we’re finally ready and we arrive at that club, we do have to go straight to the ladies room to fix those finishing touches. No, we have no idea why it takes so long and no, we don’t mind if you trick us, by telling us the start times for things are an hour earlier than they really are. However, it will never work, fate is a strange thing.

Play it again, Sam

Azi am dat restanta. Da, cea in care am intrat cu 1 din partial. De fapt am dat doua restante, una la partial si cealalta la examen. Dimineata. La o ora la care nu pot lua o decizie nici macar cu privire la pantofii care se asorteaza cu restul tinutei. Iti poti da seama deci, cate decizii gresite am luat la examen. Suficiente ca sa ma intreb daca iau 5.

So play it again, Sam. And don’t give me the “Gee, I can’t remember it, Miss Ilsa” crap, I’ll even hum it for you. C’mon, make it shitty again for me, Sam.

Pizza NOT so Hut

Sunt o mancacioasa. Seriously, I love food, cant si dansez cand mananc ceva bun, asa ca atunci cand am auzit de noul blat umplut cu cascaval care ti se topeste in gura am fost in culmea fericirii. Am convins-o si pe Andreea sa imparta cu mine o pizza la Pizza Hut, o fapta pe care o regret profund si acum.

Ne-am asezat la singura masa curata din toata pizzeria. Ma rog, avea o sticla de apa pe jumatate goala care nu fusese ridicata inca, dar macar fata de masa nu era plina de firimituri. Dupa aproximativ 30 de secunde una din ospatarite alerga spre noi scotand flacari pe nari si aburi pe urechi: “Masa aceasta este ocupata, DACA NU ATI VAZUT!!!”. Intr-adevar, masa era ocupata de un barbat care in momentul in care noi intrasem in pizzerie era la toaleta. Embarrassing, I know.

Ne-am mutat la alta masa. Firimituri si pe masa si pe scaune, iar un tacam era pe jos. O alta chelnerita mai calma a venit repede sa stranga firimiturile (evident DUPA ce ne-am asezat noi la masa, ca sa scape cateva si pe tricoul meu alb). Andreea a ridicat tacamul de pe jos si l-a asezat pe masa. Domnisoara pleaca, lasand tacamurile pe masa. Dupa 10 minute vine cu un singur tacam, pentru mine. Cel care fusese ridicat de jos i-l aseaza Andreei. Andreea o atentioneaza, ea zice ceva de genul “dar nu aveam de unde sa stiu!!!” si inlocuieste tacamul folosit cu altul, care se afla deja pe masa cand ne-am asezat noi. Apoi s-a intors la bar si a comentat cateva minute bune incidentul cu colega cea nervoasa, care la inceput arata de parca i-ar fi ramas un chili in gat.

Pizza a fost buna, dar nici pe departe cum arata in reclama (what did i expect?). Totusi am jurat ca nu mai mananc niciodata o pizza cu aluat umplut cu cascaval, dintr-un motiv foarte simplu: ca sa o mananc, trebuie sa o comand de la Pizza Hut, pizzeria cu cel mai prost instruit personal din tot Iasul. I mean, ok, daca tot platesc 500 de mii pe o pizza care oriunde altundeva costa in jur de 250…macar ofera-mi o masa curata. Iar daca tacamurile vechi inca erau pe servetel, nefolosite, nu inseamna ca nu trebuie sa-mi aduci altele!!!

That’s it! No tips for you.