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funny craiglist posts

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my sister is on the longest deployment ever in the navy, and sent me these ads off of craigslist:

 

Dear, guy masturbating in the bathroom stall at my work...

 

Date: 2007-03-08, 12:20PM EST

 

 

Ok, I get it. You had to rub one out. I know the feeling. Maybe it was thinking about that totally hot little minx in purchasing that got you going. Or you got some steamy email from your wife. Whatever it was, you just needed a little release. We've all been there my friend.

 

But if I may be so bold as to offer a few tips?

 

1. Location Location Location - Maybe it was the bathroom closest to your desk. Maybe it has bigger stalls for more elbow room. But whatever the reason, the bathroom just off the factory floor is not your best choice. It is huge for a reason. There are about 80-90 workers on that factory floor at all times, plus about 30-40 office workers, and there's almost always at least one person who needs to take a squirt.

 

2. Silence is Golden - While we all might empathize with your situation, NO ONE WANTS YOU HEAR YOU SLAP YOUR SALAMI!! And we certainly don't want to hear the gentle grunts you were letting out. It was like being forced to listen to the audio of a bad gay porn soundtrack, minus the cheesy Casio keyboard jazz/funk fusion music. Keep it down, will ya?

 

3. Ms Manners says... - Ok, so you had a poor choice in bathrooms and you are just naturally loud. Even elemental problems such as these can be overcome by following rule #3. When someone comes into the bathroom....STOP!!! Seriously, I'd think that would be the easiest rule to follow. Did you not hear me open the door? Did you not hear me pull the ass gasket from the holder, tear off those 3 annoying pieces that hold the center in place, and sit down? Good god man, another man is taking a shit not 8 feet away from you. Shouldn't that take the bloom off the rose, so to speak?

 

4. Good fences make good neighbors - This is the most important rule of all. If you have been caught rubbing one out in the men's room, do not, under any circumstances, come out of your stall until all affected parties have left the bathroom. I'm never going to be able to get the picture out of my head of you going over to the sink right next to the one I was at, and looking at me in your mirror with a big contented smile while you're washing your hands.

 

They don't make a body soap strong enough for the ick I felt after that. No amount of showering tonight will do it I'm afraid.

· Location: Chester County

· it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 290529230

 

and

 

 

 

Oh no fatty. That food's not for you.

 

Reply to:

Date: 2007-03-06, 9:35PM

 

Hey fatbottom, don't think I don't see you coveting the kitten's rich tasty kitten food. So knock it off, cause you ain't getting any.

 

You can hatch evil plans to acquire the tasty food all you want, but let me remind you, you're a cat, and your strategies have been at best dismal failures. Let's refresh, shall we?

 

You headbutted the kitten away from her food. This was your best strategy to date, and you actually got to snarf down some of good stuff until I caught you, and you were greeted by your arch nemesis, Captain Squirtgun and his sidekick Lieutenant My-Foot-To-Yo-Fat-Ass. Me 1, Tubbins 0

 

Brute Force no longer an option, you decided to go stealth ops. Lurk, waiting for the kitten to wander, then you swoop in on a high speed raid. That didn't work out so well for you either did it? Why not? Cause at 20 something lbs, you don't 'swoop' very stealthy. There's a reason Possums hunt at night- because they'd starve otherwise... just like you're doing now. Me 2, Sumo-cat 0

 

Taking no chances and sick of having to guard the kitten bowl until she was done, I decided kitten gets to eat up on the counter. You hate that more than anything don't you? I can just see the resentment in your pudgy face. Why does she get to eat steak up there, when I'm eating compressed dust down here? Because I know you can't get up to the counter without a loud distinctive grunt and making a calamity trying to wiggle your raccoon-ass between the wall and the toaster. Me 3, Fatty 0.

 

Clearly I own you. In all senses of the word. You really ought to just get used to the Vet's prescribed food. You're gonna be eating it for at least a decade, which is forever as far as you're concerned.

Original URL: http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/mil/289713177.html

 

 

 

i thought #1 was funnier than #2, but i can relate to the second one due to my rabid fat cat.

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I have one large cat.

One medium cat.

One small cat.

 

I want more.

 

Cats are like Pokemon cards.

Only not a waste of money.

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I have one large cat.

One medium cat.

One small cat.

 

I want more.

 

Cats are like Pokemon cards.

Only not a waste of money.

 

devilcatcard.jpg

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Rant: To the morons I encounter everyday

Date: 2007-01-15, 5:46PM CST

 

 

To the morons I encounter everyday-

 

1. To the old lady in line in front of me at Target who smells like cat piss: Please don't pay for $25 worth of shit with a bag of change to only find out you're $2.55 short. Also, don't ask the cashier to re-count it. He already had more patience than I would have to count all those freaking pennies the first time around. How hard is it to go to the bank a block down the road to cash all of that in and pay with cash like normal people? I know they do it, I've seen it.

 

2. To the people at Rainbow who can't seem to figure out how to use the self checkouts: Jesus H. I've watched 7 year olds do it without any issues. Scan your shit, place it on the scale, and insert money. They even have directions in numerous places on how to use it.

 

3. The dude who absolutely has to do his scratch offs on the counter when he buys them at the gas station. Is your gambling addiction that bad that you can't get the fuck out of the way and scratch them off? You lose twice if you win and ask for more, while holding up the line even longer.

 

4. The jackasses at the gas station that just walk in and hand the cashier $20 for gas regardless of the line. Yes I know it is a pain that you have to prepay for gas, but there's a simple concept called a line. Wait your turn.

 

5. To the fat women who can't control your kids in the grocery store: Control your kids for god's sake. I seriously question your parenting skills when your kids feel the need to chase around the entire store knocking shit off all over the place and running into my legs while you sit there and laugh your fat ass off.

 

6. To the people who bring their 2 year olds to nice resteraunts: I understand baby-sitters can be expensive and kids can be hard to handle sometimes, but don't bring screaming kids to a nice restrunt and just sit there while they pitch a fit. I would like to be able to finish my steak without rupturing my eardrums. Also, don't give me a shitty look when I give you one. You know you're in the wrong.

 

7. Related to number 6, the people who bring their kids to rated R movies at 11pm. Myself and the 40 other people in the theater would like to enjoy the movie instead of listening to your kid scream. Take the little shit out of the theater. Why are they there in the first place? Most kids are put to bed before 10pm anyways. Get a babysitter you cheap fuck. And again, don't get all pissy when people tell you to shut your kid up or give you bad looks.

 

8. To the dude who lives on the other side of my duplex: Quit being a prick. You can do some of the yard work and snow shoveling as well. Also, get your washing machine fixed. It sounds like you're working on a tank in the basement. If you don't wanna get it fixed, at least stop washing your clothes at 5am. The fucking floor shakes. If you continue, I'll start drumming at 2am or blast the loudest, most foul death metal I own until you stop.

 

The next time you lock me outside, I'll shit in a box and mail it to you. If you hear me go outside (there's no way you can't) and see me in the backyard, don't shut and lock the door.

 

Please stop telling my friends that I'm not home when they knock on the door. I'm fucking here, or they wouldn't be coming over. It isn't like I can't hear you talking to them before I open my door. I'll tell your pot dealer the next time he knocks that you don't live here anymore.

 

Stop opening my mail if you accidentally get it. How hard is it to read a label?

 

Clean out your cat's litter box. I can smell that shit from the hallway. On that thought, what in the hell are you cooking over there? It smells like burnt Indian food.

 

Quit accusing me of fucking up your computer to our landlord. Do you seriously believe I broke into your side of the house, ran upstairs, turned on your computer, and screwed up all of your passwords all in a period of 2 minutes while you were in the basement? Jesus Christ. Ray Charles could see through that shit. Grow the fuck up, you're like 55.

 

9. To the pricks who keep trying to break into my garage: Fuck you. There isn't anything of interest in there anyway, unless you want a shovel or a rake. Get a job like normal people. I hope someone shoots you when you break into the wrong garage or house. If you feel the need to steal something out of there, take my neighbors shit. His stuff is on the left side of the garage.

 

10. To the high schooler douche bags who drive like shit on the highway: Your rice burner looks like shit, at least paint your mod parts when you put them on your shitty car. Please stop riding my ass when I'm already going 85mph, I'll just go slower when you pull that shit. I hope you crash into a retaining wall.

 

11. To the bible thumpers who harass people outside of metal concerts: Go do something productive, like volunteering at a food shelter. No one there wants to hear you drone on about how we're all going to hell for listening to metal. You're just making normal Christians look bad. I'll steal your bible next time and carve satanic symbols into it.

 

12. To the fucktards that beat your wives/girlfriends: Its painfully obvious when you're walking around a store with a girl who has 2 black eyes while you yell at her for everything she puts in the cart. You'll get your turn one day.

 

13. To the group home for slutty teen girls that is across the alley from my house: Stop parking your huge vans in front of my driveway. It takes me 10 minutes to try and back my car out without hitting something. Also, quit blocking the alley with said vans. Other people need to use the fucking road.

 

14. To the jackasses with large vehicles/SUV's: There is enough room in a parking space to place your vehicle without putting it 2 inches from my door. I'll key your truck the next time I have to crawl into my car from the passenger side.

 

15. To the people who stop in the middle of the road in front of Target to let your wives/girlfriends into the car. Its a nice thing to do, but if you have 2 carts worth of shit to load up, do it without stopping traffic.

 

16. To the people who don't understand how 4 way stop signs work: Who the hell taught you how to drive? Don't honk your horn at me when you cut me off and throw me the finger.

 

17. To the people who get pissed at the cashier when their credit card is rejected: You obviously have finance issues if all 15 of your credit cards get rejected. It isn't the cashier's fault.

 

18. To the underage girls at the liquor store: Don't get all uppity when the cashier asks for your ID when you try and buy some shitty flavored Vodka. You're obviously not 21. The whole "I forgot my ID, can I just buy it anyway" shtick isn't a new concept. Be more inventive than that, I figured it out. Plus, don't ask me to go back in and buy it for you when you get kicked out. Most people weren’t born yesterday.

 

 

* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

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she's fat. haha.

 

 

Re: re: I fucked a fatty post

Date: 2005-04-29, 12:58AM EDT

 

 

YO okay so first of all I think that the OP's candor was very funny and accurate when addressing the way that people can get all flustered and absurd after a night or two of enjoyable sex. (I'm still not sure how the fact that she was fat and Chinese played into it, maybe just for effect or imagery, but whatever - it seems irrelevant when the real problem is the way people equate sex with love and feelings - especially good sex.) Anyway, I feel that. Everyone wants that "special someone" so badly that not only are we all generally inclined to settle for less than we deserve because it is convenient, but if we actually bang someone that rocks our world, women start picking baby names and men start talking about (dun-dun-dun) our "future together". Cool. And okay - you were the tall guy with the shots of Jack from Wonderland? The skinny blond chick who wants to be a journalist that drank Cosmos at Rhino (Gee that narrows it down)? Okay...so you're saying you're in love with me... and your name again was...? Exactly. You're like, dear god, I hope i didn't promise that nameless faceless a dinner date in my super 2am intoxication last Friday night. It's like, who the fuck are these people? I know, that seems sick that you can fuck someone and not know them, but it is even sicker to think that you can fall madly in love with them in one night when you're really just humping your random bodies against and in each other until you get off and pass out. Sharing your bed and having intimate conversations and babies and sparkles and cuddleswhateverthefucks are the polar fucking opposites of fucking your brains out or, conversely, having your brains fucked out. Intimacy has absolutely nothing to do with that biological urge we all get when we're partying and maybe see someone hot and someone hot sees us (or in this case, someone rotund and someone with fuzzy beer goggles and a frantic libido) - monogamy is just not natural for human beings, we all have such pervasive sexual desires - and so we're drunk, we're swaying next to someone with a great ass, we see that cab rolling up and it's, oh, you live near me? Oh, we both live near Dupont? Oh, that's only five blocks from my house LETS FUCK good night. We know the drill, DC. We know the drill. So why is it that both DC women AND MEN (I stress this) seem to confuse sex and everything else so frequently? Is pussy-assed-ness just in the water or something? We are the smartest (by way of higher education, at least) people in the country yet sometimes we act like melodramatic morons when it comes to something as primal and simple as sexual activity versus actual emotion. Distill it down to what it is kids - it's sex. After 25 dates and after laughing your ass off in millions of phone calls and over drinks and mini-trips to the mountains down the line, go ahead and fall in love and get married - that's something real. But, just like that dude pity fucked the fat chicky, you can all see he is not just an ass - he is just telling it like it is.

 

And, for all you wondering, here's my relevant experience: I have had three boyfriends in the past year and they have all sworn to be in love with me within two weeks of us dating. They were sexy, successful, and (all but one) very, very smart men. For some reason, they became smitten with me after a couple weeks - not a couple of weeks of getting to know each other. Au contraire - we spent the only time not standing at the bars rolling around naked in bed. Sure, there were drunken giggles mixed in with tons of awesome fucking, but it was all kissing and sex. Partly chemistry, mainly physical. Honestly, their one commonality was that they'd all been in long term relationships before meeting me, which would mean their sex life was eh-eh boring and a new young wild lover is fucking hot and passionate so the feeling is overwhelming.

 

Passion and infatuation can easily masquerade as true emotional connections and adoration, but that's just fucked. It's such nonsense; I had to dump all of them for the same reasons - they never got to know me, so when I turned out to be bitchier or more intense or crazy than they expected based on our drunken late night lovin of two or three months, we fought all the time because we finally acknowledged our lack of compatibility. Why? These little boys were so fascinated with my high sex drive and hot boobs that they didn't even try to forge an actual connection because the fascade was so gosh darn convincing. (To put it into the immortal words of, uh, who said this? I don't recall, maybe Snoop or Dre or Socrates or Dr. Phil: "you don't love me. You just love my doggystyle.")

 

What's funny is I know other girls that have had this same problem because it has happened to friends of mine on numerous occasions. (Notice: these silly men seem to be largely condensed in the Georgetown University area, so unless you want to be fallen in love with based on your ability to give phenomenal head ((practice=perfect, just for the record)), you should steer clear. Gtown men, if you want to dispute this, I welcome your posts with open arms.) I wasted SO much time in these relationships - time I could have spent meeting cool people I actually want to talk to. Oh well. At least I got a lot of ass. (Ha.)

 

This shit just happens - people are fucking affection starved and unfulfilled and desperate.

 

So, to the man who enjoyed chomping on his coworkers shrimp fried rice the other night, you are not alone. Thankfully you are one of the men who is brazenly an asshole and I would probably sleep with you if we met solely because I am so fucking sick of whiny little baby boys falling all over themselves just because I gave them a little poon. I want to find someone who loveslovesloves sex with me as much as I do with him (okay, a little bit more) but is into me because he likes me/I like him. If you only think someone is hot or you're horny, just have sex. Only mistake that OP made was he spent the night - girls and guys both think that this is some subliminal statement of future possibilities for nights at a B&B while the nanny watches your offspring. Again, ew. I don't care if you're tired, if she's pulling you in with the emo tracter beam GET OUT my god save yourself.

 

And to the doey-eyed girls out there who are just SOOOO in love with love so they fall for every guy they bang, you need to face up and get in the game, ladies. You make it bad for the rest of us who are trying to look past our shiny highlighted bangs to see You are the ones reading this post being like, what?! This girl is bitching about guys falling for her?! What a retarded retard bitch?!

 

If you feel this way, you obviously don't know where I'm coming from because you're a shitty lay and so no one wants you OR you're so oblivious that you get played like a fiddle by men and don't even know it (because you rationlize that he couldn't call because, you know, work is busy, yeah righT) - women, take the power back. Don't be so damn desperate.

 

Okay, time for sleep, I love a little CL honest rant before it. - holla.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PostingID: 70754563

 

Copyright © 2007 craigslist, inc. terms of use privacy policy feedback forum

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damn you and all that reading. theyre too long and im not smart enough to read that much material.

 

 

i have fat cats that breakdance.

 

 

cuddlcious:

 

DSC08237.jpg

 

mao.jpg

blanket caves

 

DSC08605.jpg

 

mao2.jpg

my cat is so fat, she has to lay down to drink water. this was a new low for her.

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^^ now thats a fat cat.

 

 

 

Hey Crackhead

 

Date: 2004-03-27, 3:36PM PST

 

 

 

Yes, you. You sick fucker. On Wednesday morning I emerged from my girlfriend's building by U.N. Plaza to find that you had sawed the tops off both the sparkplugs on my motorcycle. At the time, I had no idea why anyone would do that. Other than the sparkplugs, the bike was untouched. Some kind of bizarre vandalism? A fraternity prank gone awry? I had no idea. All I knew is that I looked like a huge douchebag riding the Muni to work in a padded motorcycle jacket and helmet.

 

Because the bike was immobilized I got a $35 street sweeping ticket that night. Thursday I had it towed to the shop ($45) where they replaced the sparkplugs and the boots ($50 including labor). They explained to me that "people" - I use the term loosely here - like you break off the tops of spark plugs and use the porcelain tubes to smoke crack. As an engineer and former MacGyver fan, in a way I think this is kind of cool. But then I remember that I just paid $100 for YOUR crackpipes, and I get angry again.

 

Crackhead, it was really good to have my bike back though. I rode home from the shop with a couple of spare sparkplugs and a smile on my face. I figured the next time I parked at my girlfriend's place overnight I would have to buy some crackpipes and tape them to my bike as a peace offering. Overall, I wasn't that upset. Despite having to ride the bus for three days and dropping a hundred bones at the shop, I had gained some fascinating knowledge, a new set of sparkplugs, and a pretty funny anecdote about how fucked up you are, and how our paths once crossed briefly in the night.

 

But you couldn't just let sleeping dogs lie, could you Crackhead. You couldn't just stay in on Friday, watch Letterman through the window of a home electronics store and then call it a night. You couldn't rest on your laurels. Two porcelain sparkplug crackpipes just wasn't enough for you, was it Crackhead? You just had to come back for more.

 

This morning, a scant fifteen hours after I rode it out of the shop, I found my motorcycle violated once again. This time you only took the right one - maybe you were having an off night. At least this time I had a spare sparkplug and the tools to fix it - or so I thought - having ordered a 73-piece toolset from SEARS.com last week. But no, the sparkplug socket in my new toolset was for American sparkplugs. So I had to go down to the neighborhood Ace hardware. They had an 18mm socket that would fit over my sparkplug, but it was for a 1/2" drive ratchet. My toolkit only has 1/4" and 3/8" ratchets. So I had to buy a 1/2" ratchet along with the socket. Even though the clerk took pity on me and gave me the senior citizen discount (I'm 25) it still cost me $22 all told. Now, you might say that I should have just gotten a 3/8"-to-1/2" drive adaptor instead of springing for the whole ratchet. And to that I say "Shut the hell up, Crackhead, I'm not finished. And besides, I was eventually going to buy a 1/2" ratchet anyway so it's probably not worth it to take it back now."

 

OK, now I'm rambling. But the point is, Crackhead, that you have done me wrong. Now, I get that you love crack. That is totally understandable. I've heard it is really fun, at first, and quite addictive. What I don't understand is,

 

YOU ARE A CRACKHEAD. WHY DON'T YOU OWN A CRACKPIPE?

 

I am an engineer. Do you ever see me shaking down bums in the Loin for a calculator and sliderule? No, you don't. Because engineering is the main thing I do, I went and bought myself a calculator. The main thing you do is crack. How do you get by without a crackpipe? The other crackheads must clown on you non-stop. I mean, the fucking saw you used to saw off my sparkplugs is probably worth five or ten bucks. Why not sell or trade it for a crackpipe? You really haven't put much thought into this, have you?

 

Please, Crackhead, please don't tell me you sold your crackpipe to buy crack. Even a stupid crackhead such as yourself couldn't possibly be that stupid.

 

I've decided that taping crackpipes to my motorcycle would be tantamount to appeasement. You have crossed a line, Crackhead - specifically California Street. You have come onto my own street and you have desecrated that which I hold dear. You have stolen from me, and you have caused me to spend the last half hour writing this post instead of engineering shit, and it is concievable, if not likely, that my boss could find out about this and fire me. I am hella pissed at you dude.

 

Here are my options as I see them:

 

1. Write a note saying that I have coated both of my sparkplugs in rat poison and tape it to my bike at night. You can thank Tim for that one, it was his idea.

 

2. Don't write a note, but just coat both sparkplugs in rat poison. This is probably closer to a punishment that would fit your despicable crime. I'm sure this is super illegal and shit, but it's not like anyone is going to miss you, Crackhead. Don't fool yourself.

 

3. Wait in an alley near my bike armed with my new stainless steel mirror-finish Ace Professional brand 1/2" drive socket wrench, my 18mm sparkplug socket, and my searing rage. It's pretty heavy and well balanced. I am not a large man, but I am angry.

 

In conclusion, Crackhead, why don't you just do both of us a favor and buy yourself a crackpipe? It will both enhance your crack smoking experience and save me a lot of time and felony assault charges. Think about it.

 

Sincerely,

Matt

 

*** If you are not the Crackhead that took my sparkplugs, please disregard this posting ***

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That was awkward, but commendable.

 

An "A" for effort goes to the gentleman in the blue pin-stripe, who tried to cover-up his gasket-blowing fart, that he clearly lost control of and knew he had nano-seconds to counter, by coughing real loud as he did so in a valiant, albeit futile, attempt at covering up the sound of his gaseous elevator-foul. Although the smell wasn't horrible (obviously a pre-lunch offering), a dry, semi-stagnant mixture of freshly cut grass and a small rotting vegetable, the sound was magnanimous, and the overall effect it had on the three other people in the elevator with him was to unite us in a common bond of 'strangers-against-guy-who-farted-in-a-shared-enclosed-space." For that unifying bond alone, I should thank you, because its not every day that you and two complete unknowns can telepathically communicate your agreed-upon ill-will towards another human being.

 

You almost, sir, almost pulled it off, but you miscalucated and coughed too soon, and so when the baratone ass-gas blurted out its opening piece, it caught the waning effort of your cough, whose aural flight of fancy was on its way into oblivion, and instead of shrouding one sound with another, it was more like organic dueling banjos or perhaps a bass guitar accompanying the opening riff of an acoustic. To have pulled it off you would have had to time it perfectly, matching pitch and tone as closely as possible, instead, it sounded only as if your ass took your mouth's cough as a challenge.

 

Nonetheless, bravo, sir, I applaude your split-second decision making. You've got middle management written all over you.

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...same crackhead stole the antena off meh car (old car with hollow antena)...

...now i gots no AM radios, bastard...

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Are you an A-HOLE customer? - Rant by a friendly cashier

Date: 2007-03-23, 1:29AM EDT

 

 

I work at a "big-box" store like Target or Wal*Mart. I am a cashier. This is a pretty low-pressure, non-demanding job (the kind I can call in sick to whenever I feel like), which is perfect for me, a college student, at the moment. My co-workers (team members) are pretty much all decent enough and I get along with them just fine most of the time. The only factor that occasionally makes me hate the job is YOU. Yes, asshole customers, you come in several varieties, but you are all very much the same.

 

--The Bitch

This is an umbrella term for a diverse array of predominantly female asshole customers. The Standard Bitch isn't trying to piss me off, it just comes naturally. It's a tone of voice, a look, or a non-response to my standard friendly greeting that makes you an asshole customer. I'm paid to ring up your shit, not deal with your attitude.

 

The College Bitch is generally a more ditzy kind of whore, one who is always friendly to the cashier, but displays her bitchiness in her conversation with others. A common College Bitch scenario: "Oh I'm fine, thanks." She turns to her friend, "So, is daddy going to pay for this stuff or is it going to be mommy this time?" This is always said with a sly smile on the face and a fistful of credit cards in the hand. The College Bitch is mostly a bitch because I HAVE TO WORK IN ORDER TO GO TO SCHOOL. Do you really need another pair of novelty-sized sunglasses, Paris? Do us all a favor and get on the pole already. We'd rather see you there now when your tits are still perky than later when you're saggy and your parents have cut off your stupid ass.

 

--The Kid with His Own Money

Jesus Hulkamaniac Christ, parents! Stop giving your kids money to give to me. I understand that little Timmy has to learn how to deal with money eventually, but please lets not play this little game in a busy store like mine. My job is to ring up your shit and get you out the door so I can ring up the next asshole and get HIM out the door. I don't want to wait for five fuckin' minutes while your snot-nosed little bastard tries to figure out that he needs to give me FOUR dollars when something is $3.95. I will not baby-talk your kid or help them in any way, and if you give me a nasty look because of that, I'll remember it and secretly break your shit next time I'm baggin for you.

 

--The Confused Foreigner

If you don't know how our money works in this country, what are you doing shopping by yourself? Every time I have to pick the correct change out of the pile in your quivering palm because you forgot that the little silver ones are 10 cents and the big ones are 25, I'm going to accidentally ring up something twice. The red bar is used to indicate separate transactions, by the way. Use it. Do not tell me that your Enfamil and Pedialyte were supposed to be on a different credit card as I am handing you the receipt for them. Oh, and your items cost a couple dollars more than the tag said because of a little thing called sales tax. Dumbass.

 

--The Liar

"The sign said it was $12.99 or something, not $24.99!" Bullshit. I used to let you slide if your lie seemed reasonable or was within about $5 of the actual price, but I'm done with that now. If you don't want to pay full price, leave it on the shelf. And don't raise your fucking voice like I'M the mother fucker that sets the prices. I just ring the shit up. Your other favorite lie is "The sign said 50% off." When I inform you that ALL of our clearance items have a sticker clearly stating the clearance price including all markdowns, you panic or get angry and thrust the item at me, saying that you don't want it in that case.

 

--The Indecisive Shopper

You are usually also a Bitch, and decide at the last moment that you don't want half of the shit in your shopping cart! "I changed my mind on these, I'm going to wait on this, I don't want these any more, I meant to put this back." Fuck you. If you don't really want it, don't bring it to me! "How much is that? Really? Well I don't want it." Who puts things in the cart without looking at the price? Who waits until they are at the POINT OF SALE to see how much a thing is? Give me a break!

 

--The Slow Mother Fucker

I can see you coming a mile away. You're old, or young, or foreign, or just plain fucking retarded and can't seem to figure out how this whole shopping dealie works out. You generally wait until I tell you the total to pull out your wallet or purse, then have a lengthy internal dialogue with yourself about which method of payment might be best to use at this particular time. Once you have decided, you write a check or try to insert your card upside-down into the reader for about 3 minutes. After I finally get your payment passed through and hand you the receipt, it takes you a good 5 minutes to gather up your bags and finally leave the fucking register. I would like to break your legs. At least then you'd have a reason to be so damn slow.

 

--The Clearance Shopper

Everything you buy is on clearance. Does your family know? Do you really need 15 plastic napkin rings for $.12 a piece?

 

--The Buddy

You always talk to me about how long I've been here, when my next break is, when I'm leaving, what it's like working here, etc. You tell me you used to work in retail so you know how it can be, all sympathetic-like. You annoy me and I'm going to accidentally drop your things onto the dirty floor.

 

--The Cell Phone Talker

You refuse to call the person back in two minutes when we're through. You insist on screaming into the phone or, worse, laughing the entire time I'm dealing with you. Hang up for a sec, okay? You can tell Roscoe P. Fuckwater about your sexual escapades when you see him at the AA meeting next week. The fact that you are distracted by conversation means that you won't notice the double charges I accidentally on purpose made while ringing up your shit, though. So it's not all bad, I guess.

 

--The Church Fuck

Nothing is worse than when churchy-types try and push their beliefs on you, except maybe when you are required by your job to be friendly to them. Generally you, a Church Fuck, will wait until I have handed you the receipt to give me two pieces of paper and tell me "I want to invite you to come to this function we're having.." This caught me off gaurd the first couple of times it happened. I've gotten used to you old hags now though, and have since formulated the following response to your invitation: As I am tearing the paper in half and discarding it, I shall state "No thank you, Ma'am, I do not believe in your god." I will then turn to the next customer and remark about how batshit nutty you must be to try and convert me while I'm on the god damn (pardon the pun) clock. If you come back and try your shit again, I'll have you removed from the building for soliciting.

 

--The Last Minute Shopper

You run into the store five minutes before closing time and grab a shopping cart! You need a ton of shit and need it TONIGHT! You can't wait until tomorrow morning because you have to stock up on pop-tarts and deodorant NOW. You make me stay in the store long after closing time, and I secrectly openly wish that you die in a car wreck on the way home. You also invariably have a problem with payment. Either you don't have your credit card or don't have your ID or need to take shit off the order so your cash will cover it.. it's never just a smooth transaction! And you never realize that you're unprepared until I have spent 10 minutes ringing up all of your shit. That's ten minutes that you're keeping me away from my house, my girlfriend, and my bed. You don't know it, and obviously don't care, but I gotta still DO SHIT after the store closes, and you're holding me up! Die already!

 

--The Clothing Asshole

You buy a shitload of clothing and refuse to put it on the conveyor belt, saying that it's too dirty. You want the hangars on, but want the clothes folded. You bitch at me about needing to wear them and not wanting wrinkles. Guess what, cheap-ass? You're supposed to fucking wash clothes before you wear them. This means a trip to the dry cleaner for your business attire to have it pressed, or a 15-minute wash cycle when you get home. Stop being a lazy prick and just fucking deal with it. This isn't Banana Republic. I'm not paid to fold your shit, just to ring it up, throw it in a bag, and take your money.

 

 

So there you have it, a brief look into what we, the people that ring up your shit, must deal with every day. Please do not be an asshole customer. I really don't want to charge you twice.

 

* Location: Fairfax County

* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

 

This was the story of my life for the past 3 yrs.

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I never worked at target but i cant understand why you feel that way. People have to make money somehow, not everyone can get a cushy job when they first start out. It takes time and a bunch of shitty jobs to move up. Theres no reason why a person should have to deal with rude people. No matter where you are in life, imho, as long as your trying, you deserve to get respect.

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ay, everyone has to deal with rude people. unless you got a job where you dont have to see anyone, which is basically my current job, but i just got lucky. but then you gotta deal with rude people outside of work. or occasionally be that rude person.

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