The Truth.
White lies. We all tell 'em...
Here's the place to speak the truth, so as to avoid upsetting the delicate social balance we call "manners". Think of it as the flip side of rudeness... a depository for all those things you're too nice to say... but not to think.
posted by Anonyme. @ 12:09 PM
4 Comments:
Here's one:
-a nod to my neighbor, an out of work actor (and do I need to really say more than that)- who continually amazes and surprises even the most jaded among us with his ridiculously solipsistic behavior.
"Roland"... (no, that's not his real name) here's the truth. You don't get to be a star by treating everyone else like your Assistant. Grow up. Get over yourself. Face reality: "Days of Our Lives" isn't calling. Your neck really IS too thick, and the makeup doesn't hide the acne scars. You're 37 years old, and you haven't worked since you were 20. This would all be bearable if you were nice. I might even feel something for your persistence in attaining your dream. But since you're such an asswipe and everything else... sorry, dude. You deserve the truth.
p.s., stop having your car-detailing team work on your ride in my parking spot while I am at work. You sit on your ass all day, and have your own damn spot. Is there some reason you need to occupy mine? I am not your friend. I'm only nicer to you than any one else in the building-- because I'm kind of an asswipe in my own right that way.
Ahem! I am TOO NICE (or something) to tell people to quit, for the love of god, sending me those virtual-buddha chain letters, and crap. I don't want to offend anyone's delicate sensibilities, here... but do you REALLY think that an email chain letter with a picture of the dalai lama is going to bless us all for life? Really? REEEEEAAAALLLY?
I (like most hollywood slobs)am willing to sell my artistic integrity for the right price.
That's why Google ads are now appearing on this blog.
Part of me rejects the imperialist notion of sponsored content-- but the larger part of me doesn't care. So, friends, you are all part of the dope show. If you click these fart-ads and whatnot, you could actually earn me enough to buy a lemonaid stand, or maybe even sponsor a whole boyscout troop in Kenya. Don't feel like you have to-- just wanted to letcha know that as much as I enjoy the discourse, I'm really only doing this to retire at 40 a huge success, pen a tell-all book with a huge advance, and slink away to some remote island in shame, or some ersatz approximation.
I have repeatedly asked people not to forward emails to me that threaten bodily harm and years of hard luck including death if I do not immediately foist them like hot potatoes on my own family and friends. While I'm not really superstitious, it's unsettling as I can't imagine why anyone who likes me would send such a thing. Yes, it's true, folks. I really don't want to see any more Irish leprechaun charms, money angels, pot o' gold rainbows, good luck butterflies (remember, they also collect around shit,) dying child stories, circles of friends, gelt from Bill Gates and other forms of emotional blackmail promising phenomenal returns on small effort from people who can't spell. These letters are insulting to my intelligence, they are not cute or fun, and guess what? I am actually willing to work for what I want because it's far more effective than mindlessly hitting the send button on my computer and burdening others with stupid ultimatums.
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