» Political Correctness Gone Mad

ooh ooh ooh!
I has a quick story :)

I recently went to pick my 8 year old daughter up from an overnight stay at a friend's house.
We were leaving and had made it out the front door and were just making polite chit-chats of the "they had a great time...giggled all night etc" flavour when my daughter mentioned that she had forgotten to bring a toothbrush. No big deal..I lovingly ruffle the little scamp's hair and call her a Happy Little Mong - as you do (if you spend as much time in the gutters of the interwebs as me, anyways).
But suddenly the friendly smiles had turned to iciness...and a certain increduality, I guess :-/ "Whu...whu...what did you just call her??!"

The proverbial penny dropped.
This woman has a profoundly disabled teenage daughter.
Oh bollocks.

So I did the mature thing...mumbled some pathetic excuse - laying the blame on the interwebs. And bolted.

My daughter scolded me mercilessly all the way home, but she is still friends with her little mate and welcome at her house. I guess they just pity her for having such an awful mother :D

On reflection, I guess that wasn't so much 'PC gone mad' as ....well... me having the social graces of a dog on a lawn bowls pitch. And shockingly little tact.
(Sun 25th Nov 2007, 15:17, More)

» Banks

What I Love The Absolute MOSTEST About This QOTW
is definately the poisonous vitriol that has been vented over the undeserving and unsuspecting. The call centre slaves, the 'counter gibbons'(phucking love that term, though) and, in the case of the righteous chap who micturated through the letter slot - the bloody cleaning staff.
So what if they are not responsible for bank policy, the setting of fees and charges or automated procedures? Who gives a rancid rat cadaver if they didn't make the original error that caused all the knickery twisting?
Phuck you random employee that is selfishly trying to make a living! Cunts.
(Mon 20th Jul 2009, 7:11, More)

» Food sabotage

Sometimes it's just the thought that counts.
First up, I'm a wee bit of a food snob. Nothing over the top and nothing I shove up other peoples's noses - its just that I have principles re: food; and fast food is very much against those principals. That said....
Sometimes, maybe 3 or 4 times a year, nothing else will *do* but some hideously delicious KFC. I know it will make me feel sick afterwards and make my whole throat feel like I deep-throated a grease-trap...but, dammit! That crunchy salty chookiness is, well, I'm sure the majority of you know what I'm talking about.
Anyhoo, given my obvious conflicts regarding my guilty pleasure, it would follow that my mood is somewhat ~combustive~ when I climb down from my ivory tower and duck into the chicken joint.
One such memorable occasion, I pull into a drive-thru' on my way home from uni. And the queue is loooong. I'm already having second thoghts about sitting there and sucking exhaust fumes when this utter fucknuckle in an earth-hating ford F250 complete with cnuting CARAVAN (Australia is littered with these twats. 'Grey Nomads' they call themselves, cruising the beauty spots of the country, towing their dreary cliches with bumper stickers that proclaim 'I'm driving my children's inheritance!' Baby Boomers are selfish cocks.) decides that he has to absolutely join the queue IN FRONT OF ME.
Seriously.
Queue jumping in a freaking drive-thru lane! I briefly toyed with brazening it out and trying to out-manouver him..but he was possessed with a large fuck-off roo bar on his front end and I drive a wee small 2 door mitsubishi. Eyeballing me and sneering with his overfed, over-made up, smug slapperwifey laughing beside him while I helplessly (but rudely!) gestured and beeped my squeaky little horn he just kept nudging in...
Right.
Fuck this and fuck HIM.
So I peeled out of the queue, parked up, and actually entered the store. What a weird experience! The queue of cars outside in the drive-thru' had to be at least 15 cars(and one cnuting caravan)long, but the store itself was empty. Hah! I win! I place my order, get my grease and am out the door *just* as CaravanPig has pulled past the little box where you are required to scream over the static and place your order. Where the the lane closes in as it passes the neighbouring building. Where escape is no longer an option. Where there are still a good 7 cars in line before you.
I knew what needed to be done.
Swinging my bag of goodies in a carefree manner, I smiled and waved to the person in the the drive-thru' window. I didn't know them and they didn't know me, mind, we'd had no interaction at all, but hey, Perth is a friendly city and they politely waved and smiled back. so it looked like I knew them. It looked like we might be in cahoots...perhaps sharing a joke :D
Sauntering down beside the cars in the drive-thru' I stop at CaravanKnobEnd's petrol wasting penis extension and, smiling gently, tap on his window. He lowers it about 10 cms or so and snarls "Yair? Whawt?"('coz he is an arrogant arse) I grin sweetly ('coz I'm made of fucking sugar and spice) and say "WE didn't spit in your food. Honest!" And then i got into my wee car, waved and smiled once more and drove away.
I hope he enjoyed his repast. I certainly enjoyed mine, but felt a bit ill after. As usual.
(Fri 19th Sep 2008, 10:52, More)