1. This may not make your list, especially if you like to Google yourself. (In a minute, that first line will seem really funny) A new site has popped up called ‘Thank Your Wank’. You can go to this site to thank the person you last, recently, or obsessively fantasize about while you Google yourself for hours on end. You can also …
- Find out how many people WANKED TO YOU
- Thank those you wanked to by clicking +1 on their profile
- Get INSTANT ALERTS for mutual wanks
- Create a list of your favorite wanks (may also be used as a TO-"DO" list)
- See the MOST WANKED TO people on earth!
Supposedly it’s all anonymous, unless you chose to click on the ‘+1’ button.
As disturbing as all of this is, my real beef is with the fact that I could not find myself anywhere on the Wall of Wanks. It’s bad enough I have the least amount of friends out of all my friends on Facebook, now there is a site to remind me I am not wank worthy either.
2.The pretentious twat-head that sat next to me at the bar with his iPad on it’s cute little desk cradle, watching the Texas Hold ‘Em Poker Championship while trying to work in the words ‘Pinot Grigio’ into every other sentence he uttered.
The iPad didn’t bug me. The desk cradle, feh, maybe it bugged me. It was the fact that he was watching the same program that was on the 46” screen that was at face level and only four feet away that irked me.
But my real issue with this middle aged hipster with his silver mane of hair down to his shoulders, Oakley Titanium rimless glasses, black turtle neck (it’s fucking August in Charleston , South Carolina), Hugo Boss jeans, and green fucking Croc’s, was the whole thing with the Pinot Grigio. It started when the barmaid asked him what he wanted to drink. We’re in the fucking Holiday Inn. They have maybe five wines to chose from and this guy is mulling over the list like he is fucking Tom Collichio. Then when he finally makes up his mind, he says ‘I’ll have the Pinot Greeeeeeeeegio.’ She asks if he would like to order dinner. He says ‘Yes’.
”I’ll have the flounder with the Pinot Greeeeeeeeegio, please.”
Even the barmaid blinked.
She took his order, got him his wine, and as she walked away he took a sip and said to her “This is really good Pinot Greeeeeeegio.”
I watched as he stared at his iPad and then at 46” television and back at his iPad, watching the same show on each. This was Hipster-Rainman, for sure.
When the barmaid asked if I wanted another sweet-tea, I said yes, and I hear “Have you tried the Pinto Greeeeegio? It’s quite good.”
I turned to Rainman. “Quite good?” I asked.
He was holding his glass up, admiring it, smiling. “Yes.” he said.
I smiled at him. “Not recently, no.”
The barmaid came back with my sweet tea. I picked it up, because I now had every intention of moving my ass to the patio. If he said it one more time….
“Oh, so you have tried the Pinot Greeeeeeegio?” He was staring at me, waiting for a response.
“Yes.” I said. “It tastes like the back of a fucking L.A. school bus.”
I raised my glass of sweet tea, smiled and said “And I usually leave when anyone orders it or the merlot.” And I made my way to the patio, thanking Jack and Miles.
3. I have to be careful here, because I was forced to sign a confidentiality agreement. So, let’s just say, any client who keeps you locked in his office for four motherfucking hours because you refuse to argue, compromise, or give in on a point automatically goes on The List. If they make you listen to their side of the story more than 23 times in that four hours, threaten you, try to make you look stupid, or start what they think is a new angle on a worn out, going nowhere, you still ain’t gonna budge discussion with ‘Well now, let me ask y’all this question..’ they’re going on The List. And if they keep calling the admin in charge of contracts, putting her on speakerphone, and asking her to look up something or verify something and each time end it with “I’m think gonna need me a copy of that contract.’ while they give you a combination of the fucking side-eye stink-eye like it’s supposed to scare you, they not only go on The List, they get a fucking star next to their fucking name. And you tell them they are going on The List and ask if ‘y’all have any more questions for me, now?’