Internet people are fun. I don’t usually bother replying to this kind of tedious antagonism, but this guy was pretty insistent. I actually had a look at his twitter history, and he’s the kind of asshole who tweets “hey sexi, wanna fuck?” to every female he can find. Idiot.
It’s something I’ve thought about a lot before. Do you know that feeling when you tell a joke that you think is really clever, only to be met by the cold silence of people who didn’t understand it?
[Liam Neeson’s character (Brian) is on the phone to his daughter (Kim), seeing that his ex-wife is being held by armed antagonists] Brian: Listen to me carefully, Kim. Your mother is going to be taken. Kim: Dad, wait. Don’t you mean… twoken? Brian: Yes, Kim. Twoken. [both characters look directly at camera] [cut to black] […]
I was working the bar last night, and towards closing time, a young lady came up to order. She had some cool bright red top, a funky owl necklace, cute wavy blonde hair, and a very friendly face. She was the kind of person who makes you think “Yeah, we could totally be friends.”
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I just want to start by saying NOBODY DIED. NO ONE IS DEAD. EVERYONE IS OKAY.
Now, I was checking Facebook (because I’m meant to be packing for holiday and I needed something to help me avoid it) and I found a link that said R.I.P. [girl’s name]. I was intrigued (okay, amused) by the quastionably ‘posey’ photo that had been selected as the group photo, so I clicked onto it. It was a memorial page for a girl who had died a few days before. Now, being something of a stickler for grammar (and also, a heartless piece of shit), I started laughing to myself at some of the grammatical and spelling errors that were in the condolence comments.
Okay, when I say laughing to myself… I mean I was howling like The Joker and crying like… someone with a dead dog, I don’t know. Either way, I was laughing my fucking head off. Now, I later found out that the page was a fake, so don’t hate me too much… Although I didn’t know it was a fake when I was already laughing, so hate me a bit. Anyway, since it was, for some reason, a fake, I can share with you a short list of half quotes, and half points of interest, without earning too much derision… I hope.
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“Aliens are real. There really was an alien crash landing in 1947 near the Roswell Army Air Field, and the United States Government really did cover it up.”
These are the claims that were recently being made by a former CIA operative named Chase Brandon; claims which are of course, entirely fictional. He asserted that he came across secret documents and photographs in a oddly placed cardboard box during a visit to a public CIA library. The infamous Roswell Incident that he is speaking off has long ago been debunked as the recovery of a Mogul balloon, and putting aside the menagerie of pop-culture traditions; sci-fi movies, conspiracy theories, and other such nonsense, the case is relatively closed.
So what on Earth (and I assure you, it is on Earth), made him come forward with these outlandish claims?
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In an unusually pedantic mood, I decided to…
Actually, let me start again.
In a usually pedantic mood, I decided to wander around my bar today and point out all of the things that contained grammatical and/or spelling errors; which, as it turns out, was just about everything. It started to annoy me to think about how little people care. This is a place of customer-orientated business, and yet there is no concern towards the writing when sending out confirmation emails with typos, displaying menus with grammatical mistakes, or writing up specials with misspelled words. It’s a direct representation of the company itself, and while nine out of ten people around here don’t seem to notice or care, what’s the harm in ensuring that you please ten out of ten people?
After about half an hour of me grumbling about this, a couple of my co-workers asked me why I wasn’t an English teacher, which at first I didn’t read into too much, simply quipping that with them around, I basically was an english teacher; however, something moderately annoying then occurred to me.
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There’s a little charity competition thing going at work at the moment, where customers can pay £1 to ‘name the bear‘, and the best name entry gets to keep it. Anyway, I was having a peer through all the entries today, and some absolute ass hat has entered the name Serendipity. For a teddy bear. […]
It was a long night on the bar tonight, and with me to bear it was Simon, one of the new bartenders. I’ll cut this story short and get straight to the fun part. Before long we got bored enough to start playing ‘the cat game’, wherein you try to sneak the word ‘meow’ into serving a customer. Anyway, we started getting really brave with this, but no one was catching on; even when we were bursting out laughing at overhearing each other. Eventually, we decided to spice it up by just saying random animal names. It still didn’t work, because no one ever listens to the people serving them. Before long it was just a tirade of nonsense words and gibberish. This is how far it all got, and this is a genuine, exact transcript.
--- Grumpy Comments --- 