Dear Punk-ass

Dear Time Warner Cable. Thanks for f*cking me over on my bill again, while at the same time providing ever-increasingly bad service, you douchebag motherf*ckers. I wish you all ass warts and bloody pus-blisters on your balls until the day you die you worthless corporate pieces of ****.

Thanks for your time,

Kickycan

Hmmm...that felt good. Maybe I should send that to their customer service e-mail address.

Dear DumbASS.......Yes YOU! You sit there on your fat ass waiting for someone to serve you like your a king...catching me while I'm running my ass off to serve people, and you have to flag me down, while you sit underneath a sign that READS: PLACE ORDER HERE...just to ask me if I was the cook????

I'M WEARING A RED APRON AND HANDLING FOOD
AND YOU ASK ME " YOU THE COOK?"

NOOOOO, YOU DUMBASS, THIS IS MY CAPE AND I'M A MAGICIAN..WATCH ME DISAPEAR!

What really kills me is YOU SIT THERE 2 OR 3 TIMES a WEEK and have talked with ME on every occasion...and YOU ASK ME IF I AM THE COOK?

What makes YOU SO SPECIAL? Why is it you couldn't have walked up to the lady that takes the orders and given YOURS TO HER....BeCAUSE you think you deserve to be waited on HAND AND FOOT you MORON!!!!

And all the while, someone else's food is cooking while I'm waiting on YOU TO DECIDE WHAT IT IS YOU WANT TO EAT...and YOU HAVE BEEN SITTING THERE FOR HOURS!!! Its not like you KNEW YOU WANTED TO EAT WHEN YOU GOT THERE....but you waited all THAT TIME..for ME!!!
**** YOU BUDDY!!!

HEAR ME??? HOURS!!!!!

YOU PISS ME OFF!


(Sigh) that feels better..............so much better!

That man drives me crazy..it never fails, he will come in, sit down and be there for hours.

Fine and dandy by me.

BUT, its not like he could catch me when I'm not loaded down with plates, its not like I haven't already brought 2 or 3 plates to the same table he's sitting at!

ITS EVERYTIME he comes in!!!

"Are you the cook?" (No you dumb ****..I just wear this apron for the fun of it)

"Hum, I want some food." (Ok..what do you want...)

"I don't know...hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" (Make up your freakin' mind damnit!!) SMILE

"Give me..?????" (ok..its the same freakin' thing you've order every other time your in here...but lets make a HUGE DEAL out of it!!)

Serve him his food-------"Thanks babe" (GROWL..you fat bastard!) SMILE

Shewolf, this originated from this man's blog titled: "Mr. Yoest's Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter" After I read it, I thought it would fit nicely in your thread. For the author, I will start off by adding the salutation: Dear Punk Ass:



Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.


Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.


Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose his compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of the date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.


Rule Four:
I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without using a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.


Rule Five:
It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."


Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with one of my little girls, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. You might have heard about her other two sisters, but you will not look. If you make her cry, I make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?


Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are sofas, beds, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and my old Army Field Jacket - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature power tools are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.


Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a middle-aged, gray-headed, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and a half acre behind the house. Do not trifle with me.


Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to drift back a few years to my Army days and mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a hostile vehicle. Whenever I hear engines at night, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the weapons, probably as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Announce the perimeter password, relay in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.


Have a nice time!


Source

that is great.
Im going to show this to Mr Wolf

Dear Punk Ass benefits attorney

believe me you arrogant mother fu**er, I wasnt calling to TALK TO YOU. I qualify for the program the COMPANY YOU WORK FOR offers.. not you.
You have nothing to do with the program and nothing to do with my decision to call. You have the nerve to rudely question why i am calling to ask about a program that is available for EVERYONE???
Then, when i tell you how I KNOW i qualify .... yeah dude.. I actually RESEARCHED the program..
you, sit there on your fat ass at your sorry little desk with a tie on that is too small for your pig fat ass neck and say.. well I have to make sure you are reporting everything. Im not sure you are.
What?
Let me check your desk and make sure you are eating everything in there . Heaven forbid an ant get a crumb of food that didnt fit in your fat mouth.

It isnt my fault you work at a job you dont like. It isnt my fault the company wont give you a bigger desk every month to accomidate your ever expanding waist line. It isnt my fault that I have done enough research on THAT program that I have presented all information you need before you even ask . ..

oy.. GOD.. i hate people like you..

Dear SOB


You who sits on his throne within office walls, glued to your video monitors watching us work, scared that we might steal something, scared we might let someone walk out with something free, paranoid about your on wrong-doings, trying to punish us in the process of your guilt, I hope your thumb grows blisters from the mouse so thick...you can't scratch your ass, I hope you put a kink in your neck that no Chiropractor will ever get out after witnessing me moon you while flipping you the bird.

Your mean and hateful, you'd slit your on mothers throat if you thought it would mean a gain in your favor. You mistreat people, judge them based on salary, and are cold hearted.

I think your unable to know what love is, you've lost sight of your friendships in your quest for fortune and fame, if that old saying is true:" While climbing your ladder of success, becareful of the toes you step on, cause they maybe connected to the ass you have to kiss on the way down..." Your in for a rare treat! Cause I have lots of ass.......

Because I honestly believe you SOB, that your day is coming....that you will have to answer for all those spoken words of hatred, the go to hell looks youv'e shot to those you feel beneath you, and pay for those in need that you have walked blindly by....without ever so much a helping hand. Its pitiful, because if it wasn't for the support this rural community has shown you, while building your wealth off their petty paychecks...you wouldn't have made it to the desired wealth you relish today....

You'll pay through your children, for the mistreatment they have incurred due to your stubborness, you'll face it with lonely nights, due to the fact you don't know how to give, you'll face it with gritted teeth...for all those you've subjected to humilation....for your own giggles, and the power you feel you obtain, because what goes around, comes around...and your overdue.

Signed: The Bitch in the Kicthen!

Dear F*ckface.

I hate the way you always look at me. Yeah, you! Filthy face, unshaven, grimy, and uncut hair. You make me sick! You never answer my questions, you impetious bastard! Yet you dare! yes dare! to mimic my every action!
And worst of all, when I finally get so agitated I plant my fist in your face, I always get a bloody hand and seven years of bad luck!

Najmelliw

Dear Punk-ass,

I still consider Punk an insult. You punk-ass biooootch.
Grow a real identity.

signed,
Your Beloved Nemesis

Dear punk ass child molestor who moved close to the school .

you ever so much as talk at my daughter, your life is over.
I will plaster your face, your phone number and your address all over this neighborhood shalemessly.

I will follow you around screaming like a banshee " cover your children, this here is a child predator"

I will make your life a living hell you understand me?

Im watching you.

Life your life, and I will respect your space.
Get too close , and I will do my damndest to f/ck you up.

Signed,
One pissed off mother who wonders why in the hell you moved 2 houses from a school...

LOL!

LOL, the funny thing Nimh, is I did tell him that one day...except I left the dumbass part out of it...lol

why?? HA!

Awww, some folks don't see the humor in things the way I do at times...lol

But trust me, it was wanting to come out of my mouth....