Random Sauce, Part One

I am not a fan of Justin Bieber.  I want to fill my ears with concrete whenever I hear his voice.  But I was absolutely a fan of what he did when someone hacked his Facebook or Twitter account (does it really matter which one it was?  No.).  The Biebs tweeted the phone number of the kid who hacked his account and said something like, "Yo its Justin, call me."  And the fans got the Bieber Fever.  Say hacker boy, has your phone stopped ringing yet?

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If you have extensions or a weave, please do the following: pay the money to get it done properly and wash that shit regularly because I am tired of smelling your nasty stank, especially when you try to stand on top of me.

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Stop standing on top of me.  This is my space.  You have your own.

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Understand that when you speak to me like I am stupid, I am going to call you out on it.  Every time.  I am not an idiot, I am not "special needs" and even if I were, I do not need to be spoken to like I have the i.q. of dirt.

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Yelling a conversation across the hall to a co-worker who has an office that is less than fifteen feet away from you makes me want to get homicidal on your lazy, fat, chair-bound ass.  Pick up the phone or get up and speak to them.  Enough with the noise pollution.

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Want to see crazy?  Hang out near a bank's ATM machine at 6:30 AM.  Cuh.  Ray.  Zee.  Don't ask how I know, just know that I do.

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