monster sarcasm rally

Dear imaginary blog reader,

Blogger and I have had a little chat. It's not that we don't love each other anymore. Well, no actually, that's exactly what it is: we just don't love each other anymore. But we both still love you very, very much. Or, at least, I do. It may very well hate you to the core of its very being, but that's another story.

We've decided that it's best for everybody if we try living separately, just for a while. We're going to see how things go. For now, you can still find Blogger right where it's always been. I, on the other hand, am moving into some snazzy new digs over at typepad.

Please remember that it's not about you, this is between Blogger and me. Please don't stop loving me; I still love you. Come and visit me often, since I'm sure the next little while will be a very lonely time.

Kisses,
The Sarcastrix

Dear imaginary blog reader,

Please go check out the vaguely new monster sarcasm rally!

The new site will feature:

• the same pithy sarcasm;
• new and exciting works of neurotica; and
• as many abuses of sarcasm as I can pack into each day!

New features include:

• a complete lack of Blogger and its annoying disruptions!

Typepad costs money, though, so be sure to tell me if the new site sucks just as much arse as this one does!

Dear Shane,

If it's late at night and my door is closed and my lights are off, it means I've gone to bed. In an emergency, you can wake me up. Acceptable emergencies include:

• The house is burning down
• One of your limbs has been severed and you need me to drive you to the hospital
• A nuclear bomb has gone off On second thought, I'll either wake up the next morning and find out or I won't. Either way not much I can do right now...

'Hey, have you got a calculator?' does not constitute a valid emergency. While it's true that I hadn't yet fallen asleep, my dogs had. They were snoring softly, until you knocked on my door and started shouting my name. Then they exploded in a frenzy of confused excitement.

If you ever do that again, I will find you a calculator and use it to club you to death.

Best regards,
The Sarcastrix

PS: What the hell do you need a calculator for? Is your brain broken?

...it's that I just don't care.

I went to talk to my boss yesterday. I had to get special permission to take three weeks in a row off in order to go to India.

In spite of the fact that I spend the vast majority of each workday writing sarcastic drivel, my boss seems to respect me and the work I do. Only God knows why...

Following yesterday's conversation with my boss I now have:

• permission to go away for three weeks;
• even more of his respect than I did before;
• 15 minutes more work to do every week; and
• the impression that he/the company may be willing to make a donation towards the cost of my trip.

I am actually turning into Peter Gibbons.
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I wrote this post once already, but Blogger ate it. Now I can't remember what it was I said. That posses™ me off.
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In other news...
I really hate this layout and am working on yet another new one. I will probably never be satisfied. The problem is that although my design skills are up to par, my html skills are sadly lacking. It's kind of like being a good writer, but only knowing 16 words.

Eureka! I have found it!

Yesterday's post led me to an epiphany. I have discovered the key to getting your blog read and inspiring readers to leave comments. You just have to know your audience. Men and women look for different things.

To get women to read your blog and leave lots of comments, you just have to talk about breasts or boobs. Both Cat and Cryptic have proved this point quite nicely.

To get men to read your blog and leave lots of comments, apparently you just have to talk about tits or racks.

Well, now that we are all enlightened, on with the posting...

Or not...

Okay, we all know that everybody who has any kind of site on the internet will sooner or later be hit by somebody who got there by googling some bizarre form of porn. Right? It doesn't matter if your site is about gardening implements (great big dirty hoe), sooner or later somebody's going to find a way to twist your words and turn them into porn. It happens to everybody.

Except it doesn't. It never happens to me.

Except it did.

Well, sort of... Half an hour ago somebody in Baltimore, Maryland, USA googled 'ginormous tits', and guess where he ended up. Yup, right here. I'm thinking he had to wade through thousands upon thousands of sites before getting to mine, but the point is he did. And that's something to write home about.

Except not.
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When I grow up I am so going to be Oscar Leroy. I just want to walk around all day calling everybody jackass and not making any sense.

Dear Luanne (again),

This is just a reminder.

Thanks,
The Sarcastrix

PS: Please get a brain.

*Fidiot: [noun] an expression of contempt for a person's complete lack of intelligence; a contraction of friggin' idiot

Dear Ford,

It has been brought to our attention that this week (07 March 2005 to 11 March 2005, inclusive) will be your final week at your present place of employment. As you are well aware, your long commute has necissitated a late arrival at home each weekday since commencement of said employment. Given that both CbKE and I arrive home at least an hour ahead of you, you have had the privilege of walking in the front door to find dinner waiting for you. The timing of the termination of your aforementioned (hee hee) employment will coincide with the termination of the meal service.

Beginning next Monday, the 14th of March in the year of our Lord 2005, CbKE and I will expect to find dinner ready for us when we get home. It would be a nice touch, although not strictly necessary if you could arrange to eat your own meals beforehand so that you can play your guitar softly in the background whilst we eat, talk, and generally unwind from our days.

The meals need not be fancy, complex or expensive. They ought, however, to be tasty, nutritious and completely vegetarian. Additionally, please ensure that the house is clean before either of us arrive.

Thank you in advance for your attention and co-operation.
The Sarcastrix

Anne would like to know why 'the disease of Stupidity has taken a hold of the West and is spreading faster than any biological or chemical weapon ever could'?

Yo baby,
im not 2 sure about dat. i never herd any1 say dat Chemecal weppens cause stupidety. i no ur not jes a hot chic but a real Smart 1 to so if u say its true den im gonna take you're word 4 it. did u learn that in 1 of ur Astrolegy classes at univercity i did'nt no u new so much about Everything. mabey next wknd we can hook up and tak about it im relly interessed to here wat u hafta say cause like i said i never herd that thery b4. im always ready for a intelecual connversatoin. insted a hanging wif the geeks next week and watchen the show with the Gay guy you and me could go somewhere reely nice and we cud just talk. lemme no.
BigPimpin

Peeved Michelle asks: 'If someone asked you, "Did they hook up?" about two people, what would you think the person was asking you?'
A- Did they have sex?
B- Did they make out?
C- Did one ask the other for a date?
D- Something else?

hey peeled michel,
yo thats a good question. i bin thinkin bout that alot so im a good 1 2 ask i think the Anser depends on whose asking. cause men and woman has differnt ways a thinkin u no. when a chic ask a question like that shes prolly thinkin about if their going on a Date. a girl likes to be romanced and told that there pretty and crap like that. guys are differnt yo guys just wanna get some action. so if a dude ask that question he prolly just wants to no if they been getting it on or not. unless a girls a slut cause sluts are just Dirty man and they sleep wif anybody they do'nt even care about him they just think they gotta do whatever the guy wants and they dont even care. i dont no if i answerd ur question but thas wat i think.
BigPimpin
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Disclaimer

No, I haven't written here yet today. Why? I've been busy. No, no... I haven't been working. Don't be silly. I've been writing at the Truth. Know where that is? If you do, you can read it. If not, well... There's probably a reason for that, now isn't there...

I'll do some Dear BigPimpin letters later. So you can have an extension in writing in. Otherwise I'll just go ahead and put words in your mouth. 'Kay?

Just what you've been waiting for: another Letter from the Editor...

Dear Luanne,

What's in a name? That which we call poop by any other name would smell like crap.

Your job is not that difficult. Please learn how to do it. Your ineptitude is making my life difficult. When I have to send you the same e-mail twice because you didn't read it the first time, you seem forgetful. When I have to send you the same e-mail two more times because you still don't get it, well... Forgetful isn't quite the right word. It doesn't begin to approach your level of inefficiency.

When I tell you that I do not work for the Ferengi, it is because I do not work for the Ferengi. When I tell you that she does not supervise my work, it is because she does not supervise my work. When I tell you that I do this and she does that, it is because I do this and she does that.

When I tell you who does what and who does not do what in excruciating detail and you proceed to make requests of the completely wrong people, well... Guess what... It slows down your requests.

Also, when you screw up your document for the 847th time in a row, please don't blame me for your mistake. I know it was you who made it. Your boss knows it was you who made it. My boss (who is your boss's boss) knows it was you who made it. The IT people know it was you who made it. New Chick knows it was you who made it. The other assistants know it was you who made it. The guys who hang around outside the beer store near my house know it was you who made the mistake. And, yes, they're laughing at you. The friggin' pope knows it was you who screwed up. The Ferengi doesn't know her arse from her elbow. But guess what. She still knows 22,654 things that you don't, including the fact that it was you who screwed up. She doesn't actually care, though, since it's not her job to care.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Best regards,
The Sarcastrix

It's Friday. Your letters to BigPimpin are due by Monday morning at nine. Marks will be deducted for tardiness.

Everybody wants to hear about Ford's adventures in Canada, right? He's been the object of my mockery. I've been the object of his mockery (especially this week). He's commented repeatedly on the fact that it seems everybody he knows in Toronto (Anne, Cute but Kinda Evil, Rachel...) is caught up in this blog world.

So here's the part where I need your help... Let's all get together and peer-pressure Ford into writing a blog of his own! Oh boy, won't that be fun!

Leave your comments here and tell him to get off his (er... onto?) his arse and start writing.

I had a bizarre and unexpected experience this morning. This has never happened to me before. I'm not sure what to make of it.

While lying in bed trying to fool myself into believing I was still asleep, I mentally selected what I would wear to work today. The shirt I chose was one I haven't worn since the summer.

I found the clothes I had decided to wear. I pulled the shirt on and began zipping it up. I got the zipper up to about the middle of my back before I made an alarming discovery: it wasn't going to go any further.

I'm confused. I'm awash in perplexion. I don't understand how it could possibly have shrunk since the last time I wore it. Perhaps gremlins broke into my house, located this shirt at the back of my wardrobe, pulled it out, took in the seams, hung it back up, left the house and locked it behind themselves.

Aha! No, the front door was open this morning! Clearly that explains it. The gremlins were unable to lock the door behind themselves on their way out.

Watch out, I heard they're headed to your house next.

Since I had to submit myself to torture a few weeks ago, I decided that those I love should share in the experience with me. I arranged for Beandog to have his teeth cleaned. Bottle Rocket Whatever, you should be pleased to hear this. It means his mouth'll be nice and sanitary. I'll send him down to your place so he can greet you with big ol' wet, sloppy kisses.

Since a dog can't (or rather won't) sit nicely on the chair and hold his mouth open, they have to do this under a general anaesthetic. Which means he won't really be tortured at all. He'll just be all stoned. Um...

I, on the other hand, will have to foot the bill for this non-torture. A mere $500 or so. Er...

Crap. He didn't really get to share in any of my pain, did he? In fact, I just added to my misery by signing up for a huge bill so that he could stumble around stoned for the next day or two.

Well, all is not lost... The Stinky Monkey definitely received some torture today. I dropped him off at the same time. He's not getting off as easy as Beandog. Nope. He's getting [gasp!] a haircut. And a bath.

Ha! Somebody to share in my torment!

So I'm planning my trip... I'm getting excited. But you can't read about it here, because I don't frickin' want to write about it twice. So go read about it here. And, for frig's sake, leave a comment!

Re: Dear BigPimpin (1, 2, 3) character and advice column

Please be advised that BigPimpin, who began life as Chris and was later reborn as Chris's advice-giving alter-ego, was meant to be a caricature of Chris, not a realistic picture of him. As of today, Thursday, the 03rd of March, in the year of your Lord 2005, BigPimpin is reborn again. BigPimpin is hereby declared an entity unto himself. Although inspired by him, BigPimpin no longer retains any official affiliations (legal or otherwise) with Chris.

The opinions expressed by BigPimpin are solely his own and do not reflect the opinions of Chris, the Sarcastrix, or any other individual anywhere at any time. The contents of this his advice columns have not been reviewed or approved by the Sarcastrix; the Pope; the Ferengi; the Prime Minister of Canada, the Honourable Tim Horton; or the Better Business Bureau.

In no event shall Chris be liable for any damages whatsoever, including special, indirect or consequential damages, arising out of or in connection with the opinions or beliefs expressed by BigPimpin.

No housemates were harmed in the making of this post.

Hey, here's a spiffy idea for you. Why don't make me look as bad as you possibly can. Then you can charge me $20 for the privilege.

Gee, thanks.

Something was possing™ me off and I was going to write about it.

If only I could remember what it was...
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From now on (read 'until I get really tired of it') Mondays will be the official Dear BigPimpin (1, 2, 3) days. I can only take so much of that crap. Post your letters/questions in the comments section or e-mail them to beandog [at] rogers [dot] com.
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You're no longer allowed to smile in passport photos. Apparently, only terrorists smile. If you see people smiling as they walk around the office, you should shoot them. Clearly, they're up to no good.
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You heard me. I said 'poss'. Why? Because I can't type for carp™. But I said it and now I'm trademarking it. And if you don't like it you can bute™ me.

In order to distinguish between the real-life actions of Chris and his letters of advice, I'm hereby changing the name of the advice columnist segment of himself to BigPimpin. I don't want any of my imaginary readers to become confused between the real person and the letters he writes*.
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-----Original Message-----
From: Rachel
Sent: Tuesday, 1 March 2005 13:50
To: Sarcastrix
Dear BigPimpin,
One of my closest friends is legally blind. She can see things sort of blurrily, but for the most part, can't see well enough to function without a walking stick. She's getting married next week, and as a gift, I took her to a spa and we got all sorts of treatments - manicures, pedicures, massages, and facials. The thing is, she must have had allergies, because the chemical that they used in the facials seems to have stripped most of the skin off of her face, leaving her complexion bumpy, welt-y, red, and gross-looking. Seriously, she looks like a real troll. I haven't told her yet, because I don't know how to approach the subject or suggest that she have a "Masquerade" wedding or something where she could wear a mask. You seem to have profound insights regarding women, so I trust you enough to do what you tell me to.
Sincerely,
The Prettier One

Yoyoyo hey Pretty lady how you doin'
ha ha ha im jus kiddin. you werry two much. this reely cudn't of happened at a better time for ur Troll frend. shes gettin maryd so she dosen't Need to pick up ne more studs. you prolly shud a waited till after the wedding tho cause the Dude mite not wanna merry a slut dat looks like a dog. ok ok i have a idea u shud get ur frend to where 1 of them things over her ugly face in the wedding. an make sure the dude do'nt see her afor then. like mebbe tell him she's got some kinda disease like Chlamydia or something. you jes gotta make sure to tell him she'l b better by the day. im always hapy to help the ladys out wif there problems if theirs anythen else i can do to you jus call me.
BigPimpin

PS chill!!!!!!!!!!!! you shud smoke some Dexter then you wont worry so much.

at 11:53 CBK said...
Dear BigPimpin,
I seem to be psychologically compelled to capitalize the letter "s" whenever I write the word "Smart." No matter the context, I must capitalize that letter every time I use that word. Does this say anything about me? Do you have any insight into such compulsions? Is there a universal rule for such behavior? Thanks for listening and keep up the great advice!

hey dude
i wuz'nt relly sure wat u wuz sayin but sarcostix sais a Catipol is a big letter. dude nobody cares about dat Stuff no more all that grammer and crap its all in the Past. ppl don really use that now. ha ha im jus kidden u shud spell stuff right and do grammer. its importent or ppl r gonna think ur dum.
BigPimpin
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*By 'he writes' I mean 'I write and sign his name to'.
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Disclaimer

I think my brain has melted. Writing letters in the voice of Chris has been far more challenging than I thought. Getting inside his head is proving to be quite an arduous task. I need to use some big words to clear my head.

If my literacy continues to wane, I'll be lambasted at work.
Would Chris react with vehemence or with apathy if he were to read these entries?
Would he find them to be scurrilous?
Were those questions rhetorical?

I have a few more letters to Chris to go through, but I think I'll save them for tomorrow. Feel free to send more. I'm sure he'd love to share his thoughts. He's very helpful, that Chris is.

More life lessons from the new poster child for anti-drug campaigns...
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at 09:38 Saint said...
Dear BigPimpin,
Recently, while watching the movie "The Horse Whisperer," I found myself considering what a beautiful animal horses are. Their tight, firm muscles that ripple under their coats of soft fur. The way that fur might feel against your skin. There's something in the eyes of a horse that touches me, and makes me feel that the gentle beast might understand me in a way that few people ever could. I feel drawn to these animals, and the feeling that I have can only be expressed as love. Yes, I am in love with a horse. A female horse, to be sure, but a horse nonetheless. Our love will know no boundaries, and no fence is high enough to keep us apart.
Anyway, after the movie was over, I got up and made a sandwhich. This brings me to my question; should condiments be spread on both pieces of bread or only on one? All of my past relationships have failed based on my belief that mustard and mayo should be evenly devided between bread slices, and I can't seem to find a girl who truly understands this. What should I do?

Ha ha hey try-sexual stud!
u r confused. ur looken at this from a girls prespectif. wat u gotta aks urself is if ur looken for a wife or a slut? if a chick sais shell Sleep wif u its all good. it do'nt matter wat kinda sanwitch she likes to eat or if she dosent eat. Sluts r for 1 thing so if you dont haf too by her Dinner thas good. If u finished with sewing ur wild Horses an ur lookin for a wife tha'ts differnt but not reely. If she wants to get with u for reel then u jest gotta tell her how u like things doen. Don give her a chanse to do it her way or shell be doin it like that always. if she brings u you're dinner an it ai'nt write you Make her do it over again. you gotta tell that Slut whose boss.
ha ha ha jus kidden BigPimpin
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Dear BigPimpin,
As you know, we had a huge snow storm last night. I was unable to drive home, as I live in the Sticks. I tried to call the Sarcastrix, but said she couldn't hear the phone ring on account of the fact that some loser was loudly complaining about sluts, thus drowning out all other sound in a 12-block radius.
I called one of the guys from the office to see if I could stay at his place. He said he didn't want me to because people would think it was strange. I'm confused. He's tried to sleep with me on many occasions, but he freaked out when I wanted to sleep on his couch. It was an emergency and I had nowhere else to go. Should I still go to Mexico with him on vacation?
New Chick

Yo Hot chic,
The guy has evry write to be afrade. If u were sleepin wif him People wud think hes cool. but u jes wanted to sleep on his couch. if other ppl in the office herd that u stayd their but din't get it on wif him they might think hes Gay. Even if it was a emergincy. u wuz sleepin at his house without u know payin 4 it no wat i mean. that makes him Gay. if he don't want ppl thinkin hes Gay then he hasta look out for hemself its nothen Personel.
BigPimpin(I am not Gay)

PS if u go to mexico wif him u better put out.
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Disclaimer

Dear imaginary blog reader,
I shall now pass the keyboard over to the one and only BigPimpin, so that he can respond to your questions. If you keep them coming in, he'll continue to answer them.
The Sarcastrix
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at 05:37 Anonymous said...
Dear BigPimpin,
I caught my boyfriend wearing my sexy undies: he seemed pleased, but not to see me. I called him a pervert, but secretly thought he looked hot. Do you think dressing him totally as a girl and taking him for a Brazilian would be suitably chastising?
LJ

Yo hoe,
ur boyfrend is Gay get over it. lets Talk more abuot you're underwear what do dey look like? Is it that new thing frm Victoria Secrete? Cause thats Hot.
Bigpimpin

PS call me!!!!!!!!!!!
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at 07:47 Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...
Dear BigPimpin,
I have a crowd of vodka-impaired Polacks tripping over themselves in an effort to hunt me down and force me to listen to Argentinian digeridoo music. Performed by them. While they force feed me shots of cheap bathtub potato vodka.
Aside from running and reconstructive facial surgery, what can you suggest to help me avoid this horrible fate?

Hey Car Alarm!
Thas cool Vodkas good. We had a party at are house a few wks ego I drank a lot of vodka and smoked a big J. Their was some good sluts at the party. An ur sayin you don't like music punk? The dayglodoodoo is a awsom instermint. Ur friend polick is weird if he wants to play it in the bathtub tho. Mabey he is Gay. If u wanna get surgery for your face dats ok as longs u dont come out like a chic. Dudes who look lkie chiks are'nt cool and you might be Gay. Not dat theirs anythen wrong wif dat.
BigPimpin (I am not Gay.)
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Disclaimer