Category: Verbal Assassinations

“A tip jar. Really? So what am I supposed to do, just duke you my change because you poured hot water through beans? Well, I’ll tell you what, my friend, unless you’re also planning on giving me a complimentary reach-around with my beverage, I’m afraid the answer is yeah…no! Here’s a–here’s a novel idea: Why don’t you go fetch me a very large cup of coffee with so damn many fake sugars in it, that the coffee itself gets cancer.”

“You’re black? ‘Cause, last I checked, you had a nerdy white best friend, you enjoy Neil Diamond, and you damn sure act like a black guy. And these, my friend, are all characteristics of white guys. Now, please understand, I’m a huge supporter of the NAACP. That stands for the National Association For The Advancement Of Colored People. And quite frankly, I always thought they should change “Colored People” to “African-Americans.” But then it wouldn’t be the NAACP, it would be the “N quad A,” or NAAAA. I know this probably sounds like a digression, but it actually leads me back to my original point: Do I think you’re black? Naaaah.”

“OK, as you all know, Sacred Heart is dealing with a mountain of malpractice lawsuits courtesy of bumbling interns, clueless doctors and hack surgeons, or as I like to refer to them, you people. Since Sweaty Teddy here backs up his infinitesimal knowledge of the law with absolutely zero knowledge of medicine, one of you will help go through claims, decipher medical stuff and somehow relay all of that into his tiny peanut brain. How many times did I insult you during that? I was shooting for five. (…) No, Ted. She hates you. Four. Since Ted has no life, and that’s five, I’ll let him select his very own victim.”

“Or…maybe you could pressure him, get dumped, throw on fifty pounds, start collecting knick-knacks and meet your future now. You know…before the loneliness burns too much? Wooooo-ohhhhh! Gosh, I did enjoy that!”

“And on behalf of men everywhere — and I do mean everywhere, including the ones in the little mud huts - let me be the first to say thanks and alleluia!”

“Back off there, lady. How’s about you save up all that energy for the cruise? Go on get out of here. Hippity hop to the barbershop. Come on, Mom.”

“I’d focus, because that tiny patch of skin on my son’s forehead is more important to me than the entirety of your whole high-fiving, head-shaving, air-balling, mole-lipping, insulin-needing existence, which I guarantee you will come to an abrupt very unnatural end.”

“You, my friend, look so damn leathery I’m honestly tempted to wrap ya around a baseball, synch ya up with a belt, and stick ya under my mattress so that you’re good and broken in for the big game on Sunday. Buut, since I’m here to heal not judge, I’m gonna go ahead and write you a couple of prescriptions. You’ll find that this first one is for an extra large mallet to help ya pound some sense into yourself. The second one is for a big floppy hat that you’re now to wear every single time ya leave the house. Have a great day, ya look like a purse!”

“Oh, my goodness. He actually tricked you into a date. This is so very
delicious and filling I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat the rest of
the evening. In fact, I honestly don’t think I can have one more bite of
your painful humiliation. I find I’m just a little stuffed. Will take my
keys to go, though.”

“(…)The tick-tocking of your biological clock leading you towards the corner of Celibate and Spinster Way?”