Category: Verbal Assassinations

Oh! I’m sorry! Are you talking? Because I’ve decided to keep my finger on the button, so I actually can’t hear anything that’s going on in there. But, for fairness’ sake, I’ve decided to do your end of the conversation. It goes a little something like this: Blah-blah, blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah, cool hip-hop lingo, blah-blah, blah-blah-blah.” Anyway, I’ve come up with a whole new plan about Mr. Iverson. If you wanna take that liver away from him just because you and I are having some kind of personal beef, then you go and tell the man yourself.”

Oh, that’s funny, because Jack here was just wondering why the crazy lady who just spent the last hour chain smoking and talking on her cell phone while her kid ate sand would come over to two complete strangers and give them parenting advice!

First off, let me just say…thank you. For the last couple of months I have been adrift in a sea of puppy dogs, lollipops, and, let’s face it, mediocre metaphors. Luckily, you people were kind enough to piss all over learning a procedure that could determine whether some poor sucker lives or dies. And that reminded me of something that I wanted to remind you of. Because, you see, I am accountable. I am accountable for the continuous, crashing, undeniable amateurism that you people drag into this hospital day in and day out. And believe you me when I tell you that the next time one of you perpetual disappointments doesn’t even have the common decency to try and do better at something you supposedly do? I will go ahead and toss your sorry ass outta here in about ten seconds and then I will forget you forever in the next five.

Newbie! It turns out I, uh, I do have some best man advice. Go easy on the mascara in case you cry during your toast. And if you’re gonna chase after the bouquet with all of the other girls, make sure you kick off your pumps so you don’t snap one of those chicken ankles of yours.

Not so fast, there, Bob. You forgot to affix the warning label to your forehead. You know, the one that reads Exposure to Bob Kelso can be hazardous to your health” thus affording the reader a fighting chance to escape the waste and contamination that is…Bob Kelso.”

Look, I honestly don’t think that going to some dive bar is necessarily appropriate for somebody who just had kidney surgery. Although, don’t get me wrong, the fact that it seems to be pissing you off so much is the true definition of an added perk. Seriously, you can – you can look it up in the dictionary. It’s under P” for “perk”. It’s right next to “pain in the ass” and, curiously enough, your picture is right next to it.”

It’s not a rabbit in a hat. If you tug on it, it’s going to break; and if it breaks, he’s going to need surgery; and if you perform it, then, of course, he’s going to need a casket. Sooo, why don’t you just play quietly in your area until the crowd arrives.

Look! I know the only thing you’ve ever been responsible for was picking which Duran Duran cover band would play at your sorority formal, but you’re supposed to be teaching these kids. So how’s about you learn how to walk, ditch the tape recorder, and act like you got a pair!

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

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.