Your incorrect web listing

Dear website editor,

I am the unfortunate owner of the old telephone number for Ye Olde Pub, which has switched ownership and is now Cool New Pub. Its business listing has been updated on your website to reflect the new business name; however, its telephone number has not.

While getting calls from people on a Saturday morning asking if I’ve found miscellaneous personal effects that they’d left behind the night before is amusing, the constant telephone calls I get for the pub otherwise and people arguing with me that they got the telephone number from the internet so it MUST BE RIGHT are not.

Might you update the business listing?

Cheers,

Larissa

Who likes Rush Limbaugh?

I mean, seriously. Fuck Rush Limbaugh. What kind of degenerate person likes this dude?

Folks, I have to laugh when I hear the president talk about his “moral example.”  The president’s moral example.  The president’s moral example is making you and me provide contraception for women who want unlimited, anytime, no-consequences sex.  Some morality.

Yes, because women who need low-cost contraception are all filthy whores. Not, you know, responsible members of society who aren’t keen on bringing children into the world when they – oh, I don’t know – can’t afford it. Just like they can’t afford the prohibitive cost of unsubsidised birth control.

Oh, but wait. Sex is solely for the making of the babies and the pleasing of the married menfolk who want for nothing more themselves than all the babies. Therefore, birth control is useless, you dirty slag.

How silly of me.

Misanthropy

Colleagues who ‘borrow’ my milk out of the refrigerator are slowly turning me into a misanthrope.

A misanthrope probably wouldn’t hesitate to buy a fresh bottle of milk for the sole purpose of lacing it with dissolved laxatives and placing it in the work refrigerator.

I like parties…

I was only sending a considerate text message en route on the DLR.

Me: I have a massage after work. Save me some salami for later.

Me: And by that I mean actual salami.

Him: Party. I’m drinking some of your 7Up.

Me: YOU’RE HAVING A PARTY *AND* YOU DRANK MY 7UP??

Him: Yes.

Me: WHAT THE HELL.

Apparently he wasn’t having a party. ‘Okay’ autocorrected to ‘party’. Part of me knew that while we were having this conversation. I just like righteous anger. And salami.