monster sarcasm rally

Train up a child in the way he should go

Sitting in a restaurant, waiting for breakfast... Man says to small child: S-Q-U-I-R-L-E-S. What does that spell? That's right, squirrels.

Sigh.

Non-vegetarians only, please

Dear Morgan McKinley,

Really?

Yours — oh whatever,
Sars

Beam me up already, Scotty

Dear moron,

Your head is quite large in proportion to the rest of you. I do not understand why. What have you got in there: cheese curds?

Curiously,
Sars

____________________________

Dear the Ferengi,

Why... That is, what... I mean, for pete's sake... What the hell...

Oh, never mind.

Sputteringly,
Sars

PS: Please retire.

Don't you have to be sober to drive, anyways?

Dear Dirty Old Man,

Quit yammering about your fine European automobile.

Today's Saabs are nothing more than grossly overpriced GMs. You may as well go and buy a freakin' Buick.

Thanks,
Sars

PS: Shut up already.

Not Mrs

Dear real estate agent,

Hi, remember me? We met a week and a half ago at an open house. You are not the seller's agent, you are her lackey, there to do her work for her because she is too important to work on Sunday. You made a great impression by being 30 minutes late to a two-hour open house.

The following day, I began the process of attempting to purchase the property, a process which is still ongoing.

Yesterday you e-mailed me. You began your message by addressing me as Mrs Sars. What the hell is that, I ask you. When we met you made a point of asking me if I was married, like I shouldn't be allowed to buy a house without my husband's permission. You made a big deal of the fact that I said I was single. So, no, I am nobody's Mrs. I despise being addressed as Mrs. Seriously. But even if I were somebody's Mrs, I'm completely unacquainted with the practice of adding the honorific to a person's given name.

So, there you go. Right there in the first line you've doubly pissed me off. Then in the second line, using most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish grammar imaginable, you informed me that you were pleased to meet me yesterday at an open house on a street I've never even heard of.

You went on to tell me that it was okay that I didn't like that house as you've got plenty of other options for me. You included a selection of houses within 'my' budget that you thought I would like. They were all conveniently located in proximity to the Official Mall of Loudmouthed, Illiterate Teenage Mothers (it's a big shopping mall without so much as one book shop!).

Thank you so much for taking the time to follow up with me. It's very kind of you. Now piss off.

Thanks,
Sars (not Mrs)

PS: Tell your boss lady that... Well... Never mind. She'll get a few posts of her own if this process ever ends.

Clueless: coming soon to an idiot near you

Dear New Chick,

If you've already observed that I'm not in a very nice mood, it's probably not the best day to accuse me of conspiring against you.

Thanks,
Sars

____________________________

Update:
Turns out, the way to a sarcastrix's heart is through her stomach. New Chick unexpectedly bought me lunch, so she's back in my good books.

Thwear wordth don't come eathily

Dear JB,

I took your advice and cleaned out my keyboard.

You know that letter at the beginning o my name? Well, it doen't work any more. That's unny, neither doe the letter between the D and the G. And i I ever wanted to ue the backlah key... Well, that'd be jut too bad...

Oh well... I gueth I thould learn how to write with a lithp. And um... a Phillipino accent. Although, come to think oph it, I could jutht thtart uthing PHth everywhere inthead oph, you know... The other thing...

Or maybe I'll have to get me one of them phancy, thmancy wireleth keyboardth. The pothibilitieth are theveral...

Thincerely,
The Tharcathtrix

Public service announcement

Dear A,

Stop trying to pick fights with me. You are not worth my time. Go bother somebody else instead.

Thanks,
Sars

Don't be so smug

Dear neurotic IT guy,

Thank you for all your assistance. It was very kind of you to help me this morning.

In future, though, I'd appreciate it if you could tone down the smugness factor. Yes, I am aware that I am dependent on you for help. It's true that I can't do my job without you; however, the reason I can't is because that's how you set things up. I need you to help me with the bits I can't do for myself. I can't do them for myself because you've set yourself up as the only one with permission to do what needs to be done.

If you're the one who tied my hands, you don't get to congratulate yourself for coming to my rescue.

Thanks,
Sars

Cheaper than dinner and a movie

Re: telephone number 416.xxx.xxxx

To whom it may concern:

A few weeks ago I received a note from a collections agency informing me that they had been hired by Bell to extract $27 from me as I was seriously delinquent in my payment. This was news to me, as I terminated all services I had been receiving through Bell Canada and its subsidiary, Sympatico, nearly 18 months ago. I had not received any bills, invoices, or statements of account in the intervening period.

Unfortunately, I lost the letter, so I called 310-BELL to sort the matter out.

The billing representative listened to my story, but said she couldn’t help me. She transferred my call to the credit department. The representative there also listened to my story. She was polite and sympathetic, but unable to help me. She confirmed that my account showed a balance owing of approximately $27. She gave me a phone number for Alliance One, the collections agency Bell deals with.

I hung up, and immediately called the number I’d been given. My call was taken by a polite man with a suspiciously southern US accent. He said he’d be more than happy to help me, but that Bell Canada had terminated their contract quite some time ago. They no longer did any work for Bell, so there was no way he could help me. He told me to call Bell directly.

I hung up, and once again called 310-BELL. My call was eventually answered by a woman with a heavy French accent. She called up my account and asked why I had called through to the Quebec billing office. She said my account showed no outstanding balance; however, she also said that she couldn’t help me. She suggested I call the Toronto office directly, and provided a phone number.

I hung up, and called the number she had given me. My call was answered by an attendant, who transferred me to ‘the appropriate person’. That person said that she would transfer me to a different department. My call was finally answered by somebody who confirmed that he was indeed in the Toronto office. Once I had explained the problem, he apologised and informed me that Alliance One no longer dealt with Bell Canada. Bell had terminated their contract, he said. He advised me to call Bell Canada directly.

I hung up, and called 310-BELL. I was put through to the billing department. I explained my situation to the man who answered. Rather than suggest I call somebody else, he put me on hold for 15 minutes while he found somebody who could help me.

He eventually came back and informed me that my account showed an outstanding balance of $27.67; however, the account was also closed. He didn’t know how I could make a payment on a closed account. He then put me on hold for an additional 10 minutes. When he returned, he provided me with the address found at the top of this letter. He advised me to send you a cheque for the full amount along with my phone number as reference.

Enclosed is a cheque for $27.67. I have no doubt that you would love to assist me, but that you have never heard of me, have no record of my account, do not do any business with Bell Canada, speak only French, do not operate your business in Canadian dollars, do not accept cheques, and are ethically and morally opposed to the use of telephones.

If that is the case, please accept this cheque as a token of my appreciation for the time you spent reading this letter. Please feel free to cash it, donate it to charity, frame it, burn it, or make it an offering to your favourite god. Whatever.

After all, this whole experience was cheaper than dinner and a movie and far more entertaining.

If, by some mysterious chance, this cheque does manage to find its way to my account, please let me know.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

Encl. one postal money order in the amount of $27.67

CC: Bell Canada, Office of the Manager
Bell Canada, Executive Office of Customer Relations

PS: New Chick does not approve, condone, or authorise this letter or any of its contents.

I would have thought the solution was obvious

Dear Asshole,

Not visiting this site is a simple enough task for even the most braindead individuals to complete.

Step one: don't click the link.

There you go. All finished. My personality will immediately cease vexing you.

Thank you for your co-operation.
The Sarcastrix

If you need lessons in ettiquette from me...

Dear Absentee Executive,

If you didn't invite the whole department to the party, it's not polite to send the directions to the whole department.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

Laughing on the inside

Dear [name that sounds like my dog coughing up a fur ball],

Oh. I so want to write about you. New Chick says you're just old school, but you're not. Our boss is old school. You? You're dirty-old-man school.

You're old, and you're nasty. Even New Chick wouldn't touch you. Do you have any idea what that means? New Chick likes dadly men. She even likes guys who are sort of grandfathersome. But you... You're just yucky.

We derive much pleasure each day from mocking you. In fact, you're quite possibly the funniest guy I've ever met. Not in the way you think you are, of course, but nonetheless...

And this is killing me.

I want to write about your [blank]. I want to write about you talking about your [blank]. I want to tell the world about how you describe your [blank].

If only I could write about your [blank]... I've told my friends about it. We laugh. We all laugh. Everybody laughs.

But no.

I can't write about you on the internet, because your identity would give my identity away. And as I've said before: I may write stuff that could get me in trouble, but I'm not going to write anything that could get me sued.

So, instead, I'm frustrated. But at least I'm laughing.

Here's to you, my secret muse.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

Briefs

Dear Jade,

Don't be such a dumbass.

Thanks,
Sars

*****************************************

Dear New Chick,

When I give you back the marked-up document, don't mind the cheese. My lasagna and I had a bit of an issue.

Thanks,
Sars

*****************************************

Dear Joanne,

What the hell are boy panties?

Thanks,
Sars

Allow me to introduce you to me

Dear Gilderoy,

As I have mentioned before, if you're looking for a job as editor, there may be an opening quite soon. At least, there will be if you keep treating me as some sort of mentally delayed cabbage...

Please understand that when I correct spelling in documents you have worked on, I do so because I am the frickin' editor and it's what I get paid to do. The job description for your role as Not The Editor includes the following: not attempting to correct my spelling.

I am well aware of the fact that I cannot type. As such, when I write, I sometimes make silly typos. But I do not make a habit of adding typos to other people's documents. I have been doing this job for several years. If I employed that strategy, I probably wouldn't have my job any more.

Now, I suggest you take your pompous, holier-than-thou jackassery elsewhere, or I may start keeping a two-litre bottle of marbles next to my desk and stapling motivational sayings to my chest.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

PS: Have I told you lately that you are a self-righteous asshole?

PPS: Thank you so much for pointing out the one typo I missed. I especially like how you marked it out as an 'inconsistency' in my work. Perhaps you'd like to show it to my boss. It'll be sure to help your chances when you're up for a demotion to the position as editor.

Auntie Sars's guide to etiquette

Dear New Chick,

I know it's only for a short time, and I know you wouldn't ask unless it was really the most convenient option, but IT IS NOT OKAY TO ASK ME FOR $1,000!

Sorry, but piss off.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

My purpose in life

Once upon a time (the somethingth of October in the year of our Lord 2004), in a land far, far away (about half a metre to the east), I wrote a post.

Today, for your reading enjoyment, I repeat that post on account of the fact that I am angry and bitter. And now, without further ado, on with the rant...

_________________________________

Dear executives and uppity assistants,

It has come to my attention that the editing process is considered tiresome. Several of you have pointed out the numerous flaws inherent in the system. In order to accommodate your wishes and whims, I hereby institute an entirely new set of procedures.

The Old Way
1. You submit your report to me.
2. I spend hours reading it and making changes.
3. I return your document for your perusal.
4. You go through the document, unmaking all my changes.
5. You submit the document to publishing.

The New Way
1. You submit your report to me.
2. I write meaningless blog entries, surf the internet, read fantasy stories, and practise writing GMAT tests.
3. I return the untouched file to you with a comment telling you how wonderful it is. Once in a while I'll add a comment about how reading your document changed my life.
4. You feel good about yourself and your skills as a writer.
5. You submit the document to publishing.

Clearly, the New Way has numerous advantages over the Old Way. We will all (except the Ferengi, but she's chronically cranky) have less work to do. We will all feel better about ourselves, thus enhancing our sense of self worth. Additionally, since the New Way takes less time to complete, all parties will have more time to spend focusing on the things in life that really matter, like the current market value of our investments.

With all sincerity and congeniality,
The Sarcastrix

If you really love Christmas...

Dear Valentine,

Pooping on the floor in front of the toilet is not an acceptable substitute for going outside.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear IAMNOTSTRESSED!

I really enjoyed coming in on the weekend before Christmas to work on your report. Thanks for that!

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear the Ferengi,

I told you I was running to grab some breakfast because it is common courtesy to do so, not because I was seeking your permission to leave my desk for five minutes. Geegolly, I am glad you granted it, though.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Calvin,

Please don't send work to the Ferengi. It confuses her and makes her angry.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Bagel Jerk,

When I hold my hand out for my change, placing my money on the counter next to my hand is a little thing we like to call rude.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Toronto,

It's the week before Christmas. Why the hell is the ground floor of the parkade full at 6.50 in the freaking morning? Go home!

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear IAMNOTSTRESSED!

Just because we have an editor doesn't mean it's a good idea to vomit your ideas out onto the page in random order. You still have to abide by the conventions of normal English writing.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear New Chick,

Stop it with the perfume already!

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear IAMNOTSTRESSED!

Once again, your report will get done faster if you stop demanding I justify my progress and give you a revised ETA for it every 15 minutes or so. Doing so has the paradoxical effect of making me slack off for a while before finishing the friggin' thing.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Jonathan,

I'm glad you're enjoying your European vacation; however, telling me how amazingly, awesomely fantabulous the cappuccinos are just ain't scoring you any points with me right now. Ditto how cheap they are. Double ditto how abundant they are.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear Beer Guy,

Hey, congratulations on that new baby you had 18 frickin' months ago, but it's time to move on. Pick another topic of conversation. Your son's every poop is not the most exciting thing I've heard all week.

Thanks,
Sars

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Update

Dear Self,

Thanks for spilling that entire glass of water on my chair. It feels so nice and warm on my bum.

Thanks,
Sars

Sexxin' up our reports

Dear executives,

Please avoid use of the verb phrase 'to put out' in your documents to be disseminated to our clients. You may not be aware of this, but that phrase actually implies something entirely other than 'to publish'.

Also, in future we may wish to avoid use of words such as 'sadistic'. You are correct in saying that it really does drive your point home; however, that may not be quite the image we're looking to project for our firm.

Thanks,
The Sarcastrix

Two simple questions

Dear Mr Vendor,

Due to a corporate mandate to do so, we began making use of your services three months ago. Three months ago, my department asked you two simple questions. In a stereotypical sales-schmoozy way, you responded that you'd look into them and get back to us.

Each time one of us asked you, we got the same slimy, smiley answer. I'll look into the matter and get back to you.

Two weeks ago, my boss asked me to get answers out of you. I called and reiterated our two questions. You told me you'd get back to me by Friday, the 25th of November. Friday came and went. No answer.

The following week, I renewed my questioning. Once again, I was told I would have my answer by Friday. Towards the end of the day on Friday, I tried again. Any word yet?

Monday morning, you said. Everything would be ready for me on Monday morning.

After lunch on Monday, I tried again. My e-mail bounced back with an automated Out-of-Office reply. I e-mailed your boss. She got back to me several hours later to say that the two of you had been in a meeting about this very issue all afternoon. She assured me that I'd have my answers by the end of the day.

At 8.23 this morning, I finally heard back from you. You snivelled and grovelled and apologised most profusely, assuring me that our business is very important to you. There is no length to which you won't go for us. No job too big or too small... No request too difficult.. Yadda yadda blah frickin' puke...

You advised me that in answer to my first question, you had provided a pricing grid, which was attached to the e-mail. You went on to say that you had some ideas about how you could resolve the second issue. You requested a meeting — at a time of my choosing — for this coming Thursday to go over the possibilities.

Now, I really wasn't sure how a pricing grid could answer my questions, which were entirely unrelated to pricing. But I opened it anyways, in the absurd and clearly futile hope that all would be made clear.

No such luck. Not, only did it not in any way address my actual question, it was exercise in futility in its own rite. The pricing grid showed pricing for items we had never ordered, items we would never order, several items that aren't physically possible, and a whole range of items that you are incapable of producing.

As works of fiction go, it was a wholly unfullfilling read.

I discussed the matter with my boss and arranged for him to take time out of his busy schedule to get together to discuss your no doubt brilliantly creative and non-functional ideas about how to resolve our second issue. His schedule is already packed with meetings, but he found some time. I booked the room and invited all the attendees.

For you to respond at that point and say that sorry, no, 10.30's no good. It has to be after 3.00 is not only unprofessional, it's incomprehensible. You told me that the time was up to us, depending on our convenience!

It's enough! Stop being obsequious, and focus on being efficient. Get something done. Only, you know, do something right for a change.

Merry Christmas! May the tears of a thousand New Chicks flood your office, short-circuiting all your electrical equipment, preventing you from playing your 98th game of solitaire for the day. May your company Christmas party offer no free drink tickets and be filled with the high-pitched drone of 14 human resource sycophants. May all four political parties establish their campaign offices in your  bathroom. May you spend eternity in conversation with Jade and the Ferengi. May the grunts, moans, sighs, whispers, yells and screams of Tribbles fill your head until the end of time.

With no apologies,
The Sarcastrix

Two bodies of mass cannot occupy the same space at the same time

Dear Rose,

I know physics isn't really your thing, what with it being all rational and linear, but you still have to obey the laws of physics.

Okay?
The Sarcastrix

Pedantry

Dear the Darkness,

What a catchy little pop ditty you have! It's very sing-along-able. It's dancy. It's fun. Congratulations on that.

But there's something you should know... A one-way ticket is — by definition — valid for travel in one direction from point A to point B. Conversely, a return ticket is valid for travel from point A to point B and then back to point A again. A one-way ticket can never be valid for a journey to somewhere and back again. That would require either a return ticket or two one-way tickets.

I understand that this is a difficult concept to grasp, really. One-way, return... I'm really giving your brains a long-overdue workout here. I know. I'm sorry. But it had to be said.

There is no such thing as a one-way ticket to hell and back. There just isn't. There could be a one-way ticket to hell. There could be a return ticket for hell and back. But there is not and can never be a one-way ticket to hell and back.

Please change your lyrics accordingly.

Thank you in advance for your co-operation.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

PS: Also, if you could cover up your face and hair with a paper bag or something, it would make a huge improvement. You know, because otherwise — dude, seriously — you are smokin' hot.

I call fowl

Dear comany I will not name,

I fail to understand your logo. Why is it a picture of a rooster? Why, for the love of all that is good and holy and chocolate, why is it a dead cock?

Are you an agricultural company? Are you a manufacturer of poisons? Are you KFC? A social club for recently divorced hens? Masturbators Anonymous? No, you are none of the above.

What? Why? Huh?

Please explain.

Thank you for your co-operation.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

No, it's not*

Dear Woman in Timothy's Coffee Shop,

Thank you for noticing that I am thin. I'm sorry to learn that you are not; however, it's really not my fault.

Your embittered stare made me quite uncomfortable. I know, I know. You must be shocked to discover that I'm capable of noticing things outside myself, what given my hotness and all... But really... My powers of observation could be on par with the basket of muffins on the counter-top and I'd still have been aware of your resentment.

While I'm flattered to have elicited such glaring jealousy, it might be best if you kept your angry stares to yourself next time. Or better yet, directed them at the stupid people who are so rampant in our city.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

*My hips are bigger.

Jade is the new Luanne*

Dear Jade,

If the current number is 125% of last year's number, then the change is 25%, not 125%. Let's say last year you had $100 and this year you have $125. You now have 125% of what you had before, but the change is $25, not $125. So the change is 25%. If the change were 125%, you would now have $225.

I am support staff. You are real staff. If one of us needs to explain this concept to the other, it ought to be you explaining it to me. Under no circumstances should it take 20 minutes or require several different examples as proof.

Math is your job. English is mine. You're lucky I'm good at both.

Screw up again and we're switching paycheques.

Sincerely,
The Sarcastrix

*Except male.