Smartassery

Time Thief: Beaaaaatrix, can you call United?

Beatrix Kiddo: Sure, what for?

TT: I don’t like the seats they assigned. Change them per the usual and make sure they know that we are traveling with the baby

BK: (I pressume so that they can assign a stewardess to fetch clean diapers…idiot) Right, there’s a slight problem with the seating

TT: I have a bunch of miles with them…

*Side Note: This jackass believes that the accumulation of 50,000 frequent flyer miles affords him cult status at the airline. “Yes, I’m calling to make a reservation for Mr. Time Thief.” “THE Mr. Time Thief?! Well I’ll make sure we bring the golden ottoman and silk cushions on board.” La di da your majesty. Imbecile.

BK: It’s not about the miles but about the baby and your preferred seating arrangement (touché motherfucker)

TT: I don’t see why I can’t seat in the exit row

BK: Errrr because you’ll have an infant in your arms (…and seven bags of diapers and miscellaneous shit around you blocking the aforementioned exit which if we get right down to the nitty gritty it will most likely be the only escape medium for the anxious hordes in case of an accident) 

TT: Well then leave the Mrs. with the baby in the back of the plane and I’ll take the exit row. They can come visit me

If God exists, she would re-route this flight to Jupiter. Then I would come in Monday morning and hear the news and spend all day watching re-runs of Desperate Housewives, not before I ordered a really nice flower arrangement for the mock funerals of course. On Time Thief’s corporate credit card, of course, of course. 

Time Thief: Beaaaaatrix

Beatrix Kiddo: Yes (insert obligatory eye roll here)

TT: I need you to do something very important

BK: Sure (ooooh, exciting!, I bet this time I’ll get a project more intellectually stimulating that slicing your bananas in rectangles)

TT: Well, I want to find a guy…

BK: Mkay (OMG OMG is he coming out of the closet to me?!)

TT: This guy works at Joke Equity Partners and I need his bio but I can’t find it anywhere

BK: Did you check their website?

TT: Well no, I thought I’d first check Google

BK: I’d do that only if his company’s website doesn’t already have it

TT: Well but look here, how strange, if you search his name in Google it seems that he went to Yale and then he went to and ad agency? look look here

BK: Yes I see, but I insist…

TT: Well you do this Google search, you may have to piece his story together. Oh and he’ll be here in 5 minutes and I’d need his bio before then

BK: Why would I…Forget it. Yes, I’ll do the search

1 minute later

BK: Here’s the bio. I also attached it to his V-card so you always have access to it (and also can choke on it often)

TT: Oh, how did you get it so fast?

BK: I went to his company’s website…

TT: But I thought I told you…

BK: Which I found through Google, wouldn’t you know? (idiot from hell)

TT: Excellent!

Twat, 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back

Of all the things I have to do at my job, the one I hate the most is Instant Messaging.

I hate how Incubus sends me an email to turn my IM on when he is in the office two steps away from me.

I despise how Incubus sends me obscure questions and expects instant answers.

I hate how IM forces an immediate decision and response.

I hate how IM takes up so much time.

I hate how if you don’t respond to instant messages, people keep asking you the same stupid questions over and over again.

Case in point:

Ping!

Incubus: Don’t kill me. Lost wallet. Need you to cancel credit cards and get replacements. i did some already

Beatrix Kiddo: (God almighty. Yearly ritual #75) OK. Which ones did you cancel already?

Ping!

I: the what?

BK: (Here we go) The cards you lost some of which you just said you canceled. Tell me which ones so I don’t have to call them again

Ping!

I: what fo

BK: (I hope you know it takes a lot, A LOT, of restraint not to gauge his eyes out with a plastic fork) So I can get on with the business at hand

Ping!

I: which is?

BK: Never mind (I pledge to poison your Perrier water just as soon as I figure out which untraceable venom induces a slow and excruciating death by tying your intestines into knots, jackass)

I found this gem in craigslist and had to share.

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To the guy doing my wife:

You know who you are. Yes I know. No I am not angry, I would just ask a few things of you. After all you are giving it to my wife.

1. Please stop leaving the seat up, I keep getting blamed and it is starting to get old.

2. You may be giving me a chance to go fishing more often but please stop drinking all my beer. It is fine if you have a couple while you visit(god knows I drink plenty before I find her attractive), but please leave me a few as I have to be there longer than you.

3. If you do drink the last one buy more or leave money on the counter I will pick some up.

4. Please replace the toilet paper when you use it all. For some reason my 5 year old son belives if its not there he does not have to wipe. We keep it under the sink, unless you can recomend a better spot?

5. After doing my wife please use something disposable to wipe off with. The basket of clothes on the right is mine and the clothes are clean as my wife does not do my washing, Irun out of time rushing to work. Last week my sweatshirt was crusty. Thanks.

6. Please do not tell my children that you are their uncle, they are young not mentaly challenged.

7. Please stop turning the heat up, You pay nothing and PG&E is putting it in my ass, my wife may like it but I think it hurts.

8. Stop eating the baked goods. The brownies you ate were from my mom for my birthday. My wife has not cooked anything that good for years and if she does she will not share.

9.Try shifting your weight when you sit on my chair. The recliner that I rarely have time for (soccer games and practice, basketball camp for the kids takes much of my time and I try to help with school work too) has a groove in it that forces me to roll to the left.

10. Lastly, I would like thank you for taking her to lunch on Valentine’s Day. She was not as hungry as usual and only orded one meal. I may be able to use the money I saved to take the children to a movie.

 I hope you can help me with these items, it may become ackward if I have to confront her. If you can do this for me I will give you a heads up on when I will be gone and for how long so that you don’t feel rushed.

P.S. I am going to take the kids to Tahoe on the 3rd of April for four days, I have a bottle of vodka above the fridge if you find yourself low on beer.

Actually, I just found out that sometimes it matters a lot.

JAP: Beatrix, call the orthopedical shop and ask him if he received my custom knee brace

Off I go into my soon to be proven continuance of JAP’s eternal quest to chip away at my allotted existential time in this planet.

Beatrix Kiddo: Hi, could you please tell me the status of the knee brace for JAP

Dumfounded Assistant on the phone: Let me look…………………………………………(10 minutes later). I’m sorry for the wait but it’s not here. And judging from our records we’re still waiting to get his prescription to be be able to build the brace

Makes sense, first you get the scrip, then you get the product that’s based on it. Let’s give JAP the benefit of the doubt:

BK: JAP, they told me that they don’t have your prescription. Ergo, no custom brace. Let me know the date of your visit so I can ask the doctor to forward the prescription to the shop

JAP: Sure, it’s next Tuesday

BK: (Deadpan) As in the future?

JAP: Yeah, it’s next week!

BK: (This cannot be, nobody is that stupid, nobody). Ok. What’s this appointment for?

JAP: So he can measure me for a custom knee brace and give me a prescription. Duh!

BK: (Thousand mile stare)

 Do you see? Commutative property my ass.

A while ago I was entrusted with the task of buying a special tea for his Royal Highness. His uppity ass heard somewhere about this very exclusive tea that only the greatest connoiseurs of tea would drink. And so I bought two bags of Lapsang Cheusong for him.

It is described as a top quality black tea sub-variety with the heady aroma of an oak fire.

And by ‘oak fire aroma’ I mean it tastes like ass. Never before have I tasted a more vile concoction. How can I describe the flavor? Ah yes. Imagine you take the coals and ashes from the barbecue, where you previously cooked moose buttholes and Scottish haggis, and you put them in boiling water. Now drink the water. Excuse me while I visit the vomitorium.

For those of you who say this is an ‘acquired taste’ I say single malts are an acquired taste, green tea ice cream is an acquired taste…Drinking Lapsang Cheusong is a terrorist attack on your tastebuds.

I’ve thought long and hard about how I can possibly rid myself of this without going against everything I’ve ever been taught and just throwing it away. I have hosted office tea parties whereas I have invited all the psychos in my building (and the one across) to taste this witches’ brew in the hope someone will take it away. But alas no takers…despite the scones and the cookies. Leeches.

So I had to put on my recycling thinking cap and think of fun ways to re-use this piece of shit useless bag of leaves:

*Post an ad on Craigslist. This can be the bag of tea that circulates throughout Silicon Valley

*Give it to one of my EA friends at another crappy VC firm where she will unsuspectedly (and this will take some effort as this thing smells) put it in her boss’ cup of coffee. He then will go home with an ulcer and she will appreciate the down time

*Re-gift it to someone I hate for Christmas

*Turn it into compost 

*Use it as confetti at the next wedding I attend

*Use it as barbecue potpourri 

*Throw it at yuppies, like JAP, who don’t thank you for holding open doors or complimenting their $2,000 pedigree dogs

*Make San Francisco’s Villancourt Fountain a tea fountain

*Sell it to my teenage neighbor as weed (at least I’ll make the money back)

*Use it cover the stench of vomit (like at the mall’s bathroom for example)

*End all wars and conflicts in the world by spraying tea from helicopters onto pesky guerrillas

Completely unrelated:

Beatrix Kiddo:  Let me have a tall skinny mocha with no whipped cream, half the mocha, hold the foam, 72º Celcius (for JAP of course) and three shots of espresso (for me of course).

Teen in Training: Certainly. Can I get your name?

BK: It is Beatrix

TIT: (Puzzled look, pen and cup suspended in mid air) I’m sorry do you have an easier name?

BK: (Deadpan look) Err, not really, it didn’t occur to my mom to give me another one…Pssshhhhh, the nerve. Just write ‘B’

TIT: (Head cocked, furrowed brow - Oh oh I think she may short-circuit any moment now)

BK: How about Susan?

TIT: (Back from the dead) Yay, that’s easy!

And then I get my coffee cup and this is what it says:

Suisen

I’m tired of pratting on about the idiotic education system so now I’m just going to blame Starbucks instead. More efficient.

Rosemary’s Baby Momma: Hiiii Beatriffff (10am and already drunk), JAP wants me to organize the holiday dinner

Beatrix Kiddo: Great (fucking great, last year we got to eat at her husband’s hunting club, basically the creepiest place in the Bay Area, complete with velvet curtains, animal heads, and old geezers in camouflage pants talking about their rifles)

RBM: So this year I think we should keep it at the hunting club because we like had so much fun last year, didn’t we? (quick question: if she is here, who’s running hell?)

BK: Oh, yay…loads of fun last year (especially when half of us got sick from eating the mystery meat appetizer)

RBM: OK, so I’ll have everyone pick from 3 entrees (awesome, mommy please I can’t make up my mind… I’m going to go out on a limb and say steak, chicken, and fish). So I’ll need you to create place cards with everyone’s names and entree choices

BK: Sure (of course, can never manage to pull the whole thing out on your own, can you bitch?). What will be the choices?

RBM: Steak, chicken and fish (You don’t say?! Sometimes I scare myself…)

BK: No worries, I’ll take care of doing the place cards

RBM: Now I need you to give me the codes you’ll use for each

BK: (Uh, codes?) Sure…the codes are: Steak, Chicken, and Fish

RBM: Hang on, let me write those down

There’s nothing else for me to do but to carry her Bimbo Majesty onto the stage on a giant gold, bejeweled throne as handmaidens fan her with palm branches, six African eunuchs dance around throwing rose petals in the air and ten orphans head the procession while burning myrrh and incense. Then an old man in a long flowing robe and sandals would read from a scroll, telling tales of her Rosemary’s majestic power and wisdom. And Kevin Bacon himself would then hand her the Oscar to Most Stupidistic Bimbastic wife in the history of VC.

First off, I know, I know, I haven’t been writing lately…like in the last quarter. Life happened, ok? Everything sorta came at the same time and I was overwhelmed there for a while. Boo hoo.

I don’t know how but I managed to get a solid 4.0 GPA this semester at school. Actually, I know how, by completely slacking at work and mismanaging their Internet resources and time for the benefit of moi. I’m taking selfishness tips from my husband. Wot up! Also, I’m fabulous…it’s in my genes.

At work we have a new EA. Hey hey hey. This is how I managed to get the aforementioned A’s at school. Because really, it is not thanks to Incubus, I tell ya. Speaking of Incubus, who shall be also known henceforth as JAP, he’s as lost as ever…what with the recent addition of the brillo-haired spawn.

Jewish American Princess (JAP): Beatrix, are these drinking glasses clean?

Beatrix Kiddo: Which glasses?

JAP: The ones on the dish rack (hhhhmmmmm, a job for Sherlock Holmes)

Beatrix Kiddo: Those are dirty, the ones that are clean are the ones in the sink (jackass)

JAP: (Shit eating grin)

Aaaahhhhh, I love this job!

Is there a heinous act left on earth that everyone can agree upon it being wrong?

Case in point: ASSHOLE Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick, who pleaded guilty in a federal case two weeks ago for his role in the fighting and execution of eight dogs (that are known). Of course, the dogs were all pit bulls. Naturally, they were kept in appalling conditions. 

Mind you, at the beginning, he steadfastedly hung on to the raft of denial and said he didn’t have any part in the dogfighting (and accompanying gambling) that ocurred at his property.

Then his lawyers brought him back to reality on the grounds that usually when the feds indict you with something is because a) they’ve been quietly building a huge case against you for years, and b) part of that case includes several witness who will sink testify against you.

To make a long story short, yes it was his property, yes he knew about it, yes he provided the funds to keep the whole enterprise going, and yes he killed dogs with his own hands. Some of the deaths were done by hanging, wetting and electrocuting, and others. Charming. Bigger.

However, and hang on to your chair for this one, he maintained that he didn’t gamble. Uh…I guess I’m not smart enough to know the difference between providing money to go gamble and gambling. 

But that’s not all. As it is customary in America, everything has to become a racial issue. I swear, one of these days, I’m going to paint myself black and use it as an excuse for everytime I fuck something up. Couldn’t get a job? They didn’t like me cause I’m black. Was driving like an asshole and crashed? Honda doesn’t make a car that takes into account the biology of being black. The hamburger and fries didn’t settle with my stomach? Well of course, the whites put shit in them to make us blacks vomit. I put the baby in the microwave? My mamma did it too. I didn’t know it was illegal.  I have a pit bull chained to my front yard? I’m black.

Anyway, if a black dude hacks two white people to pieces, leaves a trail of blood to his car, but has a glove that shrunk from being soaked in the blood for too long, guess what?, he’s innocent. Even when he publishes a book called “If I Did It,” where *hypothetically* he theorizes how the murders went down if he *really* had done it, he’s cool mate.

So now, a dude has admitted to being an animal abuser, torturer and killer…but he’s black. So it’s peaches. A majority of black celebutards have come out to his defense by posing these asinine arguments:

I used to see dogs fighting in the neighborhood all the time. I didn’t know that was Fed time. So, Mike probably just didn’t read his handbook on what not to do as a black star. I think in this situation, he really didn’t know the extent of it, so I always give him the benefit of the doubt. (Jamie Foxx)

A-ha! Now that makes more sense. As it turns out the real victim here is Michael Vick.  Because he didn’t even know executing dogs was bad. That’s why he held the fights on his front lawn in broad daylight. Oh, wait, no, he didn’t. He held the fights at night, in barns in the woods painted pitch black with no windows or outdoor lights. Nothing suspicious about that. I guess the spiel that judges give about “ignorance of the law is no excuse” only applies to non-blacks. 

He’s from the South, from the Deep South … This is part of his cultural upbringing. For a lot of people, dogs are sport, instead of just saying Vick is a beast and he’s a monster, this is a kid who comes from a culture where this is not questioned. (Whoopi Goldberg)

Y’all might wanna rethink “well they’ve done it in the deep south for years so it’s roses” position.  Other *cultural* things they used to do (and still do) in the deep south were:

• hangings
• slavery
• drowning black babies
• conduct unethical medical experiments (Tuskegee anyone?)
• racial segregation
• miscegenation
• denial voting rights
• unequal education
• racial profiling 
• systematic discrimination

What are your feelings on that, toots?  Is all that cool too?  I mean that is all part of the *cultural* upbringing of many people in the deep south. Suck on that bitches.

Michael Vick is a waste of DNA. Fuck him.