Any port in a (shit)storm.

Dear customers -

 I am still amazed by how many people seem to have problems using the bathroom like civilized human beings.  Yes, we run out of toilet paper from time to time.  Half the time, that's because some clown dick stole it.  We've been over this.  The logical thing to do in this situation would be to come to us and ask for more toilet paper.  We'll be more than happy to get it for you.  

Of course, some of you can't bring yourselves to talk to us about such delicate matters, because God forbid anyone know that you poop just like the rest of us.  You just drank four cups of coffee.  We all know that you poop.  Well, do you see that cabinet over the toilet?  Yeah.  That's where the toilet paper lives.

In any event, stop wiping your ass with the paper toilet seat covers.  If you insist on doing this, they are flushable.  They are designed for that.  We'd prefer not to find shitty toilet seat covers in the garbage, or even worse, scattered all over the fucking floor.  Really?  Seriously, do you do this at home, or does your mind devolve that much when forced to use a public restroom.  Cut that shit out.   I hope that toilet seat cover gives you a paper cut in a miserable place.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Porn Shop Sunday(Monday edition) - Yarn Boobs.

This was one of my porn shop regulars.  He requires his own post.

Dear Yarn Boobs -

Dude, seriously?  You're a train wreck.  If you want to cross dress, that's fine.  You're welcome to do this if you see fit.  But for fuck's sake, at least put a bit of effort into it.  How do I say this...remember how Mr. Garrison from South Park got a sex change?  Yeah, that's you.  The resemblance is uncanny.  You're a fucking cartoon character.

If you're going to go around wearing a bra stuffed with yarn, you might want to make sure the yarn is actually tucked into the bra.  You're not convincing anyway, but your cups runneth over...and not in that fun, sexy way.  It's just sad.  That, paired with the mini skirt and the stockings...I assume you're going for thigh highs.  Dude, those are surgical stockings.  Not the same thing.

And while we do appreciate your business, I could do without the comments.  We are all familiar with your affinity for grossly oversized butt plugs.  Don't ask me if I've ever used one, and don't inform me that you have one in right now.  I assume you're using one at the moment.  Otherwise, I don't know if you'd be here.  You might want to try shoving your head up your ass.  It's about the same size as that Anal Punisher that you're buying, and it's free.  I'm going to go ahead and say that it would be a perfect fit.

And please, for the love of all that's holy, after you come out of the booths, wash your hands before you start handling all the product.  I don't know where your hands of been...actually, that's not true.  I'm just in denial.

Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

Great moments in work history - The devil is in the details.

 Ah, my brief stint as a waitress.  There's three weeks of my life I'm never getting back.


And yes, I said "waitress".  I know the term now is "server", but I'd prefer to be known as a "waitress".  I don't care what anyone says - "server" sounds so much more demeaning.

Dear customers -

See the caption on the photo of the steamed vegetables in the menu?  See where it says "enlarged to show detail"?  Yeah.  It's enlarged to show detail.  I don't think cauliflower grows that large without genetic modification.  I don't think that would be something I'd care to eat, but that's just me.

  I don't know how many times I need to say this - you aren't entitled to free shit because you're fucking stupid.  You bitched to the manager enough that you got a second bowl of vegetables.  You don't get a free rack of ribs because you have no common sense.  Obviously, you are not a vegetarian, and you better not have any dietary issues if you're demanding free pork.  Why you're going to a fucking steakhouse for steamed vegetables is beyond me.

Signed,
Your disgruntled waitress.

Foaming at the mouth.

Dear customers -

Over the years, I've noticed quite a jump in the number of people with food allergies.  Gee whiz, I wonder how that happened.  I'm not even going to get started on that.  I'm just going to end up throwing things...again.

If you have a food allergy concern, feel free to let me know.  I'm not out to get you.  I'm willing to hold your hand and read you nutritional information so we can be sure there's nothing that's going to make your tummy sad.

However, you need to quit making shit up.  If you don't like foam on your latte, I will make it without foam.  It's a tremendous pain in the ass, and the milk never tastes as good if it isn't properly aerated, but I will make it without foam.  Don't tell me you're allergic to foam.  If you don't feel so hot after you consume your drink, maybe it has something to do with the eight shots of espresso and half gallon of milk you ingest on a daily basis.  Go home and take a nice dump.  I'm sure you'll feel better.

Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Get thee to McDonald's.

Dear customers -

I'm terribly sorry if the decaf coffee is too strong for your liking.  I didn't grow the beans.  I didn't roast the beans.  I didn't determine the coffee to water ratio used in brewing the coffee.  I just dumped it into the filter and hit "brew".


As I'm sure you may have noticed, this is a coffee shop, not a fast food joint.  We serve coffee here.  Real, honest-to-goodness coffee.  We do not carry Sanka.  We never have, and we never will.  Sanka is not coffee.  Thank you for asking.  I just died a little. 


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Porn Shop Sunday Part II - Bicycle built for two...not so much.

Since the dawn of time, mankind has been devising new and horrific ways to destroy one another.  This may be a new addition to that list.

The fact that a device like this exists is bad enough.  The fact that it's meant for not one, but two orifices...no.  We're not doing that.

Porn Shop Sunday - Personal hygiene is a very dangerous thing.

Dear customers -

So you were getting sexy in our lovely jerk off booths.  That's just swell, and not in the slightest bit surprising.  I'm sitting here now trying to think of where I can go with this.  Those booths hold so many stories...and DNA samples.

I do appreciate the fact that, after a busy afternoon of anonymous hookups with married dudes, you might want to freshen up a bit.  I'm sure that, if I had a penis, I'd want it to be all bright and shiny before I snuggle it into some random guy's clownhole.  For washing your genitals, we all thank you, even if you are doing it in our bathroom sink.

As with washing any other body part, however, you may want to check the water temperature first.  I'm going to go ahead and say you may want to use something other than your dick for this purpose.  Getting scalded is never fun, especially in such a sensitive area.

And if you do happen to do this...no, we don't want to see your injuries.  Trust me.  We really don't.

Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

P.S. - If you were so inclined, this could make for on hell of a hilarious lawsuit.

"Go fuck yourself" is not on their list.

I'll be posting more soon.  It's been a rough couple of weeks.  Anyway, I just came across this article, and it suits this blog.  Enjoy!

13 Things Your Barista Won't Tell You

Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Dumbass, Dumbass, Dumbass!

Dear customers -

If you want room for milk in your coffee, please let me know.  If there's something(legitimately) wrong with your beverage, bring it back to me, and I'll make you a new one.  I'm not sure exactly what plane of reality you happen to live on, but by no means is pouring scalding hot coffee into a plastic garbage bag a good idea.  You probably didn't think this far ahead, but if you fill the garbage bag with liquids, particularly hot ones, it's going to leak.  Then, I get to clean out the garbage can.  Again.  I wasn't annoyed enough by the nimrod disposing of their trash when there's no bag in the can.  

In addition to this, I'm more than likely going to end up covered in coffee and sour milk when I take out the garbage.  You just made my day so much better.  I hope you've got the Mercedes parked(probably parked like an asshole) next to the dumpster.  There's a good sporting chance that bag is going to blow out while I'm attempting to hammer throw it into the dumpster - which is necessary, considering it's bloated with all the beverages that were discarded throughout the course of the morning, and probably weighs almost as much as I do.  When this happens, your car is going to be covered in skanky garbage water.  Don't come bitching to me.  You're the one that threw the hot coffee into the plastic garbage bag.  You bought it on yourself.  Now you know how I feel at the end of the day.  Of course, the coffee washes off.  The shame...not so much.

Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

You're nobody till somebody loves you...or you actually buy shit.

Dear customers - 

Actually no, not really.


You know who you are.  Every day you come in, and ask for a cup of hot water.  You bring in your own teabag, then prepare your tea and sit in the cafe for an hour.  More often than not, you are reading a newspaper someone left behind, or better yet, one you swiped off the paper rack.  In all this time, I don't think you've ever purchased anything.

Or maybe you're the lovely person who comes in and asks for an empty cup - and nothing else.  You then proceed to fill it with half and half, chug it, grab a handful of sugar packets, and take off.  No, you're not at all obvious about it, either.

Really, people?  Really?  Is your life that pathetic that you can't afford to boil your own water or buy your own paper?  No surprise, you pulled up in a fucking Lexus.  We've been over this.


And seriously, knock it off with the toilet paper already.  You need to wipe your ass?  Try using that newspaper you just stole.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Porn Shop Sunday - Don't be a dick.

 Sorry it's been a bit since my last post - life does tend to get in the way sometimes.  Life and Cuervo.  Anyway, it's time once again for Porn Shop Sunday -

Dear customers -

 I am well aware that human sexuality is at the heart of this business.  That, and well, finding things to cram into your orifice of choice.  I do take an interest in my job, and I do have an interest in sex.  I'm not trying to deny that.

This does not, however, mean that I have any desire whatsoever to see your penis.  I am surrounded by dicks all fucking day.  Quite frankly, I'm a little tired of looking at them.  Most, if not all, of the dicks I see on a daily basis are far more impressive than yours.


By the way, did it occur to you that, although this is an adult bookstore, you're still out in public exposing yourself to a complete stranger.  I could call the cops, but I won't, because you're such a sad little man.  So please, do us both a favor and keep it in your pants.  There's plenty of things for me to laugh at around here without having to deal with your tiny penis.  

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish covering up the naughty bits on the DVD covers with price tags.  Why?  Because it amuses me.


Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

You say "tomato", and I say "fuck you".

Dear customers -

 There is absolutely no difference between "nonfat" milk and "skim" milk.  No fucking difference whatsoever.  I don't know what you call it at home.  I don't care.  As long as I can figure out what the fuck you're asking me for, we're good.  I am not going to make your drink again because you're clueless.  


While we're at it, I don't care what color the cap on your milk at home is.  It says "nonfat milk" on the jug.  Last I checked, that means it's nonfat milk.  Or skim milk.  Whichever you prefer, because they're the same fucking thing.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Porn Shop Sunday - Cock pumps!

Dear customer -

Seriously, these returns are getting worse and worse.  It's one thing when they're just fucking stupid.  It's another when I require gloves to handle them.

This is the third cock pump you have returned in the past two weeks.  This is the third cock pump you have broken in the past two weeks.  I'm fairly confident that this isn't a testament to your virility.  Otherwise, you'd have a place to stick your dick other than inside a plastic tube.  Sir, I believe there is something wrong with your penis.  Perhaps you went a little too far, and wound up with an end product resembling a hot dog that exploded in the microwave.  I'm not sure what your problem is.

No, I'm not going to accept a return on this product.  You returned it saturated in K-Y Jelly, and who know what other fluids.  You don't have your receipt.  You don't even have the original packaging - your cock pump is in a fucking plastic grocery bag.  In addition to it being the third one you've tried to return, no, we're not doing that.

I love the fact that you threatened to write a letter to the local paper about this business, and not allowing you to return the product.  I hope you know that, if you do, we will write a rebuttal, informing them just what you were returning, the condition in which it was being returned, and the fact that this is the third cock pump you have broken.  I work in an adult bookstore.  I have no shame.  You're trying to maintain the image of a respectable citizen.  I'm not afraid to fight dirty.  Let's see who wins.

 Next time you need a hole to insert your penis into, try an electrical socket.

Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

One day(and cup) at a time.

Dear customers -

I appreciate that you are visiting our establishment to purchase your coffee beans.  However, is it really fucking necessary to buy a quarter pound at a time?  A quarter of a pound.  How far is that going to get you?  Obviously, not very, considering that we see you two or three times a week.

You know, there are ways to store that coffee so that it stays fresh.  On top of that, it's going to be less expensive in the long run if you buy the full pound.  It's also going to save you a couple of trips a week, and it's less time that we have to screw around with your quarter pound of coffee while there's 15 people on line behind you.  But, if you insist, you're more than welcome to buy a quarter pound at a time.  Good job, dumbass.  See you in two days.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Boobs. They make dudes stupid.

Dear customers -

Yes, the girl at the cash register is gorgeous.  I'm not going to argue with you on that one.  And yes, it can get a little chilly in here.  When one spends their day behind an espresso machine, it gets pretty warm.  If you're planning on making thinly veiled sexual comments to your barista - i.e., "Well, it looks like somebody's cold!" - you may want to make sure that the customer on line behind you isn't her father.  Yeah.  I'm pretty sure that fathers don't like that sort of thing very much.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to round up the garbage.  That way, I can justify taking out the trash, and hopefully watch you getting your ass kicked in the parking lot by an angry barista dad.

Signed,
Your disgruntled(yet thoroughly amused) barista. 

Great moments in work history - Crackers in bed.

I seem to be working on my whole damn resume here.

This one goes back to my days of living in the flaccid penis of America - Florida.  I was there for a short stint, and in this time, I worked in a tattoo parlour.  Florida seemed to have an abundance of morons...and drunks on bicycles.

I think I want to call this particular customer "Chuckie".  The reason will be abundantly clear soon.

Dear Chuckie -

  Sometimes, people regret tattoos some time after the fact.  You get a tattoo of the name of your significant other.  You break up.  You're young and stupid, and you get something that reflects that.  I see it all the time.

Sometimes, though, even I have to ask, "What the fuck, dude?"

You work with a bunch of black guys.  Okay.  They keep calling you a "cracker".  Considering the fact that you look like Jim Henson's visualization of Charles Manson, and that poor, dumb girl you're fondling looks like she might be your sister, I'm not surprised.  However, this isn't exactly something that I think one would want to advertise.

And yet, you have made a conscious - and inexplicably sober - decision to get a tattoo of the word "Cracker".  On your neck.  Good job, pal.  Now I'll be able to identify you when I see you on America's Most Wanted.

Signed,
the apprentice.

That's not a maternal glow. You're hopped up on espresso.

Dear customers -

I am all too aware of the influx of pregnant women that have been coming in as of late.  When the shopping center across the street has no less than three overpriced maternity clothing boutiques, a lactation clinic, and a restaurant that for some reason serves sushi and hamburgers, that's going to happen.


There's always new studies coming out regarding pregnant women and caffeine - some say to cut it out all together; others say that it's okay in moderation.  I've never been pregnant.  I have no desire to get pregnant.  This information is of little use to me.

However, if you are obviously pregnant, I'm more than likely going to ask if you would like your beverage decaffeinated.  I don't know for sure as to whether or not you can have caffeine, and I'd rather be safe than sorry.  Your response should be either "yes" or "no".  Rolling your eyes and informing me that your doctor says you can have caffeine - not an appropriate response.

And yes, maybe your doctor did tell you that caffeine is okay.  I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you weren't told that four shots of espresso every morning is they way to go.  I'm sure your child is going to grow up to be an annoying little fucker, and run around my store breaking shit while you yap on your cell phone.  I'm sure your caffeine intake isn't the only factor at work, but that quantity really can't be good for your unborn child.  Yeah, your ass is getting decaf.  You really need your coffee that badly?  Maybe that should have been a consideration before you got knocked up.  Hopefully, you were at least able to give up the booze.  Go have fun whining about your stretch marks.

Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.