Head/Desk

You remember that one time when you were a kid and you were a little distracted and maybe kind of sleepy and you called the teacher mommy? And then you were so embarrased that if there had been a big boiling vat of lava you would have thrown yourself into in so that you wouldn't have to live with the shame anymore?

Well that's nothing compared to telling your boss that you love him at the end of a phone call.

Ouiser, Once again

If you have a question, a comment, or a complaint and it necessitates that you telephone me, for the love of God, do it your damn self. Do not hand the phone to your girlfriend, wife, mother, random drunken hobo and then, from the back ground ask them to ask me things while they then relay my answers. It is fucking annoying, takes twice as long and inevitably means that something will be lost in the translation since chances are your minion has no idea what the hell we're talking about.

Further more, it's lazy and rude. Men. Oh yes, it's always men. Seriously, what is so hard about picking up a phone, pushing a few numbers and then asking me your damn self? You're NOT THAT IMPORTANT and since you're right fucking there asking the questions you're also clearly NOT THAT BUSY. You're lazy and selfish and you need your ass kicked.

Potty Time? Excellent!

Dear Boys In My Office,

Hi! It's me, Thystle. You know, the only one with the boobs? Right, that one.

There's a little matter that's been bugging me and I think it's time that we had a little chat. You see, there are differences between boys and girls. Lots of them. Chiefly about the underpants area. That little difference, oh yes, I said LITTLE, means that you are meant to use the restroom labeled "Main Drain"

and I am to use the one that says "Ladies".

Now, it's fair, I suppose, to argue that my liberal use of the word Fuck should preclude me from being considered a lady. But no matter how valid your argument against my being a lady I still have a hoo-ha and that means I sit to pee and you waggle your ding-dong around like a fire house and spray pee in places that it should never be. Like the floor

and the wall. Seriously. The wall? WTF? What the hell were you doing? Did you learn nothing from Ghost Busters? Never cross streams! Are you having some kind of peeing Olympics where you must do the hundred yard spray or maybe the long tinkle? What exactly is it about being at work that makes you forget everything your momma taught you about aiming at the bowl?

This didn't use to be an issue as many moons ago when the economy was sound we had someone to clean up these messes. You could write your name in the tile, piss in the sink, wipe your boogers on the counter, it mattered not to me. However, these days, I clean my own bathroom and no one cleans yours.

Why? Because I'm not your damn wife that's why. And if I was your wife, you sure as hell would learn to light a mother fucking match when you drop something that smells like goat afterbirth. What the fuck are you eating anyway? Sheep balls? Dung? What? Never mind, don't answer that. We've got more important things to discuss.

I'll take into consideration that you're all gentle refined souls



I understand why a gross men's room might drive you to desperation. This desperation is known as "taking a poo in the flowery confines of the ladies room".




This is, on the whole, acceptable. After all, I'm a liberal kind of girl. I share. I let you borrow pens, postage stamps, lunch money and even socks. I'm a team player like that. Sometimes. As such, I'm willing to allow you to use my bathroom. Provided you follow these helpful guidelines. I've made them pictures, so that you can't claim you don't understand my high-falutin words like "flushthemuthafuckincan" and "orimabeatyoassifyouleavetherollempty"









Pretty simple, right? I've even gone one step further and made suggestions to management regarding improving your bathroom so that it's more attractive to you! So that you'll WANT to be in there when you pee



or poop



Nice, right? See I do have your comfort at heart.

However, money is a bit tight and we might have to make do with what we've got for a bit longer. So, just a word to the wise, if I have to wonder what that liquid on the floor is one more time, I'm going to start making the coffee with toilet water. Just saying.

Professionally yours,

Thystle