loree: (Default)
Dear Apple,

Just because I have iTunes and QuickTime, it does not mean I want any of the rest of your software products. Seriously. If I want Safari, I will download Safari. Quit telling me I need to download Safari, because I don't. And I didn't need it the last time you told me I needed it, either.

I'm running a PC, in case you hadn't noticed, and I have enough issues with browser compatibility under Firefox already. I don't need another marginally-supported non-standard browser to add to my daily frustrations. The intarwebs are stupid enough without your assistance.

Don't make me sit you in the corner,
[livejournal.com profile] loree
loree: (monkey BLAM)
Dear Fucktards,

If you park in a handicapped parking space without the appropriate state-issued placard, I will have your car towed. I don't give a holy blue fuck who you are, or how expensive your vehicle is. If you can't be bothered to notice at least one of the THREE signs per space, perhaps your visual impairment is an indication that you should not be operating a motor vehicle. The Seattle Metro area offers a wide variety of public transportation opportunities.

2 disabled siblings + 2 wheelchairs = I don't give warnings about this shit,
[livejournal.com profile] loree
loree: (dragon)
To Whom It May Concern:

I would like to offer up a hale-and-hearty fuck-off-and-DIE to you smug, self-important fitness fascists who see fatness as a character flaw.

Take a reduced-calorie fuck off the end of my dick,
loree: (d is for "don't make me tell you again")
Dear Sancho,

You are a carnivore. Somewhere in your hindbrain lies the programming of a predator. You like to chase fast-moving objects. You like chewing on fuzzy things that squeak. You like meat. So why, oh why, don't you chase and kill the fast-moving, fuzzy, squeaking things that chew holes in the drywall and EAT THE DISHWASHER!?

You flunked Dog School,


Dear Orkin,

Putting aside the incident where you broke my washing machine, when I pay multiple thousands of dollars for pest removal, treatment, and replacement of damaged/tainted materials, I expect more results than one rodent caught in six months.

Furthermore, the problem exists inside the house. You can't get into the house without the security code, or someone to let you in. So, when I specify "Call the day before visit to get security code," and the scheduling department prints it at the top of the invoice, and you have to fill out that invoice by hand when you show up, maybe that should be a clue that you're supposed to, oh, I don't know, CALL THE DAY BEFORE THE VISIT TO GET THE SECURITY CODE!?

And furthermore, when I have to call to have you come back out, and at that time I say to you, "The traps you set aren't working. Bring better ones," I do not, in fact, mean "Wait to order traps until the day you actually show up, knowing full well it will take at least a week before they arrive, thereby rendering your visit absolutely useless." These new fucking traps better fucking work.

This is your last goddamn chance,
One Angry Customer


Dear Rats,

Get the fuck out. Seriously. Chewing on the dishwasher was the final fucking straw. If the new traps don't work, glue traps and poison come next.

I'm not fucking kidding,
Rodenticidal Bitch
loree: (Default)
It seems I have some sort of talent for scathing letters to people who deserve them. In the past, my vitriolic venting has been reserved for my own entertainment, but for a limited time I am offering my services to you, my friends, for the low low price of... er... nothing.

Want my patented poison-pen perspective on the things that annoy you most? Comment here with the circumstances and I'll do my best.
loree: (Default)
Attention plus-size clothing retailers:

Perhaps you weren't listening last time. Please permit me to make a few things clear.

1) Just because I am fat does not mean I am devoid of fashion sense. Please learn some moderation in your use of embroidery, wide horizontal stripes, sequins, glitter, plastic jewels, gold paint, beads, polyester, and American flag decals.

2) Fat women have fat hips. Stop making shirts and blouses that stop at the hipbones, thereby calling attention to the widest part of my torso. I don't enjoy looking like my ass requires its own postal code.

3) Sherbet orange, sunshine yellow, chartreuse, and magenta may be the colors of the season, but that doesn't mean they should be the only colors available.

4) At the risk of seeming homophobic, ageist, or culturally insensitive, I want clothes that I can wear to work. This entails options that allow me to dress in a style befitting neither the Mother-of-the-Bride nor a Puerto Rican drag queen.

5) Large floral patterns do not distract the eye. They make me look less like a women and more like a couch.

For the love of Jebus,

P.S. - You suck.
loree: (Default)
Dear Barista Fashionista,

If I want fat-free cream cheese for my bagel, I will ask for it.

Loree (and her big, fat, comfortable ass)
loree: (penguin)
Dear Quiznos Subs,

Your current ad campaign with the demonic singing guinea pigs is the most terrifying thing I've seen on television in a long, long time. It makes us curl up on the living room floor, whimpering.

Please, make the hurting stop.

Loree Mylastname
loree: (Default)
Dear Loree,

You are dumb.

Drinking three glasses of Diet Pepsi Vanilla at 9pm is an exceptionally stupid idea, considering how you have next-to-no resistance to caffeine.

It is now 04:30, and you now have to self-medicate to have any hope of sleep.

You are dumb.

loree: (dragon)
girl stuff - probably tmi )
loree: (dragon)
Confidential to the minivan-driving "gentleman" I encountered on my drive home this evening:

When I am on the freeway and proceeding at 45 mph with my hazard lights blinking, it isn't a personal affront to your Exxon-given right to unnecessary acceleration. It's midnight, I'm 30 miles from home, and I'm driving on a donut spare.

Therefore, I must politely decline your offers of tailgating, headlight flashing, and honking to increase my rate of velocity. Perhaps you should see a doctor, as such advanced cases of craniorectitis can be fatal.


P.S. - Suck my dick.
loree: (dragon)
I went to war with Dell's tech support department Monday night.

I know it's a bad sign when [livejournal.com profile] datavore turns off the television to watch, claiming the Customer Service Avenger was more entertaining than anything in the Tivo.


1) Do not be condescending because I have tits and bought retail. I've worked in support longer than I've been able to buy beer. I know more than you do.

2) Do not tell me my operating system is not supported because it is unmodified and not an OEM install. That is seventeen different flavors of bullshit, none of which tastes like chocolate.

3) Do not sell a top-of-the-line system that you do not intend to make compatible with the next operating system.

4) Do not refuse to support the OEM hardware you put in this machine. That is not what my warranty says. If the manufacturer of the card makes an XP driver for it, you damn well better do the same.

5) Do not make me demand to talk to a supervisor five times. It makes the Avenger want to reach through the phone and feed your own liver to you.

6) Do NOT tell me to go back to Windows ME. See above, Re: your liver.

Eventually, I got to a supervisor who was able to give me some suggestions that, while unsupported, at least had the possibility of giving me a functional soundcard. The Turtle Beach Santa Cruz driver for XP works just fine on the OEM version of their card.

In conclusion, tech support is a land of contrasts.


loree: (Default)

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