Friday, April 24, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
I like sex, but not as much as I like ligers.
-said by my douche brother while having sex with his wife.
Windows Live™ Hotmail®:…more than just e-mail. Check it out.
-said by my douche brother while having sex with his wife.
Windows Live™ Hotmail®:…more than just e-mail. Check it out.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Douche Bag of the Week - Taxman
The Douching begins with tax season, which for all of you should be over, unless you’re like my douche brother-in-law who doesn’t even look at his taxes until they’re past due. Tax season for me is like a fresh wound waiting for salt to be poured in it.
First, I would presuppose that at this time of year when it’s time to do taxes that if your going to pay someone $300 to do your taxes, when your starting your own business, that you pick an agency that gives you feelings of warm fuzzies knowing that your taxes are safe in their hands.
You don’t necessarily want an agency that’s going to put off your taxes to the last minute. Or, who, when you call, tells you that their working on your taxes RIGHT NOW and you will be called in a couple of days. But then never call, and say that same thing the next four times you call. Or when they do get to your taxes, tell you they did them wrong and will have to re-do them. Then calls you on the day taxes are due, just before closing, to let you know that you need to come in and sign your taxes so they can file them before they’ll be penalized.
Warm fuzzies? Gone! Gone I tell you!
Well that’s where my story begins. When, the day after taxes are due, my husband and I drive fifteen miles to the building with said taxman, that told us we could come in that day to file our taxes.
Already in my mind, I am and going through various scenarios of how I can bitch these people out without getting flustered, fumbling over my words, or resorting to violence. My task would be difficult.
But I’m confident as my husband and I approach the building. My chest puffed up, and then a tug on the door….and it’s locked.
The curse words fly.
My husband keeps his cool and calls the agency on his cell phone while I throw my arms up in the air and stomp around loudly. And just when I think that the taxman is the douche bag of the story, it turns out to be, my husband. Who, when getting the answering machine of said taxman, begins to leave a sickly sweet, “hey we were told to be here today and no ones here, we’d really appreciate it if you could give us a call.”
By this time my jaws dropped to the pavement and I’m glaring at my husband who then quickly adds “and we had to drive quite a ways to get here.”
Wow Honey. You zinged him with that one!
All the time I’m resisting the urge to pry the cell phone out of my husbands hands and tell Mr. Taxman to stick a rocket in an unsightly place and light it….
Instead I just stomped around some more.
And now I hereby knight my dearest sweetie pie, not only my first Douche Bag, by also Douche Bag of the week.
First, I would presuppose that at this time of year when it’s time to do taxes that if your going to pay someone $300 to do your taxes, when your starting your own business, that you pick an agency that gives you feelings of warm fuzzies knowing that your taxes are safe in their hands.
You don’t necessarily want an agency that’s going to put off your taxes to the last minute. Or, who, when you call, tells you that their working on your taxes RIGHT NOW and you will be called in a couple of days. But then never call, and say that same thing the next four times you call. Or when they do get to your taxes, tell you they did them wrong and will have to re-do them. Then calls you on the day taxes are due, just before closing, to let you know that you need to come in and sign your taxes so they can file them before they’ll be penalized.
Warm fuzzies? Gone! Gone I tell you!
Well that’s where my story begins. When, the day after taxes are due, my husband and I drive fifteen miles to the building with said taxman, that told us we could come in that day to file our taxes.
Already in my mind, I am and going through various scenarios of how I can bitch these people out without getting flustered, fumbling over my words, or resorting to violence. My task would be difficult.
But I’m confident as my husband and I approach the building. My chest puffed up, and then a tug on the door….and it’s locked.
The curse words fly.
My husband keeps his cool and calls the agency on his cell phone while I throw my arms up in the air and stomp around loudly. And just when I think that the taxman is the douche bag of the story, it turns out to be, my husband. Who, when getting the answering machine of said taxman, begins to leave a sickly sweet, “hey we were told to be here today and no ones here, we’d really appreciate it if you could give us a call.”
By this time my jaws dropped to the pavement and I’m glaring at my husband who then quickly adds “and we had to drive quite a ways to get here.”
Wow Honey. You zinged him with that one!
All the time I’m resisting the urge to pry the cell phone out of my husbands hands and tell Mr. Taxman to stick a rocket in an unsightly place and light it….
Instead I just stomped around some more.
And now I hereby knight my dearest sweetie pie, not only my first Douche Bag, by also Douche Bag of the week.
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