Based on the online/canine aging scale (one dog year = one youtube day) this video is pretty much on its last legs, but I love it just the same. Consider this post a mercy shot of euthanasia. (And thanks to Maximilian, Jen, Chris, Willa, Nattie, Cat and Dave for passing along!)
This series comes to us from an anonymous office worker in Sydney, Australia, who explains: “Despite our multi-million dollar profits, some people in our office are really attached to our company’s bottom line.”
Writes Jaina in Westport, Conn.: “I dated this asshole last fall, and dumped him because I found out that he was using his Livejournal to try to bang girls on the side. I, of course, still spy on him.” Or at least, she did…until her ip address gave her up.
Adds Jaina: “Please note that the entry was posted at 11:45 p.m. on a Friday. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about the state of his love life.”
Meanwhile, when a passive-aggressive blog posting starts to seem like a relatively direct method of communication, you know things aren’t going to end well.
Nicky in Elwood, Indiana (a diehard fan of the Indianapolis Colts) put this sign on her office door last week only to find it defaced by a phantom Pats fan each night after she left. Needless to say, Nicky’s feeling quite vindicated today on behalf of both brothers Manning.
“The tiny Sioux City, Iowa airport had a jaw-droppingly comprehensive intro to what one could or could not take on board a plane,” reports Timoni from San Francisco, including actual sample-sized bottles of toiletries taped up, show-and-tell style. “The corker, though, was this vehement note near the end (which, yes, had a plastic QUART-SIZE BAG!!!!!!!!! taped underneath).”
Ashley in Chicago says her roommates are the king and queen of passive-aggressive notes. (“If they ever found this site, they’d think it was a self help group,” she says.) The latest example:
Ashley’s still fuming over this one. “I mean, come on. Just throw it away yourself! You’re probably exerting more energy writing the email and stressing about it,” she says. “And why do you think I’ve been spending so much time at my boyfriend’s anyway?”
This fridge saga (from a Boston-area university lab building) comes to us with a confession on the part of the anonymous submitter: she started it, sort of.
It all began when she discovered that her salad dressing had been mysteriously disposed of. Sad that she had to eat dry lettuce for lunch, she left a note (1) for the black hand responsible “in the least bitchy way I knew how.” She didn’t realize that her soundoff was actually a declaration of war.
Adds our submitter: “Needless to say, I think we have all been spending a little too much time in the lab.”