Things I need to start calling people in conversation:
* Bitchcake
“Hey! Watch your tone, bitchcake.”
* Poptart
“Settle down, poptart, there’s enough for everyone.”
* Cockbite
“COCKBITE!!!”
Things I am currently calling people…
Dick Patrol

On being a manager at McDonalds
“The thing about being a manager at McDonald’s is that your employee could stab you and you’d be all ‘I know you just stabbed me…possibly in the liver…I’m bleeding black…I’m going to die in 30 minutes…could you possibly work tomorrow? I know it means you will miss your day off and it’s short notice but we need you. Please call 911.'”
Maybe you had to be there.

I found this in an old email this morning. I think I should take up a career writing eloquent if perplexing death threats to people
When your times comes, and it will, as it does for everyone, it will be sanguinely graceful and viscerally stunning. Universes will collide in imitation of your offal display.
I promise
Let me know if you’re looking to hire for something like this (just the death threat writing, I have to have a personal stake in the issue if I’m going to carry it out).

Dear Farmers Insurance
Please start sending me my bills in a timely manner and stop applying my payments to the wrong account
Dear Chase Manhattan and Wells Fargo
Please figure out this fucking car payment issue before I put both of you in a room and gas you. It’s not hard. Chase, you go to Wells Fargo and tell them how much money they should give you each month; Wells Fargo, you go ahead and give that money to Chase. Easy.
Dear Everyone
No, I haven’t lost weight. Stop asking. They only way possible that I could have lost weight recently is by having upwards of 8 fully formed tapeworms residing in my abdomen. Those tapeworms would have to be battling a rather large cancerous growth for nutrition. So what I’m saying is that every time you say, “have you lost weight” I think to myself “Holy shit, I must be infested with parasites and cancer and they must love ice cream and doritos a lot.”. Stop making me think I have cancer.
Dear Prednisone
I hate you.
Dear Mom,
I love you dearly but I need you to stop hinting about grandkids.
Dear Dad
I love you dearly but I need you to stop hinting about grandkids.
Dear Curt Schilling
If I have to see one more shot of your bloody ankle, hear one more time in graphic detail the process by which you are stitched together, or hear one more “he’s bringing truth to the name ‘Red Sox'” I’m gonna hunt you down and kill you. You are the old man version of Kerry Strug and that’s nothing to be proud about. Sure, you’re all pitching game after game with a horrifying injury and it must be awful for you. I don’t care. One time I had to drive 8 miles to work with an upset belly!! Yeah! 8 MILES with a belly that didn’t feel so good (maybe I do have parasites) and no one did close ups of my belly every 32 seconds to show the world what an extreme effort I was putting forth to get to work. Schilling, suck it up and be a man.
Dear Cheese Girl
I miss you.
Dear me,
Go home, lay on the couch, feed your tapeworms (Dilby and Squiggler). Get some rest, you’ve had a rough week.