Dear Rat that is in my House,

You and I both know that while you have been in my house, I have not liked you. I don’t think you like me much either. Even though you accidentally stumbled upon this plethora of food that is my kitchen, I still blame you for my lack of sleep this week.

And now, my parents are out of town and if you were to die, I would have to deal with you.

But I don’t want you to be alive in my house anymore. If you could just leave, that would be excellent. For you see, you would still get to be alive, and I would not be afraid to go to sleep anymore.

I hope you know I can currently see you as you scurry across the floor. So can my hunting dog, whom is sleeping on my bed tonight. Also, if you could stop nibbling holes in my cereal boxes, that would be great. It makes it hard to pour in the morning with 2 spouts.

Please decide soon. I have to get up at 6 tomorrow morning, and I’m tired.


No Cuts!

Dear Mr. Important,

Do you think you’re better than me? I, along with about 20 other cars, was stopped at a traffic light in the left lane, and you came in the empty right lane, (which was turn-only) and cut over at the last second into the left lane, thus cutting in front of all of us. Were you on the way to perform open-heart surgery? Were you on your way to talk down a jumper from the top of a skyscraper?

I bet not. I bet you’re just a douchebag on the way to some douchebag errand, like getting your faux-hawk styled or sneaking into a pilates
class to pick up chicks.

Watch it, or someone like me will run you off the road and ruin your douchebag day.



Call for Submissions

True story. When I first started Rantasaurus Rex, I wrote more rants than I wanted to. They weren’t funny and they weren’t good but people started showing up and reading.

I haven’t had to write a rant in five or six months and I really, reaaaaaally don’t wanna start. My rants are boring and lame and yours are funny and entertaining.

You know you’ve got it in you! Go to the Submitasaurus page and show me what you’ve got!

Time to Retire

Hey idiot,

What the hell, Mike? It’s not like you’re ever on time either, so shut your crap hole. Your son doesn’t do anything around here either (which is still better than you), so who fucking cares if he’s late? Really… shut… up. You probably have a gazillion price quotes to do, so get out of this room you lazy-ass old fart. Leave the support room… this is where the intelligent people sit.

It’s like the cool bench at school, except you’re so not cool that sitting anywhere on campus is too good for you. Get the hell out of here and do some work or just freaking retire you freaking moron. You really want to know why we’re losing clients? It’s because you’re a moron and you keep lying to them, making promises you can’t keep, insulting them, trying to explain things you can’t, failing to clearly explain things a 2 year old could, rambling on about how you want to change the world but can’t, making prejudice comments, offering them our services for free, and being so nice to the lead programmer here that he has never once felt inclined to listen to a single thing you’ve said.

About 10% of your ideas are good ones at best, but you don’t have the management skills to put their development into action – you own the damn company, for the love of potatoes, just tell your employees what you want them to do. Telling your son to pick up food from McDonald’s on the way because he’s already late is not managing your employees. It is, in fact, making your employee later. Why are you so incompetent?

Go away, and never come back. A vast vacuum of space could fill your seat more appropriately than you do. Frick off.


Shout Out to UPS

Lindy, a loyal FedEx customer 

I’d like to give a big ol’ shout out to UPS!

It starts with “FUCK” and ends with “YOU.” Wait, well I guess that would be the entire thing. FUCK YOU!! There, don’t I feel better.

This is the SECOND time in a row that I have used thier online package pick-up and deliver service (at work). And for the second time IN A ROW no truck has shown up.

I called this morning to see wtf and I followed my usual rule of being polite and cheerful because I know that it’s not the fault of the lady on the phone. I calmly and professionally explained that we were supposed to have a truck come yesterday, one never showed up and that I needed some assistance in getting one here.

The lady on the phone then proceeded to tell me that my package had already been picked up. Gee. Ummmmmm, well that’s funny because I’m LOOKING AT IT RIGHT NOW! But I know she was reading from a screen telling her so. So I politely informed her once again that no, I’m sorry it’s still here.

At this point this bitch (why yes, she is a bitch now, not a lady) proceeded to give me a lecture about being careful when we put multiple packages out on the dock because it can confuse the driver and they might take the wrong one – which she is sure happened yesterday.

What? WHAT THE FUCK??? I only had ONE FUCKING PACKAGE in the first place you SKANK! And if I DID have more than one package those fuckers JOB is to differentiate between package A and B. Gosh OH NO!!! What if there is a package C!!! What will we DO?!?! The sky will fall!!!

No! You dumb bitch. Those drivers do a damn good job, they can figure this shit out just fine thank-you, it’s your company’s STOOOPID fucking worthless website that fucks things up. Your website that didn’t forget to CHARGE us even though it was never going to send a truck.

So FUCK YOU and your panty-waste, whored-out, syphilitic website!

Rantasaurus Says: One time I tried to send a T-Rex egg UPS. It hatched in transit and now I’m blacklisted. So be thankful, Lindy. Thankful!

Dr. J.A.M. DDS

How many times will I have to endure the patient whining: “I hate the dentist! Oh, but not YOU! It’s not personal.” How about this: Then don’t say it. Think before you talk for once in your pathetic, soft, privileged life.

Yes, I know shots hurt. Yes, I know Dentistry is expensive. Funny that… floss is actually inexpensive and if you used it once a day you would not be in this sad, neglected, painful state. YES, I KNOW YOU HAVE UGLY TEETH. But come now. Isn’t vanity one of the seven sins? You don’t really NEED bleaching or veneers or braces. Most people wouldn”t mutilate themselves to be “beautiful” and frankly if you want to be “beautiful” maybe you should start with some larger parts of your body.

And how smart is it to say “I don’t like dentists” when I am about to work on you? Have you considered that I may now dislike you because you are a self-centered, thoughtless @#*? An instrument may slip or I may not be so gentle with that molar you never brushed or flossed…

Dentistry is all about neglect, vanity and trauma, which are all the patient’s responsibility. I only care about doing a good job, so don’t make me forget to do it by saying stupid things.

Rantasaurus Says: Okay, so… who’s officially terrified of going to the dentist now?

Interesting. Now Jess is here to have it out with a woman who commented on her previous rant: An Open Missive to Mia the Omnivore.

To the Self Righteous Tw@t, Chrissy:

I invite you to come and meet my dog. Really. Actually take her for a week… no a day… and then come talk to me. You’ll be singing a different tune, I assure you. She’s a crated dog. She manages to do these things when I’m, say, washing the dishes or tossing in a load of laundry. I assure you she doesn’t troll around the apartment unwatched. On no no – quite to the contrary she is watched like a hawk. In fact, she keeps her harness and leash on in the house so when she makes a break for it behind the couch with something in her mouth I can simply stomp down on her dangling leash and stop her in her tracks.

No, it isn’t a lack of vigilance that allows my dog to do what she does so horrendously well. It would be the total lack of effort from her last 3 owners and her veterinary-diagnosed ADHD. Yeah, that is correct, my dog needs to take Ritalin in canine form. So before you preach you seemingly holier than thou morals allow me to kick that soap box right out from under your “perfect” little feet. I am not an irresponsible pet owner, you wicked little bi$ch.

In fact, I am far from it. I hold more responsibility, kindness, and compassion in my big toe than you could possibly wish to know in your life. Not only did we RESCUE Mia from being put to sleep, we took her to obedience classes (which she was promptly expelled from for an unruly and untamable personality). We take her for all her vaccinations and check ups on time, keep her groomed and nails clipped, feed her the special diet that the vet prescribed for her, pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars to keep up on all the medicine she requires for her allergies, arthritis, ADHD, frequent urinary tract infections, and acid reflux.

So, tell me… how in the WORLD is that irresponsible? The fact that I don’t saddle my dog up and ride her around the house to make sure she doesn’t eat some random thing on a table some where does not classify me as irresponsible. It classifies me as sane. Take your self-righteous theories and shove them up your snooty little ass.

Jess a.k.a. Mia’s Mommy

Dear Honey,

I know you want to treat me special, and apparently this means that we have to go out this suggestion”on the town” and have dinner in a restaurant every once in a while. I truly believe that sucks. And you don’t seem to understand that.

Why? There are so many good reasons:

I was a waitress for years and years and years. If I never step foot in another restaurant again, I would be fine. I know what the kitchens of those places look like. I know that most restaurants hire 15 year old kids or retards to wash their dishes (which is just gross). I know that the wait staff doesn’t give a fuck about either of us and would be happy if we died at the table (after paying the bill, or at least dropping our wallets from our cold dead hands). Do I want to be subjected to that? NO.

Further, if I ever do say, “ok honey, fine, let’s go out to eat,” then that’s only the beginning of a world of misery. Where do I want to go? Truly, I want to stay at home… so YOU pick the damn restaurant. And no, I don’t want to spend a crap-ton of money on steak and potatoes. You know I prefer salads.

Every time we have this discussion we end up pissed off at each other, and it has ruined more than one nice night on the town. Remember sitting in Hardee’s after a hard night of indecision? No? Let me remind you. I was crying and you were ranting on and on about how the fast-food workers should get off the phone and take your order. The food was horrible, and the company worse. That was a night that will live on in my memory forever. Is this a nice night on the town for me? Or for you? Don’t you have any male friends you can eat steak and drink beer with? Why do I have to be involved at all?

Really, if you want to do something nice for me, don’t drag me to a god-forsaken restaurant. Go grocery shopping, cook a nice meal, and then wash the dishes afterwards. You really are a good cook, even if you have to use every dish in the kitchen to make spaghetti.


Open letter to the girl they call Aman-DUH,

Ok, so I get it. You’re young, immature, wet behind the ears… whatever ridiculous euphemism you wish to inject here.But you’ve been at the company for almost a year and I honestly think, in that time, you have managed to get even dumber.

It seems like you should’ve gotten the hang of things by now, but each day, you continue to amaze me. Firstly, the cell phone. Honey, it’s gotta go. Nobody important is going to call you from 9am to 5pm, and honestly, we’re all a little sick of hearing your annoying Nickleback ring tone full blast every time your phone rings. Tell your friends you’ll call them back. You can set up your playdates on your own time.

Oh, and you know those things called titles, inspections, and insurance statements? Yeah, they’re kind of important. How about instead of talking on the phone/making baby shower invitations/flirting with the guys/playing on the internet, you consider making them a priority? Oh, and let’s try not losing them and blaming them on customers or other employees too, mmmkay?

The biggest thing I’d REALLY love for you to understand, however, is that Daisy Dukes and flip flops is not “work appropriate” attire. Just a hint – when everyone else is wearing khakis and business casual clothes, it’s not cool for you to look like you’re heading off to the beach. This isn’t Billy Bob’s Smoke, Video, and Bait Shop. I like to think that customers expect a little bit more from us. I don’t think you want to give a customer a full moon when you bend over to get their title out of the file cabinet. Or maybe you do. Hell, I don’t know…

But, I try, I really do try not to just haul off and slug you right in the face in the name of complete and utter stupidity. And it’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere soon, because you’re cute/you flirt/the boss doesn’t want to hurt your feelings/he doesn’t want to have to train somebody else/he wants to sleep with you, or whatever reason you are still working for the company.

Anyways, I will continue to burrow my resentment, pasting on my fake smile and pretending I’m interested in what you have to say, because after all, what difference does it make? We’re all in this together…

With love, Amy

Mr. Brady,Was that you I saw getting ready to pass out (surprise, surprise!) in a bar? It brought back quite a few delightful memories and I’d like to share them with you, as I’m sure you don’t remember –what with your constant drunkenness (how DID you manage so often to be intoxicated around school-aged children without notice? Do Tell.)

I am a lover of English, and I feel like your love of the sauce is the only reasonable explanation for the things you did as my 8th and 9th grade English teacher.

I wonder if your hazy memory might recall the time that you actually dribbled in your pants a little whilst screaming at the top of your lungs– I think because someone had belched under their breath during your recap of the previous night‘s Chicago Bears game. You were so adorably worked up that your scarlet face actually highlighted the broken blood vessels all around your nose.

Anyway, you always wore very tight sweatpants to school and I vividly recall a large wet spot appearing in the general vicinity of your “junk”. We sure did love that full-on-leave-nothing-to-the-imagination view of your “junk”.

I believe this was sometime shortly before you, in the midst of a defaced chalkboard-related tantrum, shoved a TV-VCR combo down the stairs and STILL managed to retain your teaching position! Remarkable. I think St. Patrick’s Day (on which you made little or NO effort to conceal your intoxication, up to and including ACTUALLY hitting on some of the female students) was my favorite though. That’s the day you became SO enraged at someone’s suggestion that St. Patrick’s Day was created by the Lucky Charms Leprechaun– you actually fell to the floor and had a seizure!

Thank you so much Mr. Brady, for igniting my passion for the language–and especially for making ALL reading material sports related, because I don’t know what I would have done had I never had the privilege of reading “Brian’s Song” 3 times in two years (you silly, forgetful man you!).

Much Love,
The Very Traumatized Girl In the Front Row

Mark B., dreading your fourth meal

My worst restaurant experience is everyday. I work at Taco Bell. I hate people, because it seems that nowadays, no one has any common sense. I mean come on, how hard is it to pronounce guacamole? Or to read the giant glowing neon menu in front of you instead of asking me how much a taco is?

READ!!! And they will buy whatever is promoted. I could put up a poster with a picture of toenail clippings topped with a layer of our cool ripe tomatoes and sour cream, for just 99 cents, and people will buy it. One day, when the taco bell dog was popular, we were selling plush toys of the dog and a lady asked me if the chihuahuas were any good.

I told her not in this country. Idiots.

My store is located next to an Arby’s, so naturally people come through the drive thru and order Arby’s melts. You would THINK that the giant bell in front of their faces would draw attention to the fact that they are at the wrong place!! They must be so overwhelmed by their hunger lust that they forget how to read.

Rantasaurus Says: You know, you laugh, but I swear by it. Toenail clippings first thing in the morning does wonders for my constitution. Lots of fiber, if you know what I mean.

The Beano Queen-o

Dear Cube-Neighbor,

Get some Beano! Do you think no one can hear you farting as you walk into your cube?! It’s gross!!


Isabeau,  a PhD. candidate in Punishment

10) She’s one of those touchy-feeling types who gets her twat out of whack if you don’t greet her properly and enthusiastically each morning like a little puppy. (Note: This is impossible after dragging my ass in after drinking all night)

9) Her lunch is exactly the same, every day: cup of fat-free strawberry yogurt, container of calcium-enriched orange juice and a small bag of Pretzels.

8) If she doesn’t have written, step-by-step instructions, she is completely unable to use her computer, digital camera, fork, etc. Worse, she expects me to write these instructions for her.

7) She wears elastic waist pants.

6) She consistently mispronounces the word “October” as “Ogdober.”

5) The hand lotion she uses smells like a nursing home.

4) Anxiety is her middle name. Her knob is always set to “Freak Out.” Luckily, I keep my phaser set to “Stun.”

3) One glass of wine gets her completely sauced.

2) She has a crew cut, and she is not a lesbian.

1) She should NOT be my boss. I am pursuing a Ph.D. — she is pursuing her head up her butt.

Rantasaurus Says: Now, I don’t exactly see exactly why strawberry yogurt is offensive. My lunch of rotting, smelly carrion? I can see that being offensive, but pretzels?

Dear Sienna,

Every time you come up to me 10 minutes before our allotted smoke break to ask me if I am going outside, my skin crawls. Of course I am going to smoke, I’m a smoker. Why do you need to make sure of that every stupid break?

Oh, I know! It’s because you want to trap me for those 15 minutes as you rant about your Bipolar Disorder that made your life so hard & your hair so brittle. Poor baby. I sit quietly and listen, pretending to be your BFF, because I am trying to make my work a pleasant place to come everyday, and if I got into conflict with you it might not be so nice.

Wanna know what I really think? I think you are a whiny, annoying, loud mouth that can’t do well in the workforce because you suck at life. I think people talk about you behind your back constantly and I talk with them. We all give each other eyes when you are around because we want you to SHUT UP. If you tell me one more time about how they need to change your meds because of the damn side-effects, I might give you a side-effect that you never expected. Like a black eye.

I am not your therapist. I do not care about your problems. I pretend to listen when I’m really trying to tune you out at every instance, smoke faster, and run run run away. All those times I got up quickly in the middle of one of your stories because I had to pee… It was a lie. I just couldn’t take anymore of it.

Love forever,

Get A Car, Loser

Amy M., free ride no more

The next time your regular ride leaves you hanging and you call me for a ride to work, you are going to be shit out of luck.

I don’t care if you don’t have the sick time or vacation days to cover the absence, or if you are on your final final written warning. We work at the same place and I assume make about the same amount of money. We live in the same neighborhood, so I assume you pay about the same in rent. But somehow, somehow I manage to be a real grownup and budget for transportation.

I would feel differently if your freeloading ass had a car and you wanted to carpool to save the planet. Or, while we’re at it, if you would compensate me at least as much as you do the Central Ohio Transit Authority when you get your ride from them.

The ride to work must be considerably more comfortable and considerably less time consuming in my car than on the bus, but somehow you can’t even muster up a sincere “Thank you.”

So next time, sorry, I don’t think I have the time to swing by and pick you up.

Rantasaurus Says: Next time, give him my number. Funny, a person rarely realizes how fast they can run until I start chasing them.

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »