Etiquette, or, Big mouth strikes again

typed for your pleasure on 13 June 2005, at 4.45 am

Sdtrk: none, oddly enough. You’ll have to provide your own

Something occurred earlier this evening that was so irritating to me, that I delayed bedtime in order to post it and get it off my chest.

So earlier, I was on the phone with a (for the sake of argument) friend, that we’ll call Spike. Over the course of the conversation, he mentioned that he had given something that I bought as an Xmas present for him — a pair of action figures — to someone else. Heh.

As far as I’m concerned, this is something you do not do. You do not tell someone that you’ve given something that they bought for you to someone else. Perhaps if he hadn’t been born in a barn and had some sense of etiquette, manners, and common sense, he would’ve had the presence of mind not to blurt that out.

I can understand receiving something that you don’t necessarily want, and surreptitiously getting rid of it; that’s happened to all of us. But for fuck’s sake, you don’t tell the person. I’d like to give Spike the benefit of a doubt and say that he forgot that I picked it up for him, but still, that’s just fucking idiotic.

That was good that I typed that out, as I’m no longer shagged off about it. I feel pretty confident that Spike will never see this, as he never reads ‘Shouting etc etc’ anyway. And he no longer has to worry, cos he won’t be getting anything from me ever again. ‘O, your Xmas present? O, I’m sorry, squire, I was too busy to pick one up. I’ll get right on it.’ Give me a fucking break

Random similar posts, for more timewasting:

click 'Hello?' click 'Hello?' click 'Hello?' etc on November 21st, 2005

Now I see why some people prefer Movable Type or WordPress on April 5th, 2005

10 have spoken to “Etiquette, or, Big mouth strikes again”

  1. SafeTinspector writes:

    Listen, ‘Venomous Cheese Barbie’ was not my bag, and you shouldn’t hold it against me.

  2. veach writes:

    It’s because I really wanted the figures with all their accessories: the little bag, the extra hand flipping the bird…the one where you pull the cord in Jay’s back and it says, ‘snoooch to the booooch’ and the cord in Silent Bob’s back says nothing. NOT the action figures sans accoutrement (although ‘lunchbox’ still said nothing, it was the existence of the cord which made all the difference).

    Vive a la Re-cadeaux!

  3. Davecat writes:

    GOD, YOU PEOPLE. NOTHING I BUY EVER SATISFIES YOU.

  4. Zip Gun writes:

    Well geez, when you bought them, we were at the Salvation Army, and you picked them up and asked “Would you dig these Slim Goodbody action figures?” and I said “Hell no, man” and I thought that was the end of it. How was I supposed to know you were serious? Besides, I was off my meds last night, and I didn’t know what I was saying…what were we talking about again?

  5. Davecat writes:

    You know what?? FUCK THIS SHIT. I am TAKING THIS BOX OF PREVIOUSLY-OPENED AND ALREADY-PLAYED-WITH STREET SHARKS FIGURES and THROWING THEM INTO THE SEWER. You people will be LUCKY if you get so much as a CRUMPLED-UP WAD of GRAPH PAPER from me next year.

    And you can FORGET ABOUT KWANZAA.

  6. SafeTinspector writes:

    Kwanza just won’t be the same without the Street Sharks.

    (your random quote of the day)

  7. Penda writes:

    Wow – how did you get Prince to post a comment on your blog?

    And the next time you give me a used tissue that you claim came from Christopher Walken (originating orifice still undetermined) , I’m totally making you eat it.

  8. quaisi writes:

    Don`t worry, be happy?

  9. Davey... of course?!? writes:

    Mr. Cat —

    I better not hear of your giving away your bunny slippers…

    That’ll piss me right the F*** on off…

    … oh and I want my sweat pants back too.

    *GRINNING*

  10. Davecat writes:

    Holy scheisse, it’s Davey!
    Well, as it turns out, the bunny slippers (named Left and Right) had to be placed in a plastic box, as they were acting weird. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and they’d be standing on my chest. So they’re in a box. Somewhere across the country.

    I kid, I kid! But the sweatpants had to be burned. Believe me, it was for the best.

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