Tag: funny

alisonisthegreateststar:

“The year is 2015. Target’s empire has fallen dramatically, yet stores across Canada attempt to drag their liquidation sales for as long as possible. 

Lipstick is now worth twice its weight in gold. Packs of wild dogs have overrun the stores. The people are revolting over lack of colourstay eyeliner, wielding shitty plastic hangers and waving flags of polyester polka-dotted sheets as they attempt to survive in the wasteland. Clans have emerged, battles have been fought and carts hurtle dangerously through the aisles with no direction in mind, taking out both person and product as they go. 

The people crudely inscribe messages to those in power with whatever supplies they can salvage from the crumbling wreckage. ‘Happy,’ one attempts to write over the once grandiose visage of a Revlon model, blotting our her eye with a macabre swash of nail polish. Are the higher powers happy? Have they gained anything from this cruel apocalypse?

There is no answer however, as the people are left to weather the liquidation alone. No one is sure how long it will drag out, or what terrible levels will be reached when the 50 per cent off sales roll around, but the people are bracing themselves. Target is leaving, and with it, so too shall the world.” 

therobotmonster:

kuroba101:

prismatic-bell:

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH

I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click

And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”

So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is

“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”

I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:

“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”

I accidentally called the director of the FBI.

My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

This is my new favourite story.

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.

There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 

The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 

During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”

So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 

I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.

So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…

“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”

It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.

There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.

The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

dick-rider-dave-strider:

strangelyobsessedwithstuff:

vialsofbrightforgettingpowders:

ALRIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS, TIME FOR SOME LEARNIN SO SIT OUR BITCH ASS DOWN AND GET OUT OUR NOTEPAD

THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE IS SUGAR SCRUB. YEAH I KNOW YOUVE SEEN IT BEFORE BUT YOU DONT KNOW WHAT I KNOW AND THAT WHEN YOU USE IT WITH ONE OF THESE FUCKERS

YOU WILL GET LEGS AND ARMS AND ANY OTHER SHIT YOU WANT THAT IS SO SOFT YOU WILL BE SHOVING IT IN THE FACE OF EVERYONE YOU KNOW AND ASKING THEM TO COMPARE IT TO THE TENDER PINK FLESH OF A NEWBORN

SO GET YOURSELF SOME FUCKING WHITE SUGAR AND SOME CHEAP ASS OIL LIKE CANOLA OR SOME SHIT AND MIX THAT SHIT WITH TWO PARTS SUGAR AND ONE PART OIL( THAT MEANS TWICE AS MUCH SUGAR AS OIL BITCHES I USUALLY USE ONE CUP OF SUGAR AND DO SOME FUCKING MATH TO FIGURE OUT HOW MUCH OIL THAT IS) DROP A FEW DROPS OF VANILLA ESSENCE OR MAYBE SOME FUCKING LAVENDER OIL WHATEVER YOU WANNA SMELL LIKE. MIX IT UP REALLY GOOD MMMM SMELLS LIKE CAKE BATTER FUCK YEAH.

NOW GET YOURSELF GOOD AND NAKED. REAL NAKED. PAMPER YOUR GODDESS-LIKE ASS WITH A BUBBLE BATH. TAKE ONE OF THOSE RAZORS YOU GOT AND SHAVE WHATEVER YOU LIKE TO SHAVE LEGS ARMS VAJAYJAY PITS I DONT FUCKING CARE.

NOW GET OUT OF THAT GROSS HAIRY DIRT WATER AND SIT ON THE EDGE OF THAT THERE BATHTUB. TAKE A HANDFUL OF THAT SWEET GOOP AND RUB IT ALL OVER THAT SKIN OF YOURS(just dont use this stuff on or near your lady bits i put this in lower case because it is really important your love cavern does not like sugar uh uh no way its diabetic) RUB RUB RUB KEEP RUBBIN YEAH YOUR HANDS STARTING TO FEEL WEIRD GOOD BECAUSE ITS WORKING

NOW TAKE THAT CHEAP-ASS DISPOSABLE RAZOR YOU HAVE AND SHAVE OFF THAT NASTY-ASS DEAD SKIN EWW ITS SO GROSS NO ITS NOT ITS YOUR OWN SKIN BUT ITS ALL GREY. RINSE OF THAT OILY STUFF BECAUSE YOUR SKIN AINT NO SLIP-N-SLIDE

GOOD NOW FEEL YOUR NEWFOUND SOFT SKIN THAT WAS ONCE BURIED UNDER LAYERS OF DEAD FLAKES OF YOUR PAST SELF YOUR WELCOME MOTHERFUCKERS CLASS DISMISSED

IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS POST FOR AGES
thanks for the tip karkat

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