*update – as of 12 hours after posting this, it had 1 view and that was Shaun’s. If it were any more ironic, I’d need a new hipster messenger bag.
Fall Out Boy may have said that… but I know for sure they said “I’m in love with my own sins.” I think they actually said “pretend you don’t know your own legend” or something. I’m not gonna look it up.
I’ve been schooling myself in my own legend today. I haven’t been this mad in a long time. Back when I had a “real job” I used to get mad like this pretty often. That’s why I have a legend.
This bitch right here, she’s got a legend.
<on a true note – I made it about 2 paragraphs into writing this and started laughing. I’m just this frigging entertaining and that’s NO legend.>
It goes like this:
Oh no she did not just say that. Does she know who I am? She must not have worked here for very long because that bitch don’t know me. Other folks must not like her because if they did they’d warn her not to piss off that Cyndi bitch.
They say “who? Mrs. Dollins? You better back the fuck up and say “yes ma’am.” When she gets mad, shit goes WRONG. People get fired all the way up to corporate and even Iran gets to pointing a photo-shopped missile at your ass. ”
“People hear her name on the phone and just hang the fuck up. And you know what? She calls the fuck back. Then people meet her in real life and think ‘damn that girl is hot’ then they realize who they’re thinking about. There’s a word for people who like to be around her – masochist.”
Then someone else says “that bitch, Mrs. Dollins? She’s like a well-trained pit bull. She’s all quiet and nice and stuff but as soon as you act a fool she’s got her teeth in your neck and you’ll be screamin’ for Jesus to save you. Nobody’s gonna be standin’ by with a lead pipe or a shotgun to help you neither. That’s because that lady may be a bitch – but she’s RIGHT and I don’t believe in shooting pit bulls. I ain’t ever known that girl to be wrong or get too close to a pit bull with a bad attitude. Ever. Its best just to take your who0pin and apologize. Then she’ll get you to write an apology letter to everyone who saw what happened because that shit’s traumatic.”
See, you don’t talk to me like that. I may be little and cute and even my 9 yo looks more grown than me but I’ll shoot you. No, I won’t shoot you – I’ll just write the Governor. You’d rather be shot when I get through with you. The Governor knows who to call. Actually, his staff knows who to forward the email to. The pen is mightier than a sword or a .22 or some shit.
It could be worse, though. I could rat you out to the internet. See this blog? It’s got companies weeping all over it because someone was fool enough to fuck with me. I’ll be leaving traces all over Google cache that will prove to my kids I was never a mature adult. Twenty years from now they’ll be reading my memoir and be like “she was right – they shouldn’t have talked to her THAT way.”
See, cause I’m an internet super-FUCKING-hero. They don’t even say NYPA to me because I know not to ask. I just start fucking shit up and they play along. Next thing you know someone will be paying me money to take off my bra. I’ll be making Encyclopedia Dramatica pages about your ass and leaking your dox to wikileaks. Now don’t feel special or anything, because the internet isn’t looking FOR YOU. Trust me, that ED page isn’t going to get any views because the INTERNET DON’T CARE about you acting wrong. They’re just here to see me and that won’t last long either.
Me? I’m that bitch that has balls big enough to walk up to Dr. House and dare to have lupus. I’m trying to sell shit to telemarketers that call me. I got a collection call the other day and ended up getting PAID. Sure, it’s true I didn’t get paid by the company calling me but a couple hours later, I got some money and a couple hours after that my bank account balance went up.
I’ll be sending you emails like correlation =/= causation and stuff. It’ll have the spoiler to Twilight in it and be telling you that Pluto’s not a planet anymore. I’ll find newspaper articles from like last year to make it so that you’re not entirely sure of the date anymore. I’d send you poo in a box from that site that sells poo in a box but I’m too lazy and broke busy to look up the URL. Speaking of that, I get paid too much to deal with this shit. Forget you. FORGET YOU.
See? Now who would really mess with me after knowing that legend? I wouldn’t. I think I’ll buy myself a beer.