I used to have this really hot temper, and I used to fly off the handle a lot. But then I got sick and mellowed out. This was generally a good thing, as I stopped getting into (and subsequently often losing) fights and started getting along better with my friends and family. It's been a few years now though, and it's starting to kinda suck a little bit. Because while I'm much more calm than I used to be, I've also started letting people walk all over me.
That shit is going to stop.
Don't get me wrong. I don't intend to become an asshole. But I do intend to speak up and stop rolling over.
Would examples work? Ok.
A few months ago I was picking up my prescription and the pharmacist fucked it up. This always happens. But this time he offers up this excuse: "I had it right when I left the other day, but these goddamn foreigners working here on the weekends screwed it up, you know?" Dear Whitey, 2005 bryc3 just shrugged that off. 2006 bryc3 is going to say, "I don't appreciate your insinuation that I share your ignorant, racist beliefs. Cunt."
Want some more?
Dear Mrs. Talking On Your Cell Phone, you can't merge. I see what you're doing, sneaking up in your Ford Expedition to the very last second in the merge lane. It's cute, but you're not getting over. Hit me, I dare you. We can explain it to the cops together. Hell, we can even call them on your goddamn cell phone. Tell them it's 2006 bryc3 on the line, they're going to be seeing a lot of me this year.
Dear Ms. Can't Be Bothered, would it have fucking killed you to hold the door open for me? You walked through two seconds before I did and you didn't so much as glance backward or push it open a little more as you passed through. 2006 bryc3 is calling you out on that.
Dear White 2004 Honda Accord with Texas Tags That's Been Parked Illegally In The Handicapped Spot In My Arlington Apartment Complex, you might be interested to know that 2006 bryc3 is the one that keyed your car the other night.
Dear Nationals Ticket Holders In Section 470 At RFK, you might want to cover your childrens' ears. 2006 bryc3 is going to be telling out of town fans like it is. To the ushers at RFK stadium- the other guy started it.
Dear Coworker, when you ask me where I go out and I say I go to a lot of shows, that's the end of that conversation. Don't ask who do I go see, and then explain you used to go to a lot of Dave Matthews concerts. Because if you do, 2006 bryc3 is going to tell you what he thinks of people who used to go to a lot of Dave Matthews shows. And then you're probably going to cry.
Dear 2005 bryc3, stop being such a sissy. Sack up, bitch.
Dear Paramedic, I'm allergic to iodine and my health insurance card is in my wallet. And do me a favor? When my girlfriend shows up to pick me up, just say, "You should see the other guy." Thanks.
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6 comments:
i for one am looking forward to the return of weird angry bryc3. i mean, mellowing out is fine and all, but sometimes you just need to let the rage out. i'm sure baby won't mind posting bail.
I'm not sure I ever knew weird angry bryc3. I'll stay tuned, though.
This is one of the most awesome things I have ever read. Thank you.
no kathryn, you definitely knew 'i want to be respectful of the way YOU see the world, man' bryc3.
2006 bryc3 is a name you musn't touch.
hello lauren and thank you. although i gotta admit praise like that makes me think if i click your link it's actually going to lead to some pyramid scheme.
i rely on my kid brother to post entries i write at work, because for some inexplicable firewall-related reason i can't upload from there.
i've only just realized he put the title of this post in incorrectly, therefore ruining the entire joke. thanks a lot, dick.
i fixed it, not like it matters. wait til i tell mom.
Nothing pisses me off more than people trying to merge at the last second.. well... except when people don't freaking hold the door when you are right behind them. It's things like this that make me happy, I kept the shank I made in prison handy.
Didn't know you started updating again, good reads... and thank God, cause work is really just that lame.
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