Rob and Dave and Life
"Money's Tight, Times are hard. Here's your Fucking Birthday Card.
Is it just us or is there something wrong with all men? We just don't get this greeting card thing. Every holiday, every birthday, every time you shit right, or wrong in some cases, it becomes a Hallmark Occasion.
It seems you are most likely to get a greeting card just by sitting around, minding your own business, lighting the occasional fart. People hand them out like Vicodin at the TMJD clinic.
Let me just say the words for those of us on the festively challenged side - it's a fucking racket. Some lame-ass poet probably came up with the idea. He's thinking, "I'm a shitty poet and I'll never get published. I write greeting card poetry but there aren't enough holidays. Hmmmm."
We think a pile of these shit snackers got together and formed a lobby group or PAC. The Fucking Lame-Ass Poet Society or TFLAPS. TFLAPS knocked long and hard on the doors of every government, every fashion magazine editor and every religion and forced them to create more holidays or they'd start to read their poetry out loud. Which is why the greeting card aisle in your local drug store is as long as runway 17R at DFW.
Cards for any occasion? Sure. The usual suspects are there. Christmas, Easter, Valentine's Day, Birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Illegitimate Crack-Whore Daughter's Day. Plus the more contemporary cards:
And the cards? They're getting worse. The bad poets are running out of lines and just letting some sort of random line swapper program pick lines from others' cards and throw them at high speed onto the next batch ready to go to market. It's bad enough the personal "touch" is gone, now the replacement doesn't even make sense. Compared to some cards, Charlie Dodgson's "Jabberwocky" sounds almost sensible.
But the part that I really don't get is how excited people are when they get this piece of shit card some asshole spent thirty seconds writing and passed to a large machine that chews up trees and spits out neatly folded pieces of crap. Are people this far out of touch?
To me, it means a hell of a lot more if a buddy scratches, "Hey you old douche bag tester, how the fuck are you?" on a used pizza box. It is at least the real thing, actual writing and at least as poetic as some of the cards. The pizza box lid has traces of Human Communication on it. It even tells me that my buddy was thinking of me so deeply that he ordered a pepperoni-double-cheese, because he knows I hate Hawaiian.
So I think its time for action. You are invited to use the following form letter as an auto-response to any greeting card that crosses your threshold.
With Kindest Personal Regards,
Your buddy
Enjoy the Ride
It seems you are most likely to get a greeting card just by sitting around, minding your own business, lighting the occasional fart. People hand them out like Vicodin at the TMJD clinic.
Let me just say the words for those of us on the festively challenged side - it's a fucking racket. Some lame-ass poet probably came up with the idea. He's thinking, "I'm a shitty poet and I'll never get published. I write greeting card poetry but there aren't enough holidays. Hmmmm."
We think a pile of these shit snackers got together and formed a lobby group or PAC. The Fucking Lame-Ass Poet Society or TFLAPS. TFLAPS knocked long and hard on the doors of every government, every fashion magazine editor and every religion and forced them to create more holidays or they'd start to read their poetry out loud. Which is why the greeting card aisle in your local drug store is as long as runway 17R at DFW.
Cards for any occasion? Sure. The usual suspects are there. Christmas, Easter, Valentine's Day, Birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Illegitimate Crack-Whore Daughter's Day. Plus the more contemporary cards:
- Congratulations on your new Kaposi's Sarcoma.
- Way to Go on the Flenser Contract: You're Fired!
- We Hope You Enjoy Your Retirement! Do you like to eat cat food?
- Condolences from Us to You: I wish you were dead, instead of your wife.
- From All of Us in the Michigan Militia: Get out of town or we'll kill you.
- Happy (12th) birthday Nephew: Here's some cash, go get a hooker.
- On Your Recovery: Did they remove your head from your ass again? Get well soon!
- My Valentine: If I don't get some head soon, I'll start doing your sister.
- To My Stalker at Easter: Bring three nails and I'll put you up for the night.
- Thinking Of You: Vaguely.
- Mine's Bigger!: And I'm doing your Wife with it! Happy Cuckold's Day.
- On Your Graduation: I don't care if you're only seven, get a fucking job!
- Thank You: It was a cheap gift, pudknocker.
And the cards? They're getting worse. The bad poets are running out of lines and just letting some sort of random line swapper program pick lines from others' cards and throw them at high speed onto the next batch ready to go to market. It's bad enough the personal "touch" is gone, now the replacement doesn't even make sense. Compared to some cards, Charlie Dodgson's "Jabberwocky" sounds almost sensible.
But the part that I really don't get is how excited people are when they get this piece of shit card some asshole spent thirty seconds writing and passed to a large machine that chews up trees and spits out neatly folded pieces of crap. Are people this far out of touch?
To me, it means a hell of a lot more if a buddy scratches, "Hey you old douche bag tester, how the fuck are you?" on a used pizza box. It is at least the real thing, actual writing and at least as poetic as some of the cards. The pizza box lid has traces of Human Communication on it. It even tells me that my buddy was thinking of me so deeply that he ordered a pepperoni-double-cheese, because he knows I hate Hawaiian.
So I think its time for action. You are invited to use the following form letter as an auto-response to any greeting card that crosses your threshold.
TO: ____________ (referred to as shithead from here on)
Thanks for the fucking card, it was so thoughtful of you spend three milliseconds with your baboon fist out as you ran through the card section in the drugstore where you were obviously picking up your medication. The next time you think of me why don't you just fart loud Morse code?
With Kindest Personal Regards,
Your buddy
Enjoy the Ride
robanddave have been around since the beginning, and we're not just talking about whatthefuck.com. rob and dave are your every day couple of guys who want to share their life with you. if you disagree, get offended, or simply have something you need to pick, e-mail them at robanddave@whatthefuck.com.