This guy at work has been saying really creepy things to me and I don’t know how to deal with him. Any advice?
Lady, you ain’t never heard creepy. Once, when I was in about sixth grade, me and my friends were walking to school. We always stopped and picked up this other friend, we’ll call him Victor. So, we get there, and Victor’s still pissing around in the shower, so we gotta hang out in the living room with his dad. Victor’s dad looks sorta like a cross between Grizzly Adams and Jabba the Hut. He’s got a stack of porn on his dresser that requires fucking dewey decimal filing. So, it’s about 7:30 in the morning, and Vince’s dad is PISS DRUNK. He throws a copy of Playboy onto the table and says “HEEEEEEY BOYS, LOOKATDAT!” Now, where I’m from, none of this behavior is that far out of the ordinary. Then he looks off at the sky like he’s about to fill our impressionable young minds with precious wisdom and says “Boys, you know, sometimes I’m cleaning the ladies’ restroom at (fictitious restaurant name to protect the innocent) CARL’S SR., and I’ll find a pubic hair on the toilet, and I’ll stick it up to my nose and jerk off right there.”
So don’t tell me about creepy, lady. They might creep you out, or in Murray’s case, scar you for life, but the reality is that motherfucker is fucked beyond help for life. Find solace in that.
Now leave me the fuck alone.
Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.
He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".
His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.
A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.
It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.
He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.
Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.