Dear Mr. Kelloggs,

Is it so hard to glue the bottom of the cereal bag to the bottom of the box? Why is it that every time I want to sit down and enjoy a nice bowl of Froot Loops, all I get is bag instead of cereal in my bowl!?

cereal killer

I hate these stupid fucking air currents!

wtf? As is artificially lowering the temperature in the middle of the god-damn cold winter isn't enough, you just moved some really important papers that I left unattended on the ground for like TWO SECONDS, can't you just mind your own damn business ass-hat?

I fucking hate this stupid perpetual re-distribution of air pressure -if you don't fuck off soon I'm going to piss in your direction.

hate on for the wind-bag

way to almost kill me! i was walking in a cross walk and you almost smoked me! in fact you smoked my bag and i fell into traffic practicly on another car! and what do you do? drive a way you prick! you didnt even ask if i was alright seeing how i was so upset i was puking.

Well thanks a million you Incompetent asshole!

thankfull to be alive!

The next person who uses the term "come from away" in my presence will get an earful on how unfunny this term actually is.

Sure, YOU might think it's charming or endearing but it's divisive and ignorant.

Especially when being one of those "come from away" types means you're fine making sure I get treated like a second class citizen in my own country of birth by fellow canadians.













Not just CFA.

my forehead is all itchey and peeling, it's also very dry.

dry forehead

To the two old men at Economy Shoe Shop the other night:

Don't eye-fuck me, I'm a quarter of your age.

I wore that dress for my boyfriend, not for you. Don't stare. And don't think you're being smooth growling "beautiful dress" behind me, an inch from my ear. I could smell your nasty breath.

20 and Repulsed

I'm backing up in a parking lot, and by accident (obviously) I backed into another car.. The only damage was on MY car, a small scratch on the side... I left a LITTLE bit of MY paint on his bumber (which was wiped off).... The other driver jumps out of his car, and this is how it all went down from there...

Me: I am so sorry, I didn't.....

Douchebag: ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT? WHERE DID YOU FUCKING LEARN TO DRIVE TO STUPID CUNT? ONTARIO? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT.... (he wipes MY paint off his car) GET BACK IN YOUR CAR YOU STUPID FUCKING IDOIT BEFORE I SMASH EVERY FUCkING WINDOW OUT OF YOUR FUCKING CAR!! LEARN HOW TO FUCKING DRIVE!!!

Me: I'm really sorry, I didnt do it on purpose!

Douchebag: DID YOU FUCKIN HEAR ME, you fucking BETTER GET BACK IN YOUR FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW!



I am NOT a confrontational person.. I HAD TWO fucking kids in the car... THERE WAS NO NEED for you to act like such an arrogent fucking prick... Had there been damage to your car, I would have been MORE then willing to pay for it..







All shook up over nothing!

This is a thank you for the bouncers of a local bar who pelted me as I walked home from work at 10:30 pm. Thank you for making me feel more unsafe to walk home, and for the red marks from the snowballs.

It must make you feel all important to pelt females with snowballs.

Banquet Waitstaff

I too had sand in my vagina the other day. Turns out a good shower works better than bitching. Thought I would pass on the good news.

Good luck

urbeing a vag

I wouldn't normally write this, but after receiving my ninth invitation to an Ellen Page based group on FaceBook today I felt it was time. What is it with Nova Scotians (mostly Haligonians) feeling the need to tell everyone how they know or met Ellen Page? I mean come on people, yes, she's famous, but you're taking it more than a little too far. I recently heard someone on Hollis Street blathering on about how they saw E. P. once on Barrington, and acting like they'd known her forever. Then there's the people using her like a walking tourist brochure, this may just be me, but I wouldn't want to visit a city just because of one person who lived there. It's time to grow up Halifax, give the girl some space.

Sick of the Ellen Page obsessed