Friday, March 02, 2007
One Approach To Dealing With Assholes
Tuesday night I was at the Rangers-Montreal game with MG and, as seems to be the case more often than not anymore, there were some loud, obnoxious imbeciles on my section. They were all Montreal fans for some reason and they were loud and ignorant morons. Every time there would be anything rough, they'd SCREAM "Fight! Fight!" like some ignorant turd who thinks it's still 1975 and only animals watch hockey.
Every time Montreal got the puck, one douchebag would SCREAM "GO!!" as loud as he could. And periodically, usually on their way to or from getting more beer, they would stand in the aisle and SCREAM "GO HABS GO!!" Smart thing to do in MSG. But, really, with people this stupid, most fans don't mess with them becuase they're simply so stupid and moronic that people figure they'll make enough of an ass of themselves on their own.
Throughout the night, they (there were four or five of them) LOUDLY discussed life and what they did and liked, etc. It became clear that they worked on the stock exchange, referring to themselves as "traders," though by the looks of these losers, they probably just run coffee to the floor of the exchange and back. At one point, this tool says, "I love being a trader... I go out at lunch, smoke a joint, then go to a massage parlor... get a massage and get jerked off and then go back to work."
Right.
This is where I began to really want to punch this little twit, who wouldn't know what to do if a female ever touched his pecker. At one point, he started talking about how he couldn't remember how many chicks he'd done... to which MG replied, "So now you just count the guys" in a voice plenty loud enough to hear. Of course, when he told the rub-and-a-tug story mentioned above, I gave a loud, "RIGHT, sure you do" as well.
Toward the end of the game, they began trying to set up a car service for one of their friends. And the guy on the phone kept spelling his street over and over again...
"No, it's Lispenard...L-I-S-P-E-N-A-R-D... no, Lispenard....LISpenard...it's between Canal and Broadway...L-I-S-P-E-N-A-R-D...L-I-S-yeah, Lispenard... yeah..."
I don't know where Lispenard street is because I couldn't find it on a map between Canal and Broadway but who cares. This schmuck thinks he lives there.
Then he was obviously asked for a number so douchebag 1 asks douchebag 2 what number to give him and douchebag 2 recites his cell number. Three times. And then douchebag 1 recites it to the car service people....three times. So about the fifth time I heard it, MG and I exchanged a glance and I pulled out my cell and entered the number in.
We left soon after and when we got to the car, we called the number, using the *67 block caller ID feature of course. MG played the part of the confused, foreign car driver and kept repeating, "Leeespenard.... where ezz eet?" while I almost died laughing in the passenger seat.
"Yeah, 50 Lispenard. Apartment 1," douchebag 2 tells us.
"Okay, I be downstairs in five minutes."
"Wait, no...what?"
garbled noises, the organ can be heard at the Garden in the background
"When?"
"Okay, I here!" MG announced.
We then hung up because we were laughing too hard, imagining these dumbasses racing home because the car was already there. We really wanted to call back at 2 AM and say we were right downstairs again.
But it didn't end there. These guys were annoying and so we wanted to continue to mess with them. MG found a site that identifies the cell carrier of any number you enter in and then it allows you to send anonymous text messages to anyone. This is too good to be true.
So far this week, douchebag 2 has gotten several random messages about what a douchebag he is, along with a few saying, "Tired of being annoyed yet?"
We're currently looking to sign him up for some text message alerts of things he could never ever want.
Every time Montreal got the puck, one douchebag would SCREAM "GO!!" as loud as he could. And periodically, usually on their way to or from getting more beer, they would stand in the aisle and SCREAM "GO HABS GO!!" Smart thing to do in MSG. But, really, with people this stupid, most fans don't mess with them becuase they're simply so stupid and moronic that people figure they'll make enough of an ass of themselves on their own.
Throughout the night, they (there were four or five of them) LOUDLY discussed life and what they did and liked, etc. It became clear that they worked on the stock exchange, referring to themselves as "traders," though by the looks of these losers, they probably just run coffee to the floor of the exchange and back. At one point, this tool says, "I love being a trader... I go out at lunch, smoke a joint, then go to a massage parlor... get a massage and get jerked off and then go back to work."
Right.
This is where I began to really want to punch this little twit, who wouldn't know what to do if a female ever touched his pecker. At one point, he started talking about how he couldn't remember how many chicks he'd done... to which MG replied, "So now you just count the guys" in a voice plenty loud enough to hear. Of course, when he told the rub-and-a-tug story mentioned above, I gave a loud, "RIGHT, sure you do" as well.
Toward the end of the game, they began trying to set up a car service for one of their friends. And the guy on the phone kept spelling his street over and over again...
"No, it's Lispenard...L-I-S-P-E-N-A-R-D... no, Lispenard....LISpenard...it's between Canal and Broadway...L-I-S-P-E-N-A-R-D...L-I-S-yeah, Lispenard... yeah..."
I don't know where Lispenard street is because I couldn't find it on a map between Canal and Broadway but who cares. This schmuck thinks he lives there.
Then he was obviously asked for a number so douchebag 1 asks douchebag 2 what number to give him and douchebag 2 recites his cell number. Three times. And then douchebag 1 recites it to the car service people....three times. So about the fifth time I heard it, MG and I exchanged a glance and I pulled out my cell and entered the number in.
We left soon after and when we got to the car, we called the number, using the *67 block caller ID feature of course. MG played the part of the confused, foreign car driver and kept repeating, "Leeespenard.... where ezz eet?" while I almost died laughing in the passenger seat.
"Yeah, 50 Lispenard. Apartment 1," douchebag 2 tells us.
"Okay, I be downstairs in five minutes."
"Wait, no...what?"
garbled noises, the organ can be heard at the Garden in the background
"When?"
"Okay, I here!" MG announced.
We then hung up because we were laughing too hard, imagining these dumbasses racing home because the car was already there. We really wanted to call back at 2 AM and say we were right downstairs again.
But it didn't end there. These guys were annoying and so we wanted to continue to mess with them. MG found a site that identifies the cell carrier of any number you enter in and then it allows you to send anonymous text messages to anyone. This is too good to be true.
So far this week, douchebag 2 has gotten several random messages about what a douchebag he is, along with a few saying, "Tired of being annoyed yet?"
We're currently looking to sign him up for some text message alerts of things he could never ever want.
Labels: Mount Rushmore, pranks, Rangers
