I don't understand...

…why you call your obsessions, “hobbies”.

Let me see here. You drive all over Canada and the Northeast United States – every weekend and during your vacation – to take pictures of trains. These pictures are then used in some sort of bizarre slide-show that you impress upon anyone that comes within 50m of your home.

I may be going out on a limb, but do you think this little obsession of yours might be the reason you’re constantly lamenting the fact that you’re single?!?

…why you force your children to follow your poor eating habits.

I’m not a parent and I don’t even play one on TV.  However, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that you’re forcing your children to over-eat.  It’s apparent that your steady diet of Little Debbie Snack Cakes has resulted in your less than svelte figure. 

With that being said, is there any reason why you need to instill your lack of willpower and poor eating habits on your children, you FAT COW?  They ate 90% of their adult-sized meals and they’re no longer hungry.  Cut them some slack and let them STOP EATING when they say they want to. 

I mean really, we all know that you’ll need no excuse to gobble down their leftovers just so “nothing is wasted”, don’t we? 

…why you would even consider holding a corporate meeting in a MOVIE THEATER.

For the love of Pete, please tell me you’re joking.  We all used to laugh in anticipation of seeing the commercial at the movie theater that promoted the theater as an appropriate venue for a corporate rah-rah session. 

• The stupid buffoon standing at the front of the auditorium
• The child-like PowerPoint slides ("profits are GOING up!")
• The robots in the audience standing and cheering

And then the unthinkable happened.  You drank the Kool Aid and actually thought that having our next corporate retreat at a local movie theater was A GOOD IDEA.  I can assure you, it’s not.  I’ve already penciled in for a sick-day at the upcoming “Office Day at the Movies”, you dunderhead.

…why you come from the “if I talk about losing weight long enough, if just might spontaneously happen” school of thought.

Please correct me if I’m wrong, but last I heard, TALKING about losing weight, wasn’t actually an effective weight-loss technique.  With this in mind, is there a reason, why you insist on informing us about your pending weight loss on a daily basis – typically while shoveling a handful of fries into your mouth at lunch?

Here’s an idea.  It’s called EXERCISE.  Look it up on the Internet.  It usually involves some form of movement of your entire body and if you do it long enough – may cause you to SWEAT and LOSE WEIGHT, you buffoon!

…why you “work from home” and actually think people believe you are actually DOING any work.

First, you work for the federal government – a place where have the employees aren’t doing any work when they’re IN THE OFFICE.  With this in mind, who do you think you’re fooling when you announce your plans to “work from home” every other Friday?

I’ll tell you what that’s called – a THREE-DAY WEEKEND, you moron.  Stop insulting everyone - including yourself - by pretending it is anything but.

…why you tell everyone you have a Prince Albert.

Listen, if you want to pierce your genitalia, go for it.  But that does not mean that we all need to hear you constantly telling anyone within earshot about it.  And I think I can speak for everyone when I say, we certainly don’t want to see it. 

You’re 43, paunchy, have skin the colour of skim milk and appear to have hair in all the wrong places.  Need I continue?

…why you twitter.

There are a variety of legitimate reasons and uses for the Twitter service and I can assure you that your on-going drivel doesn’t fall under any of those categories.  No one needs to know about your personal hygiene habits, food intake, sleep cycles and wardrobe conundrums, especially in real-time.

In the spirit of twitter, here’s my message to you (limited to 140 characters or less of course)

SHUT UP, YOU BORING BAG OF WIND.

…why you refer to yourself as a “foodie” while eating in a fast food restaurant.

Surely your jest sir! You’re eating a burger and fries at Wendy’s and have the audacity to tell your friend that you consider yourself a “foodie”? On what planet, might this be possible? Do tell. Do tell.

Perhaps you’re an aficionado of French Fry grease? Because the way you’re scarfing down those fries and the size of the “overhang” above your belt leads me to believe that might be the case.

Listen closely Julia Child. Sitting on your couch and watching the Food Channel all day doesn’t make you a foodie – nor does it give you the right to treat combo #6 from Wendy’s as though it is some sort of gastronomic treat for your senses, you pompous ass.

…why you talk about the television show LOST as though the characters really did experience a plane crash.

It’s called television honey. And it’s there to ENTERTAIN you – not provide you with hours of mundane conversation with other co-workers - when you should be DOING YOUR JOB. Let me guess, you stopped watching Soap Operas because they were just too “real”, didn’t you?

Wait, do you hear that? It’s the REALITY BELL and it’s ringing JUST FOR YOU. Spend a little less time in front of the television agonizing over the latest plot twist and – oh I don’t know – EXERCISE, READ A BOOK or VOLUNTEER, you numb-skull.

…why you treat your dog like a human being.

I get it.  You don’t seem to be able to “put a bun in your oven”, which I guess is somewhat sad, if you do indeed really want children.  Nevertheless, treating your dog like a child isn’t cutting it.  And no, I won’t call “Sparky” by the more politically correct term of “companion animal”, you loser.

Of course he’s ALWAYS happy to see you; he has a brain the size of a walnut!   As an aside, you’d need a brain that size to NOT notice that your wrinkle-free top is anything but – but I digress…

In short, please stop:

• Cooking special meals as treats for him;
• Adjusting our plans at the last minute, so he doesn’t get “lonely”;
• Showing people photos of him from your wallet.

Do us all a favour and please live your “Marley and Me” moments in private – without drawing everyone around you into your own little brand of canine insanity.