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azurelunatic: Cordless phone showing a heart.  (phone)
Don't be like this individual.


This individual sent a text to their partner: "OMG I'M DYING!"

They returned home to their partner, who had not received any such text, nor the subsequent texts.

Further details ensue, after the expected amount of back-and-forth debate and showing of phones.

Individual had received a rather rightly concerned text back inquiring were they all right.

Individual replied with the details, phrased in a fashion appropriate for sending a text to long-term committed partner: in the pink of health, but had just passed a very large crowd of nubile 18+ people of all genders including the appropriate one(s), dressed to the very scanty nines, and was accordingly in a state that a long-term committed partner might appreciate a heads-up on, that said partner might take the opportunity to prepare for a partner coming home in such a state.

No response. Meanwhile, noticing that the phone was lagging as it was full of thousands of texts, the individual takes the opportunity to CLEAR THE ENTIRE MESSAGE HISTORY.

Needless to say, the text? Was not sent to the partner. No immediate way to see to whom it had been sent, see above: cleared message history.

Partner is attempting to not break down in hysterical tears of laughter and be supportive. Individual is meanwhile freaking out at all the possible people it could have been. Partner helpfully asks about further people who could have been in the address book. (Loving. Dear. Supportive. Partner.)

There is a collective scramble for the service provider's site, which keeps track of outgoing texts. Service provider, upon the eventual login, helpfully shares that (entirely likely due to the HURRICANE) they are having a few days' lag time on some of the generally-unimportant shit like to whom one has sent an outgoing text message.

The top suspects to whom this text could have been sent are all people who had been texted after the partner. The consequences of any of them getting it would be ... awkward, especially as the phrasing did not necessarily indicate the relationship of the person receiving the text, just the individual's current status, and the implication that the recipient of the text could probably have a hand in relieving that status.

Some of the top suspects have been informed that there was a mis-aimed personal text sent out, so now the individual is getting a certain amount of razzing from them (and they didn't get it). So the recipient is still on the loose.


The moral of the story is: PLEASE DON'T TEXT WHILE DRIVING.


This story has been posted with the knowledge and consent of at least one of the parties directly involved in this situation.

Also, Bwahahaahah!
azurelunatic: Stern nun with ruler, captioned 'Grammar Bitch'.  (grammar bitch)
Crossposted: [livejournal.com profile] note_to_asshat here

Hey, you.

Yeah you, the young (16-22) Hispanic or Oriental male with flashy watch and definitely left ear pierced, in the silvery grey Honda Accord LX, license plate ###XXX, emissions tags expiring March '05, "X racing" logo on the back, tailpipe modified to be bigger (and louder, so probably some muffler work), who was pulling out of the apartment complexes on 19th, the ones that are just southwest of 19th Ave and Butler, sometime around 12:30 very early this morning.

What the FUCK do you think you were doing, pulling out like that? You pulled out, obviously without looking, swerving through the turning lane, through the lane you were supposed the fuck to go into, and into the middle northbound lane -- WHERE THERE WAS A VERY NOTICABLE CAR DRIVING, YOU NITWIT! Of course I fucking honked my fucking horn at you, you incompetent fuck! I had to dive into the other lane to avoid you colliding with me. So you drove off in a fucking hurry to get to some place you urgently needed to be ...

... which was JACK-IN-THE-BOX.

Oh, yeah.

Feel the love.

Feel the all-encompassing, lovey-lovey hearts-and-flowers-and-kitten-kisses luuuuurve coming at you from me, you bastard who shames the name of your mother and father, the sort of passion that inspires me to complain to the police department about your punk-hatted ass.

I hope when you're loving your car carnally up the exhaust pipe (even though it's clearly far too big to accomodate you with any degree of satisfaction, and would have been too big even before it was modded) that you haven't waited for it to cool down first.

Hugs and kisses (to be delivered to you by that guy who sits on the corner, the grungy one with the beard),
the bitch who honked at you and then took down your license plate and other information while sitting behind you in the drive-through

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