I'm Royally Pissed at the newlyweds down the block who refuse to park their car on their lawn, let their grass grow yellow-wild or do their arguing in the middle of the street where the rest of us can hear. This is Bithlo, folks, and we have traditions to uphold. The Homeowners Association has a bone to pick with you.

I'm Royally Pissed at the busybodies in my office who think my personal business is theirs, too. Believe it or not, the world is filled with people like me who come into work wearing the same wrinkled outfits three days in a row, stash flasks of absinthe in their desks and weep bucketfuls of bitter tears once every afternoon until the cheap mascara runs down their faces. It's called a life. Get one.

I'm Royally Pissed at the double amputee who persists in shopping at my neighborhood Winn-Dixie during the daylight hours, when the aisles should be reserved for normal people. You're scaring my kids. There's a proper time for you to be pulling Hormel cans off a shelf with your teeth, and that time is between midnight and 3 a.m. Clean up your act, Captain Hook.

I'm Royally Pissed at the "major" university that terminated my teaching contract, just because I funneled a year's pay to Islamic extremist groups and the Red Brigade. Oh, and because I "disrupted" a couple of faculty meetings with "inflammatory" chants and scrawled "Death to America" on an office door that's my personal property. My students were only halfway done reading The Anarchist Cookbook when you dimwits pulled the plug on me. If those kids pick up some unhealthy messages about our educational system, it's going to be on your heads.

To the woman who was Royally Pissed that her grandchildren never come to visit her: Live and let live, Aunt Harriet. They probably haven't yet developed an addiction to the smell of cat pee.

I'm Royally Pissed that our downtown police apparently have nothing better to do than help absent-minded hippies find their belongings, when there are actual taxpayers out there who need protection. Last Saturday, I watched an officer devote three entire minutes to reuniting some ruffian with his lost duffel bag; while this was going on, I was eyed suspiciously by four strolling ne'er-do-wells of various pigmentations, any one of whom could have had a knife. They give you nightsticks for a reason, fellows, and it's not to stir taffy. Please get back in touch with your roots and crack a skull or two when it's needed.

I'm Royally Pissed at whoever keeps bombing London during Springer. Why not strike when The View is on next time and give us all a break?

I'm Royally Pissed at the skanks on OBT. Ever since that Aileen Wuornos movie came out, you can't even put a simple foot up one of their asses without getting a pissy lecture or some pepper spray to the eyes. May I remind you, ladies, that you're supposed to be helping us relax and download after a hard day's work? Remember, "The customer is always right." A little less 'tude and a little more submission next time, please.

I'm Royally Pissed because I meant to send this to Road Dog.

I'm Royally Pissed at Jean-Paul Sartre. Being and Nothingness? What the hell was all that about, asshole? Thanks for ruining a perfectly good beach weekend.

My next-door neighbors just built an unsightly, 8-foot-tall concrete wall between our houses, and I'm Royally Pissed about it. Also, I'm naked.

To the man who was Royally Pissed over "unfair" child-support and alimony laws: We know where you're hiding, Dad, and you'll be hearing from our attorneys.

I'm Royally Pissed at the Jet Stream. What makes it think it's so big?

I'm Royally Pissed at Walt Disney World. I've been riding your rides for years and I haven't died on anything. Guess you save the good stuff for the tourists, huh?


Big ups to the OPD cop who retrieved my duffel bag for me when I almost left it at the Lymmo stop outside the History Center. That bag contained $250,000 worth of X, and losing it would have put me at the bottom of Lake Apopka by sunrise. Instead, I'm off to Acapulco for six months. Who says Orlando's finest never lift a finger to help the little guy?

I can't say enough good things about the three lovely Rollins girls who took such a kind interest in me last Wednesday at Fiddler's Green. You saw I was alone and vulnerable, and you really built up my confidence by buying me Corona after Corona, teaching me how to sing all those songs from Dreamgirls and helping me get in touch with my "feminine" side by making up my face with eyeliner and rouge. When I got home, my roommates said I seemed like a changed man, and I had to agree. Next time I'm with a lady, I'll really know how to behave. Cheers!

Thanks to the off-duty mechanic who stopped to help me pull my car out of a ditch last Sunday. I could see your crack the whole time.

• • • • • • • • • •

Call (407) 377-0400, ext. 239, and let us know what's got you Royally Pissed! Phone disconnected? In prison? Toss a guard's salad for Internet privileges and e-mail us at [email protected]


Since 1990, Orlando Weekly has served as the free, independent voice of Orlando, and we want to keep it that way.

Becoming an Orlando Weekly Supporter for as little as $5 a month allows us to continue offering readers access to our coverage of local news, food, nightlife, events, and culture with no paywalls.

Join today because you love us, too.

Scroll to read more Dog Playing Poker articles

Join Orlando Weekly Newsletters

Subscribe now to get the latest news delivered right to your inbox.