Swine Stew

So now every day I go and play Librarian.  It is great.  Now that I don’t work in the basement for a shoe company, I no longer have to wear the season’s hot sneakers and t-shirts with names like “Number One Logo Tee” and “Favorite Logo Tee.”  (Honestly, nobody wants to meet anyone who has a “favorite logo tee,” you know why?  Because those people are useless to society.  Useless.)

Now I have to go buy Working Lady clothes, and though I try not to shop at the places where the real Working Ladies shop, I keep finding the same shit.  And I would kind of like to know why every women’s shirt has to have a goddamn ruffle running down the front.  It’s like, Here are my tits.  They are like a giant cake.  A giant, frilly cake.

If I had it my way, I’d be able to find the perfect sweater vest, and I’d wear a tie every day.

There is dried coffee all over my computer today because yesterday the train driver decided to brake hard and sudden for a rat or something to run across the track.  So, naturally, whatever was in my cup was suddenly shot into the air.  When it landed, it splattered all over my face, hair, computer, and new sweater.  I’d like to find the son of a bitch that did it and kill his dog.  I’d wipe my knife on my pants and say “A dog for a rat, man.”

(I wouldn’t wipe dog blood on my Working Lady pants.  Those are good ass pants.)

Dear Jon

One of the mini headlines on the paper today is “Can Obama revive an ailing health plan?”  I don’t know if you want to call it conditioning or what, but I immediately thought “YES HE CAN!”

I don’t get all the ass crap over this health plan.  Is there a problem with taking care of everyone?  Maybe I just don’t understand politics, but that one time when they kept playing that clip on the news of the lady going “SOCIALIST!  SOCIALIST!  SOCIALIIIIIIST!” all up in O-Bomb’s face, I was like…what’s wrong with that?  I mean, okay, communism and Nazism are taking it a little far.  But Socialism is a-ok, USA!  Get on it!

Really, though.  People are all kinds of worked up and crying and angry about all this healthcare dog shit.  And O-Bomb is up 24 hours a day, trying to knock America’s dick out of the dirt.  I feel bad for him.  And I’m happy he keeps getting up in the morning.

If anyone shoots him, I’m going to be really mad.

It’s funny to think that I have family mixed in with that pack of healthcare protest assholes down in the Batshit Crazy States.  I mean, my aunt would throw a gay baby out the window of a moving car, then sodomize a Planned Parenthood worker with a rifle just to prove a point.  What point?  I don’t know, something about the right to have a rifle.

There’s so much political bullshit to work out, and Jon Stewart is on vacation.  He should not be allowed to take vacations.

Moutharrhea

Office Banter: I kind of love it.  I’m very, very good at it, too.  It’s like magic!

Like when I walk by Cheryl’s desk in the morning, I know that when we’re done with the good morning how are you’s, I’m supposed to say something like “Just getting my coffee…ugh!  Big day!  Big day, Cheryl!”

I do need a bit of practice with Office Eating, though.  At the rare times when I have to eat at my desk, I need to learn how to take smaller office-appropriate bites.  My problem with food is that it is SO GOOD that I see it and I grab it and I go NGARRRRRR!!! whilst shoving it into my face hole.  No, really, I make that noise.  Then, when someone asks me a question or begins to engage me in some Office Banter, I’ve got to hack up a Nutra Grain bar whole, and shoot a bag of pita chips out of my nose just so I can answer.

What’s weird about this job is that my former boss was an epic champion at the Office Banter…except hers was more like office oral diarrhea.  And you could tell she not only didn’t give a fuck what your response was, she was kind of hoping you would die of spontaneous combustion while you were answering her, so she could roast a vegetarian hotdog on your corpse.  She would ask you the same mundane questions about the same mundane things every single mundane day, and then tell you later that you had a “clipped tone” when you answered her about what you were eating for lunch/reading/wearing.  Absolutely insane.  I mean, I couldn’t even get a piece of mail at work without that dickshit woman screeeeeaming to anyone who would listen, “OHHHH MY GOD!!!  WHAT DID YOU GET?  DID YOU GET SOME MAIL?  WHAT IS IT?  WHAT’D YA GET???”

Where I work now, nobody has time to sit and analyze exactly what people said and how they said it and write to HR and worry about the fact that said person might see through their fake-ass corporate bullshit and maybe that’s why she had a TONE…eeeeeeekkk I don’t knowwww.  Nobody cares.  And I can honestly say that nobody has asked me ONCE what I am eating for lunch.  And the other day, the real test happened:  I got an envelope from FedEx for personal reasons, and NOBODY SAID A WORD.

You know why?  Because nobody gives a flying fuck.

Because, lunch?  Mail?  Yeah, they happen every day.  Like, around the same time.  No big deal, dog.

Sub Woofer

Anyone remember that Snoop Dogg show?  Doggy Fizzle Televizzle?

It was this show where Snoop Dogg walked around with his penis hanging out of his pants, dragging on the ground.  He would go to the studio and listen to some fly ass beats and then go count some money and give quarters to teenage girls to blow him.  And MTV or somebody similar filmed it all and put it on TV.  It was kind of cool, I guess.  He did that “izzle dizzle nizzle” shit a lot, which got old pretty fast, but I think he realized that.  Which is probably why the focus of his next show was his bitch-ass wife, who had so many Asian women on her housekeeping staff, she just didn’t know what to do with herself and so always complained about having to clean her house.

Oh, and you were supposed to think of Snoop as this big old pussywhipped Father-Knows-Best type of dad…you were supposed to forget that time he taped a bunch of college girls eating each other out for that Girls Gone Wild idiot.

Whatever happened to that guy?

sick piggy party

OK SO it’s officially only the fourth day that students are back at This Place Where I Work Now That Might Be A Major University…and there’s ALREADY a campus alert because somebody has a confirmed case of H1N1.  And every orientation session I’ve sat in on has been filled with nothing but the sound of coughing fits and sneezing and nose-blowing.  It’s ridiculous.  Some of these people are wearing goddamn surgical masks, and others are reaching across desks to grab an unwrapped piece of candy off someone’s notebook.

And, of course, about half of these douchebaggy B-school dudes just walk around coughing blatantly into the air in front of them without even an attempt to cover.

I’m not saying that smart people don’t get sick, I know that’s not true, because I get sick and I’m smart as shit.  I’m just saying I think it’s weird that these people could build complex business models to measure and forecast all kinds of things I can’t even pronounce or understand, yet they seem unable to grasp the notion that you shouldn’t lick your finger after it’s been in someone’s asshole.

Especially if that someone has SWIIINE FLUUUU.  HelLO?

Scab Artist

We were leaving our apartment, Agent Big Guns and I, and what walked to the door but this thing I think we’re supposed to consider Our Neighbor.  He had scabby looking blonde dreadlocks, dirty Nike high tops, ripped cargo shorts, a reprinted (to LOOK worn out) Joy Division t-shirt, a sweatband, and hot pink sunglasses.  AHhahahhahahah it’s too great!  He’s probably a sidewalk chalk artist!  Or a photographer who likes to take a bunch of pictures of his girlfriend’s arm or his bike chain or his dog’s turds.  Ahahahhahahahhahahhahahaoowwwch!

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