What the hell is wrong with you people?

18 04 2008

More ludicrous stupidity that led more innocent–if very stupid–souls to my den of iniquity. By the way, if you tell on me to God, I’ll totally shit on your pillows. The good ones.

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North, and slightly West

17 04 2008

So, in case I haven’t said anything about it, The Girlfriend and I are moving in together.This means that she’ll be moving a few dozen blocks from her dorm residence hall, and I’ll be moving about eighty miles Northward. It also means that we will be on equal ground–we’re both living there, rather than one of us moving into the other’s space–so there should be no territorialism. Unless I try to pee on her furniture.

Further, it means that I have to find a new job in the next six or eight weeks. She’ll be moving first, and I’ll follow as planned a month later. I still have to train my replacement at work and, oh yeah, inform them that I’ll soon be quitting. It would be nice to find something along the lines of what I’m already doing, but hey–beggars can’t be choosers. They can, however, be hookers.

In order to ease the process of moving in together, I have set forth a few personal goals that I hope to achieve before she gets sick of me and feeds me to my dog.

I will not:

–Fart* in front of her.

–Extinguish cigarettes in food.

–Use my dog to sweep the kitchen floor.

–Eat butter and crackers.

–Forget to flush after depositing evidence of Taco Bell.

–Wipe boogers on the walls behind or beside the toilet.

–Throw things at my neighbors.

–Vomit in the trashcan.

–Order pizza before counting how much money I have to spend.

–Borrow money from my neighbors to pay the pizza guy.

–Masturbate in the living room.

–Sing along to commercial jingles while masturbating in the living room.

–Take out the trash only as far as my neighbor’s balcony.

–Leave frozen burritos in the pool to become unfrozen goo.

–Allow meat products to thaw in the sun while I swim.

–Put old hotdogs in potted plants around the complex.

Hopefully, I won’t have to remember this list the hard way, which usually involves repeated admonishments followed by a strict questioning of moral values, of which mine are often in question. Then again, it will be our apartment. That’s an important distinction, in case it ever comes up in court.

*While she’s awake, obviously.





Thirteen Solid Inches

17 04 2008

Some guys go out of their way to impress the ladies with the size–real or otherwise–of their packages. I’ve heard of all manner of crazy shit–toilet paper, socks, fruits and vegetables, even a wad of penis-shaped duct tape–being stuffed down the trousers of desperate men. Not me, though; I’m in a fully committed relationship (read: I no longer give a shit about random women’s opinions). However, I did inadvertently impress an office full of middle-aged ladies today with what they thought was my hideously engorged Vagina Ruiner 3000.

Sometimes at work I have to go rooting around in dark, cramped places (oh, grow up), and for those times, I need a flashlight. Seriously, stop laughing. Anyway, after I finished searching for some long-lost but expensive material, I went to alert the requestor in his office. Upon my arrival, I found not the man I was looking for, but about a dozen not unattractive older ladies who were watching some sort of Powerpoint presentation. The room was semi-dark, and I had an invoice sheet to leave on the guy’s desk, so I flipped on the light.

As I made my way across the room to the desk, I noticed the simultaneous turning of twelve pre-menopausal heads, all studiously aimed at my “crotchal” region. I laid the invoice on the desk, and turned to leave after bidding everyone farewell and apologizing for the intrusion. My exit-walk was followed with the same unsettling interest.

Out in the hall, I realized that the flashlight in my pocket–a massive MagLite–created the illusion of a monstrous dong snaking down the inside of my leg. My t-shirt covered the exposed lens and attendant tell-tale bulge, so God only knows what those poor ladies were thinking after I left. I have enough problems with women (Fried Chicken Girl, for one) at work, anyway, without having to deal with a gaggle of old crones who think I can prop myself up at a forty-five degree angle without using my hands.

If any of them are reading this–IT WAS ONLY A FLASHLIGHT!





The New Schedule! Whee!

16 04 2008

So, you all may have noticed that it’s almost four AM and I’m busy writing a blog post. This could mean one of two things: I either quit my job to devote myself full-time to half-assing my blog, or your fucking clocks are all broken.

The correct answer?

I’m actually working the 4-1 shift at work to bring in more move-out money. I just started on Monday, but already it’s been three days of sleeping an hour and a half, waking up (slightly), and rushing off to work for nine hours with no lunch break.

I think I’m going slowly insane, also.