03.30.08

Stupid, lazy co-workers and their "Haterade."

There's nothing to do here, at work, aside from sit around and chit-chat about daily events and sports. Having a fetish for cleanliness, I begin organizing items on desks, transforming cluttered mixed goods into neat, separate piles. Of course, my loser of a manager, who speaks in a condescending manner toward his employees in order to make him feel better about his life, has to make a comment about my working. He rants off loudly about how silly I look and tells me they have medication to fix my OCD.

First off, OCD isn't a real disease. People who say they have OCD are only starving for attention. OCD is just another term created by the lazy man to raise their self esteem, as well as to have a way to downplay their laziness. Doctors and prescription medicine makers say OCD is a disease because if we eliminate disease, they will be out of work and will have to join the rest us at McDonald's or Wal-Mart.

Anyway. Back to my complaint.

My "depressed about life" manager rants on about my habit, making fun of me for a good five minutes until his cell phone rings. How is this fucker going to use his cell phone to talk to his buddy about where they're going to go out drinking during work hours when just the other day, he complained to me about using my cell phone on paid time to talk to a relative who I hadn't spoken with in over a year, of which a recent death in the family was the reason for the call. Shit just ain't right. (My manager deserves to suck a fat one and get cock stabbed in the face, at least twice a day.) Meanwhile, I'm getting paid minimum wage and working more productively than my manager and half of the employees combined. I'm going to leave this job soon, and when I do, I am going to whip out my junk and skeet-skeet, mother fucker, from the window to the wall.


Confucius say, 'If money root of all evil, who want to be good?' -C. Farley

Damn you, gambling.

I've been fighting addiction since the age of 13. Started with masturbating. Replaced it with biting my nails. Replaced that with smoking. Replaced that with drinking. And replaced that one with gambling. I've found myself doing at least one of those everyday. Now that Lent is over, I can indulge in those sinful pleasures and only feel slightly guilty. Yesterday was that day.

I knew I needed a bunch of moneys in a short time since this whole "hitting a kid with my car" situation fit its way into my life. Lucky for me, I live a few hours away from a casino. Off I went to seek riches and live the American Dream with only a couple hundred dollars to invest. Roulette was the game that would either make me or break me. Already 8 drinks and $1500 into the day, I was ready to throw my money away or collect a fat check. The ball hit black more than enough times within the past 15 spins, so red was due for a shot. With drunken stupidity, or courage, whichever you prefer to call it, I threw down my stack on red and watched the ball circle around the wheel of "take your money." Just my luck, the ball lands on black. So much for the American Dream.

With $20 in my pocket, I had nothing left to do but get drunk, smoke cigarettes, bite my nails
, and masturbate. And that I did, respectively. Those stupid cocktail waitresses did nothing to help me out, other than fill my mind with lewd thoughts of what possible skills they may possess. But I guess that's life, for me anyway.

If the world is mine, by royal decree, I declare that all females must swing my way.

03.26.08

Stupid kids.

I'm coming home from the bar, driving down the block, and it just so happens to be around the time those stupid kids get let out of prison...I mean...school. With just my luck, as I'm nearing my house, some kid runs out from behind a parked car and ends up on the hood of my fresh ride. (It just so happens I had got a car wash that morning.) The stupid kid's chocolate milk that he must've smuggled out of school grounds burst all over, so a soaked backpack, with a slightly scratched kid decorated the front end of my car. Lucky for the stupid kid, my hood ornament didn't impale his ass. Officers finally arrive, an hour later, to file the report and realizes I'm drunk. All of a sudden I'm to blame! My car gets towed. I get thrown in jail for a few hours and now I have all this legal trouble and probable lawyer fees that will take away from my beer money.

It's about time I sue these schools. Are they teaching kids not to carelessly run into open streets without looking both ways? And what the hell are these kids doing smuggling school supplies beyond school perimeters? The Man better step up his game and regulate on these lunch supply smugglers. Back when I was in prison...I mean...school, if they found any lunch items on us after lunchtime, we were subject to solitary conf...I mean...detention.

Anyway.

I get home from jail and find a letter in my mailbox from my neighbor a few houses down. Apparently, the kid that crashed into my hood lived down the street and must've known me. The letter read:

Dear (Name withheld to protect the innocent),

Two days ago, you almost killed my son with your horrific drunk driving. I am very disappointed that you would partake in such irresponsibility. Though my son managed to escape with a few small scratches, I'll have you know that I will try my best to make sure you are kept off of the road. I have already filed complaints to the mayor in hopes that you will leave this town in order to ensure the safety of our children. To make matters worse, the cellular phone I had just bought for my son was destroyed during your careless driving. This will be the last and only time you will hear from me as any further matters can be discussed with my lawyer. He will be contacting you soon. The only advice I ask you take is that you do research on where AA meetings can be held, as well as defensive driving classes, so that you may be able to attend and better your life. Good luck with life and may you never get your driver's license back.

Signed,
(Name withheld to protect the identity of the stupid)

What the hell is wrong with this woman?! Why is she buying her son a cellular phone for?! I really hope this kid calls up 900 numbers and sex lines to talk to Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I sure hope her lawyer contacts me, so that I can beat this shit out of him. Either way, I'm planning to coerce my way into the likings of this woman because from what I can remember, she was divorced and had a pretty smoking bod. Perhaps, we can settle some kind of deal where she can blow me in exchange for not suing me.

Oh well.

If life's a bitch, then my life must be a bitch on PMS.

03.24.08

I still don't get it.

How did I end up being 35 years old and still living with my parents. They've done their best to take care of me and I thank them much for that. Being the age that I am, I now understand the reasons I get kicked out of the house for a few hours, so that they can enjoy their alone time. Who would've thunk it that old people still get it on? Knowing that my parents still indulge in carnal pleasures makes me quiver, but I guess that's how I got the opportunity to bless Earth with my presence. All the while, I'm still trying to figure out how to get these females to jump my bones. I will find a way sooner or later.

That's another thing.

How did I end up being 35 years old and still not know what 1st base feels like? I'm on my way to becoming the "40-Year-Old Virgin in Real Life." How ironic. There are very good reasons as to how I ended up in the situation I'm in. I've met plenty of people who brag about the 3 or 4 girlfriends that they're juggling throughout the week, and it's pretty obvious that I'd be getting my groove on if these "pimps," for lack of a better word, weren't hogging them all. Friends have suggested that I find a prostitute, but being I don't have access to taxpayers' funds, I'm unable to do so. And for the moment, the only chance of me getting action seems to be from one of my friends, who I suspect is gay. Homosexual activity does not turn me on, but my one friend seems to hint that he wants to convert me. He constantly calls me and asks me on dates. It weirds me out. Good thing I LIKE FOOTBALL, BEER, and BABES, and other MAN STUFF. Though I've never felt vagina, I'm pretty sure I prefer that over penis. And that's the truth.

If y can sometimes be a vowel, can someone be sometimes gay? Things that make you think.

03.22.08

The nerve of them.

They called me out of work on friday, talking about how they had to test out the fortifications of the components in order to optimize performance and shit. It turns out they're trying some new robot mechanics with answering machines and shit. Can you believe the nerve of technology trying to take over my job. Some robot might be able to answer a few questions for customers, but I can sure as hell kick that robot's ass. Plus, robot's don't got hungry mouths to feed. Doesn't the company care at all about feeding people? They'd rather donate goods to charity than help me out with life. Shit just ain't right.

Someone at work keeps dumping liquids in my trash can. Shit is starting to piss me the fuck off. From coffee to soup to vomit. There's already a crack at the bottom of my trash can. And now, there's a huge brown spot on the carpet that it sits upon. How the hell am I going to explain that to my boss? (Wait a second. I am the boss.) How the hell am I supposed to explain this to the cleaning lady who will eventually leave me notes about how messy I am? She left me a note, once, the day after I left a huge stinker in the toilet without flushing. It said, "Meet me in the bathroom before you leave work." Having left a giant shit without flushing, I knew she wanted to beat me up- "bully" style, dunking my head in the toilet and shit. Shit is just too crazy.

Shit is shit I'll never understand.

Have a Happy Easter!!!

If God died for my sins, should I continue my life sinning away?

03.20.2008

I called out of work yesterday.

That's right. I played hockey. I was expecting some balloons and get well cards from my co-workers today, but I guess using diarrhea as an excuse doesn't qualify for receiving such gifts. Either way, I still have to figure out how to get through the following 2 weeks with the $30 pay cut from missing 7 hours of work. They say the average American is getting paid somewhere around $17.00/hr. If that's the case, then someone out there must be collecting a really fat check containing money that should be helping to average my points.

And to make things even worse, with the little money I have, I invested a small portion of my pockets into a pyramid scheme that I know nothing about. I'll probably never see that money again, but I'll stay positive and convince myself that the dividends will be made towards my favor. It's almost like the lottery, only the information and statistics of each number plays a very small part in the vast amount of knowledge of the superior intellect I possess. It's tough being a genius. But it's also tough being dumb. At the same time, enjoying the best of both of those worlds kicks ass for me.

Keep it real.

If you are what you eat, then I must be eating a lot of 'special' because that's what people keep calling me.

03.18.08

Damn this stupid cell phone while driving prohibition.

Apparently, the law says that cops can use their phone while driving, but the regular citizen can't. How the hell am I supposed to report those stupid truckers that cut me off in the middle of the highway? Or the drunk teenager crossing the double yellow lines? If I pull over to make the call, I won't be able to read and remember the license plate. That must be it. (Truckers want you to get traffic tickets, so they put their "Report Their Driving" number on the back of their truck. Cops want to make sure truck drivers aren't getting reported. Trucks and cop cruisers must be plotting against the citizen driver.) My thoughts don't make any sense to me.

Besides, I want the right to drive and talk to my favorite phone sex operator like the rest of these officers. Surprisingly, phone sex while driving keeps me calm and helps me to avoid my own road rage. All in all, my driving is plenty safer. It would be better if I could get real sex while driving (or at least a blow job), but these women have been holding out on me since my birth. We need to get the universe controller to fix that glitch for me.

Peeps at work seem to think that I think I'm better than them. They must got some low self esteem or some kind of inferiority complexical syndrome for them to think that. That's why I likes to act stupid and ign'ant 'round those fuckers. It enablizes me to fit in with the rest of the crowd, and not feel like they dissing me behind my back and playing me out by calling me names like "The 'Thinks He's Better' Guy" or "Mr. Knows More Than Us About Working at this 9 to 5." If I ain't make attempts to be like the rest of them fools at work, my co-workers would think I'm wack, and that is something I just can't let happen. That's why I gots to blend in with the crowd and be the dumb, ign'ant fuck that I isn't. Or maybe that's already how I be...


Whoever said, "It's better to give than to receive," must have never received a blow job.

3.17.08

I'll never understand how I've turned out the way I have.

That stupid psychology textbook implied that my childhood makes me a potential serial killer or child molester. Being neither of the two, I'm beginning to think that the universe is out of balance. How can the words in a book be wrong? Or maybe I'm still in the process of reaching that conclusion. Whatever it means, science stays messing with my stuff. Time and all that mumbo-jumbo, making my bosses think I'm late for work. It's bull spit.

Now that I think about it, books are usually fiction. It's only TV that gives you the truth because if it's on TV, then it must be real. That must be why I stay away from that box of evil they call television. All it does is fill minds with reality, dulling imagination while taking away what once was original thought. I refuse to let this TV steal my ideas before I get to think of them.

A co-worker accused me of being in need of female companionship, saying that I seem really frustrated. She talks all this crap to me, and she doesn't even offer to help me out. She tries to act like a therapist and all, but she doesn't even finish the work day with a happy ending. Next time I see her, I will let her know. "Don't complain to me about my life unless you touch my peepee first." That'll show her.

Sometimes, this stuff just doesn't make sense.

3.16.2008

People are strange.

OR

Perhaps my life is just that fucked up. My family lies to me as they secretively hide secrets that I somehow know about. Don't ask me how I know. People only hang out with me because my wife gives them more action and attention than she does me. My job continues to undervalue me, knowing well that my skills extremely surpass the worth that they have given me. My car keeps fucking up on me as my bankroll increases, acting like another gold-digger chauffeur. There's a lot of fucked up shit going on. My shoes don't fit. I have no friends. I can only hold conversations 1 out of 10 times. My life is just that fucked up. Welcome to it. I will bitch about it. I will complain. And I will fuck you up for the mere challenge and fun of it. That's how I roll.

Money may not be able to buy happiness,
but it can still get you fucked up.
And that's what I is.

If it is what it is, what is it?