Save the Boobies!

Save the Boobies!

Just when you thought blogs where a complete waste of time, here they are saving the god's greatest gift to mankind. Boobies.

Go save the boobies!

For more info hit up my good friend Katie.

How safe is our Democracy? It's fine as long as you wear the Tin Hats!

From the Booman Tribune:

"It looks like the new Rolling Stone due out tomorrow will have a doozy of an article by RFK, Jr. whick will look into whether the 2006 election can be hacked. Based on a few blurbs that were "sneak previewed" by Raw Story it looks like there is an even bigger story in that article - an admission by a Diebold consultant that machine software was altered in 5,000 machines in DeKalb and Fulton counties on the day of the election."

And just the fact that this happened should make you outraged.

Attention Shoppers: You get nothing out of licking the Package.

So please stop.

Are we running some sort of after school lunch program here?

It would be the only thing that would explain why the same two kids come into the bakery everyday asking for a cookie. Where are your parents? Go buy something. Do you really need that cookie everyday?

M&M insists she is Culturally Sensitive: Because we now a "Mexican Section" in the bakery. Which today consists of 5 packages of 'mini' corn muffins.

Why mini-corn muffins? I guess because M&M thinks Mexicans just love Corn Muffins. I can attest to the fact that the Ex (A Mexi-can not Mexi-can't) loved the Jiffy Corn Mix.

Today's Rosie Poem is dedicated to:

Gross Customers

Customer
today
asks for discount
on Donuts
for Mom And Dad
Cause the tray with donuts has a fly in it,

Still she wants three
I give 'em to her for 50 cents

But after you do that
don't try and flirt it up
At the Hot Box
tellin' me you want to see me dance


You're so 40 something.

Ignatious J. Reilly, An old man is pissing, Guest edited by Rosie.

Employee bathroom
has no lock
So nothing can stop
an old homeless man
from walking in on me
and nothing can stop him from pissing
before I can leave

No sir, an apology is not good enough.

State inspector
is a big fat Ignatious J. Reilly.
Who sticks his flashlight into our decorative pipes, looking for rust
Somehow he misses the flies.

The girl who might like me
and who quit working here
to make 7 dollars an hour elsewhere
returned to work here
because the other place had perv mangers
I once told her I had a large penis and often wear see through clothing

It's been two days
since I have needed an Aleve to get through the day

when my back hurts
I want to recruit 500 members for the Red Army
to go all Columbine
in America's malls
right before Christmas
and cost the Economy
2 trillions of dollars

i hope the fbi
does not read this blog

Securing America: Health Inspectors Florida, U.S.A.

"I don't know what you did to the floor yesterday, but the health inspector sure was impressed. He said the floors look good."

It's good to see Mr. Magoo has found work at the Florida Health Department.

Mopping is for clean bakeries anyways.

I refuse to mop any more at work. But I don't think any of you who visit Palmghetto's 'ghettoiest' bakery will notice much of a difference though.

I refuse to notice some things too. Like the way you cough up your 27 year old lungs each morning like you're already half dead from emphysema. Or the way you have meticulously place the paper waste basket directly opposite the commode against the wall, so each time I take a shit I can get a clear view of all the bloodied tissues face up in the basket.

You could at least put a clean tissue over all that stuff, nobody wants to watch your lung slowly decompose. You are only 27 after all. Not quite like the old men who sit out in front of Walmart coughing like they are talking into a tin can, three seconds from having a hole drilled in their necks.

I get paid an embarrassing low amount of money. I have already thrown my back out mopping with a standard kitchen mop. Now that is broke. I can't seem to locate a large "industrial" sized mop and bucket together at the same time.

I think it's some sort of conspiracy, started by the Visitors. Sometimes I think they are talking to me. "C'mon man, don't you wanna make some more of those cinnamon rolls?" Never buy the cinnamon rolls here, it is simply impossible to keep flies out of the breakfast glaze.

This post is dedicated to the indentured servitude now festered on to me by a growing and demanding readership.

I like it better when he wears the Glove.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Small Meat.

Since you can't stop wondering about what your favorite grocery store baker does... when not picking flies out of your bread...I give you....

From the unwritten screenplay "Baker's Boy-Actual Conversations Are Never Verbatim."

Scene 1 Act 1

Interior of a Grocery Store Breakroom. Populated by 3 teenaged wannabe Gangsta's and a white smocked, pudgy-cute, goatee wearing, Philosophy buff.


Kid A (but not the Radiohead one) "Hey, say what you said on speakerphone."

Kid 1 then turns on the speakerphone function to his cell phone. He then holds his phone at directs it at Kid "b".

Voice on Speakerphone "No." Cackles of laughter then emanate outward. Her voice is both shy and strangely commanding.

Kid 1 Enthusiastic. "Come on tell him he's got ...Small Meat." "He's got small meat." The repeated line is to no one in particular.

The whole breakroom explodes into a cacophony of "oh no you didn't 's" and such.

Kid "c" "Can anyone hold my wallet for me after I get it cashed? It'll have 89 dollars in it and I will be going away for a few days."

Kid "b" "Juvey?"

Kid "c" "Yea."

Kid "b" "They said I tried shooting something."

***

M-16's ( the 16 year old) Mom is now working in the store with us.

Here are M-16's tips for selling bread.

1. Wear the Carmen Miranda Hat
2. Tell People "Nothing says Love ...like warm bread...

Attention Shoplifters:

Business Week offers up the details on how the revolution in surveillance systems will take place.

For the most part it will be unadvertised, as most consumers prefer not to be followed and observed silently while they purchase their children's milk.

"Already, tech startups are working on even more promising -- or intimidating -- systems to track customers through the entire shopping process. There's even talk of stores installing facial recognition programs and license plate readers to catch repeat offenders. You're not likely to notice much of a difference at your favorite shopping haunts. But make no mistake -- they're noticing you."

I just hope they allow employess are allowed a glimpse of all the hot milf's missing thongs with "cameras mounted in cashier stands about six inches off the ground scrutinize the bottom racks of passing carts."

That would almost make working at agrocery store worth it.

Just a quick note...please leave with all the underwear you came with.

Attention Shoppers:

"Will the person who lost their black thong in the grocery bread aisle please come to Customer Service to claim their belongings."

No, I did not make that announcement today. But I could have.

My store (as far as I know) does not sell loose thong underwear for women. But that did not stop me from finding a pair of loose black thong styled panties in the bread aisle today.

"Did you pick it up?" My brother asks. "Fuck No!...Who knows where its been?"

Just as mysteriously as it appeared... it disappeared. My exit from the store takes me right up that aisle and alas ...no panties.

Long Live the Revolution!

I only celebrate 2 religious holidays a year. May Day and Labor Day.

I will be working my religious holiday this year.

I don't work Mondays normally, so I didn't think to ask for it off.

So of course I got scheduled on Labor Day.

"I just treated it like any other day." Answered M&M when I asked her about why I was working the only day working people shouldn't have to.

Of course you did. Why not? Just like I treat the fact that I have been disfigured* and disabled** as just a "regular part of working for the capitalist pigs."

Lucky for me though, this is PalmGhetto. So a regular workday is never just a "regular workday." Instead of spending my holiday trying to avoid chanting pro-union songs all day (I don't know any lyrics), I can spend the day trying to avoid white trash conversations at my lunchtime locker.

The following conversation is not verbatim:

After informing me that the "Bitch in the register next to me" better "watch her ass" mostly because "she is talking a lot of shit," I overhear the middle aged cashier on her cell telling her prospects that she "had a little something if you are interested."

Next she busts out with her "tabs" and asks if I needed any. I politely declined and mentioned I'd rather continue to vomit up my own blood up instead.

* I hesitate to place a picture of the hideous scar on the lower half of my thumb which I received from scraping it against the trash can bin.

** I've been vomiting liters of blood from all the Aleve I've been taking for the back pain I incurred whilst mopping an entire bakery floor with a kitchen sized mop.