Have you see my bottle of relish?**

I am not sure where it went. I have heard that quantum physics provides for the possibility that it simply “popped” out of existence. Doubtful I am sure. But it is the only possibility that I can seriously consider at this point. I can't remember the brand name, but it was spicy hot dog relish. If you find it, can you please return it to me straight away?

Food has been troubling me lately. A box of wheat thins sat on the edge of my coffee table. Its presence was disturbing to me. Not just because it was blocking the telly either.

I can anticipate your response to my concerns. You will tell me that Darfur is still awful. That getting so upset over a missing bottle of hot dog condiment is immoral or stupid.

But things just don't disappear. My materialist point of view has been called into question. The soundtrack of my brain has been playing creepy music from the Scorpions all day. Coincidence? I think not. The universe is trying to tell me something. How else do you explain my sudden use of English terms like telly? Certainly not just from reading Philip Davison. He's Irish after all.

Update # 2

After throwing a temper tantrum and scrounging my rubbish can I decided to eat hot dogs for dinner. I topped them with sweet relish packets I took from a local Circle K.

A few hours later I looked in the fridge. I found the bottle of relish exactly where I had left it. It is impossible. I tore apart that fridge. I saw nothing. But now here it is. Sitting peacefully in the door shelf. Mocking me. I wonder, did you find it and return it to me? What do you know of secrets found in Quantum Physics? And what do you want of me?

**Blogger lost the original wording to this post. I have tried to reconstruct it, but alas this is all I can do.

The Awesome Kerry Howley E-mailed me. I sent two e-mails to her and she responded to them with a witty retort.

I officially adopt Kerry Howley. She is my new Girl Friend

Kerry may not yet be famous. But that's because I have not talked about her. She is an associate editor for Reason Magazine. Which means she is a Libertarian.

I don't like to think about her politics, because they make me puke. But I do like to watch her on TV. She frequently shows up on my favorite new TV series Red Eye. Red Eye airs on the Fox News Channel.

Red Eye is almost as funny as the Daily Show. Which makes it 400 times funnier than Fox's other effort at humor the Half Hour News Hour.

I want the world and more importantly my readers to know about Kerry because I plan on having this blog adopt her. Doctor Von Monkeystein started an adoption program on his blog. It's called Adopt an Actor. I have taken a few liberties with his proposal by not adopting an actual actor, but by adopting a TV personality and celebrity journalist. I figure I can squeeze Kerry under the auspices of actor because she shows up on a TV show as a regular guest.

Either way I don't care about rules. I want Kerry Howley to be my adopted actor. I want Kerry to find my blog and ask me to marry her. The answer is yes, Kerry. I will marry you. I'll even drop out of the Communist Party for you if want.

In case you have never seen an episode of Red Eye, here is a fake transcript example of every Red Eye ever made. Funny if you know the show and it even features Kerry.

I pedal

I stole another newspaper today. I am not going to pay 50 cents for the news. The valley has a terrible newspaper. I've done my neighbor a service. He won't have to read that dribble today.

Everyone's girlfriend is cute today. At the Circle K a teenager was dressed in cut off shorts over a pink bikini. A Mexican stood on his truck while getting gas and yelled at the traffic. I watched him as I pedaled away to Wendy's.

The hippy girl at Wendy's in her green top and boot cut jeans looked nice. She had a plain face and short hair. I didn't mind. Even though I don't like women with short hair. I have a rule. I won't date a women with shorter hair than me. I keep my hair very short because I am going bald. Going bald has opened up an entire new world of women for me.

I daydream a lot. I dreamed that I could get paid to blog about eating so much at Wendy's. They would send me a card for free meals and maybe an extra few hundred dollars a month. I would get write ups in the New York Times. I would write lurid fan letters to Wendy. I imagined fucking her in that rag doll outfit of hers.

A sweaty young black man asked me for a dollar. He had brought his younger brother in to the restaurant with him. Maybe he was going to show him the ropes, let him learn from his older brother how to beg for for a living.

I dug into my pockets and found 4 quarters for him. He left after I gave him the money. He told me he needed the money to buy food. He said it was hot and he was thirsty. He said he was going to buy his food next door. I don't think I believe him. On second thought I guess I do believeh him, I am just a little pissed that a vagabond would have better taste than eat in a place like Wendy's.

I bought the $2.99 meal because I am low on funds. I wasn't going to buy any more fast food. I was not going to buy the newspaper either. But I compromised. I decided to buy the cheapest meal on the menu after I stole a paper.

I pedaled home. I eat too much at Wendy's. I was planning a fourth of july party, because no one will burn flags with me. I had spent the previous 7 hours cleaning for the party. I did dishes. I swept the floor. I threw out trash. I listened to UFO loud on a Karoke stereo. I needed a break.

So I pedaled to Wendy's.

Doctors create Vagina from Stem Cells

I scoop Katie once again on all things Vagina.

"Doctors in Italy used stem cells to reconstruct vaginas for two patients suffering from rare malformations. The vaginal tissue was grown using stem cells from the patients' own bodies, ANSA said Wednesday.

In the first case, a 28-year-old woman received a tiny square of mucous membrane a year ago and has since grown a vagina. A 17-year-old girl underwent the same procedure Tuesday in Rome's Umberto I hospital. Approximately one in every 5,000 female infants is born without a vagina, the news service said."

First I told you about the girls with two vaginas, and now I find out there is a sure cure for girls born without one. Wow, Science sure is advancing quickly. I guess with 1 in 5000 women not having a vagina the market for a new stem cell vagina is bigger than just the Re-Virgin market alone.

And I am not about to make the obvious "Paris Hilton can go buy a new vagina now" joke that you all saw coming.

The Drunken Mis-Adventures of Romius T.

I've been on a bit of a roll. Today, which is your yesterday, was the fourth straight day I woke up after 6 in the evening. Which is not to say that I don't get anything done during the day. It's just for me the day ends when you wake up.

I have a bad feeling about my chances of getting hired by Denny's. The manager still has not called me back to tell me I have the job. I've played phone tag all week with Denny's after two of the best interviews of my life. That's why I spent all last night applying for jobs online at a certain "prestigious" university nearby.

I better get one of these jobs soon. I owe $3.50 for an overdue book at the library. Add a total of $2.50 more on two other books. I am getting charged so much because some other asshole wants to read the God Delusion. The asshole must have placed a hold on the book because a hold won't allow me to renew the book. I'd return the book, but it is 115 degrees this week. I can't bike in that heat and the bus is 2 dollars and 50 cents round trip. Add a stop at Wendy's for lunch along the way and my bill for reading this damn book is 13 dollars. Which is like 13 cans of beer I won't be able to drink.

I was going to blog today about last nights drinking, but not a lot happened. I talked to a bartender over at Teakwoods that hates me. I had asked her for an application the last time I had gone in to that bar. That day she noticed that I looked different. "What's wrong you look a bit nervous." You see why I do so good at interviews.

I don't have a chance with this bartender because my good friend the FRO has dished quite a bit of gossip to her. And too much of the gossip is true. Not to mention that she is married. Not that that has stopped me before. Married women love me. I have to beat them off with a stick. Ask the Drug Monkey.

I got a headache last night even though I didn't drink any PBR. I don't have a headache today though. But my poop was brine yellow. I am not sure if brine yellow is even a color.

I mention my poop because it reminded me that I ate a lot of peanuts last night. Teakwoods gives peanuts away for free and you get to throw the shells on the floor. Folks in the Ghetto love to throw their peanut shells on the floor. Ask any redneck or ghetto dweller what the best part of their favorite bar is, they will nearly always respond with the "you can throw your peanut shells on the floor!"

Since I waited since to post last night's drinking story today, I will go ahead and post tonight's drinking story as well. We were at the Dollar PBR bar. Only today is not Dollar PBR. So instead we drank 4 or 6 pitchers of beer. The beer was warm and we stuck a plastic cup of full of ice in the pitcher to keep it cold. Then I would digg my hands into the cup for ice to put in my beer. I think this offended quite a few people at the bar.

The PBR Bar gets busy late at night because you can drink after closing time. It was getting busy about that time when a couple of FEMDOM girls walked in. One girl was dressed all up in pink leather spandex mini skirt. The other two girls were just bi-curious females along for the ride.

For those of you don't know about FEMDOM I'll explain. Now normally I don't like talking about my fetishes. Unless I am going to be paying $2.99 a minute to do so. But for you I will. Actually why don't I just let my master tell you.

Self Help Center Advice on Domestic Abuse:

"I bet I could end most cases of domestic violence by simply advising young poor women to allow their men to throw nut shells on the kitchen floor."

I hate to get all political on you

Sicko is the new movie from Micheal Moore. He does not care that someone stole the movie and put it on the internets. So I guess he won't mind me putting it on my blog. It's all there to see on Google Video. Proving to you that Google is good and not half as Evil as I claim it to be.



I figured since the movie is on my blog we could gather up some popcorn and watch it together. Because we really don't hang out together as much as we used to. I know you miss me. And I hope it's OK if I get a bunch of snot on you. I cry a lot at the movies. I'd like to think it has something to do with my sensitive side, but I think it's just because I am mentally unbalanced.

Is This The Dénouement?***

Denny's: The Interview Part Two

I did not ride the bus to the interview this time. I got a ride from a friend. I know what you are thinking. Things are looking up for me already. I would just like to remind you that I am getting driven to a second interview for a job that comes with all the free hair nets you can ask for.

I am greeted by the same server as last time. She asks if I want water "again." I guess that means she recognizes me.* Like I am some kind of rock star. Now I know what it feels like to be Britney Spears. Except I almost never have the desire to wear pink panties in public. I would wear them at home but my ex-girl friends tell me that my ass is too big.

I wait 10 minutes for Javier to stroll out from the manger's office behind the hallway. He tells me that he "didn't know I was coming for an interview" and that the General Manager "never mentioned me." Not even once. Nothing at all about me wearing clown shoes to the interview. ****

Once again I am not really interviewed. I get asked one standard question about how to deal with bad customers. Javier spends the rest of the time telling me how bad employees are these days.

"We used to think that only teenagers were irresponsible, but I know 40 year old servers who used to be managers that call in late all the time. They are always getting flat tires or going to funerals."

I was completely taken aback by Javier's use of the Royal We and with his inability to comprehend 40 year old managers that get busted down to server taking time off to visit dead family members before they get placed underground.

I think Javier just wanted to make sure I wouldn't make any racial comments. "Denny's is famous for that." He tells me. I am not sure if he is proud of that fact or not. But I look really white today. Khakis and dress shoes make me look middle aged. And white people are racists. So I am glad Javier checked me out for that. I told him I had a Mexican drive me to the interview. So I think he knows that I like Mexicans. I did not tell him I was married to a Mexican for 6 short months. Because Mexicans don't like it when White Men marry their women.

Javier did not offer me the job. But he did tell me that he would talk to the manager who forgot about me. I know you are all hope that I don't get the job. So I can keep going on this series of interviews. But that's because you have it out for me.

*I get it you know me. I'm famous. 37 people read my blog every other day. You know I like to I like to drink water when it is hot outside. And that I feel too guilty to ask for a free coke at an interview and yes that means I've got "issues." But what celebrity doesn't?

*** If I left this title as a comment on your MySpace I am recycling it because I am lazy.

**** Instead I wore my "fancy" dress shoes.

***

I've been Tagged by a monkee.

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. (You’re not the boss of me!)
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog

1. I like sunflower seeds, but no longer eat them.
2. Every road trip starts off with a bag of Funyuns.
3. I did this list because I like monkee man not because I like being tagged.
4. I can't think of any talents

I'm getting close to hired, because what you really want to read is a Denny's blog.

I won't do that. Waiter Rant is already funnier and more popular than I will ever be. Since they are so popular I am not going to link to them. So even though I won't turn this blog into the Denny's Rant I can tell you that getting hired at Denny's is a lot more of an ordeal that you might think.

I've dropped off applications, made phone calls and stopped by to set up an interview. I took the bus today to the interview even though Denny's is a bike a ride away. I didn't want to get sweaty for the first of two interviews that I must complete over the next two days. It was 103 outside.

You can take one of two bus routes to get to Denny's. The one I took drops you off short of the restaurant by three blocks, couple that with my 15 minute walk to the bus stop the dollar and twenty five cents I just paid the transit system is fools money.

The bus drops me off near a gas station and I get out and attempt to cut across the parking lot. I stumble and fall into a ditch covered in gravel. I slip no less than 3 times trying to get up. Suddenly my life is like some lame I love Lucy slapstick comedy. The bus driver stops the bus and opens the slide door. She yells out at me, "Are you ok?" A man stares at me strangely after he hears me mutter "my life is full of indignity like this."

The bus driver keeps asking me if I am OK. She doesn't get that she is only making things worse for me, by drawing attention to what loser I am. My shoes are now scuffed and dirty. And now I know I have the bus for an audience. The bus riders stand up to get a good look out of their windows. They saw me hop on the bus for a good 30 seconds, then jump off at the first stop, and now I can't seem to stand up without tumbling into a ditch.

Go the fuck away.

I finally make it to the Denny's. I get seated by the lone server who walks back to get the manager. Before she leaves me she asks if I want a soda or tea. I ask for a water. She returns with the water and a straw and a concerned look on her face. "Here is your water." She says. Then she pulls out a straw and asks if I want or need a straw. "We aren't really supposed to give you a straw, but if you want one you can have it."

I tell her "it is ok and I don't need the straw." She seems relieved. I don't know what kind of pressure the staff is under here about straws but it has me concerned. The manager sits down in the booth across from me. She is in her late 40's or early 50's. She looks just like every waitress in every Denny's or every truck stop you've ever been to. Only she doesn't seem as tired. Actually she looks refreshed. Like she just woke up from a nap.

She asks me If I have any experience and I tell her a little. Which is not a lie. She asks why I would want to be a server. I tell her I am a people person. Which I guess is a lie. That's when she basically ends the interview. "I hate interview questions, don't you?" I agree with her. And then she proceeds to give me every reason in the world to not take this job. She mentions the low pay and difficult work hours.

What really gets me is that I will have to provide my own uniform in the sum of 40 dollars for a black shirt my own tan pants. I get the money back after I quit I am told. I guess this is supposed to give me relief. They aren't stealing my money. Just hijacking it for the entire duration of my employment with Denny's.

The manager asks me one more question. "Can you take productive criticism?" I tell her "if it's productive." I have no idea why I emphasize the last word. The manger was testing me. She tells me a story about another Denny's. This Denny's has a staff with tattoos and lazy people. A staff of Mexicans who won't serve Hispanics. Even when spoken to in Spanish.

As the General Manager of 11 Denny's around the tri-state area she will not tolerate laziness or heavy tattooed people working for her. I inform her that I think tattoos are a fad. That I secretly detest the hipster wanna be's that get them. And I tell her that I am not the least bit lazy. Which I guess is a big lie.

But I did put on my size 11 workplace casual shoes for her. They are a size to large for me. I did not notice it until a week after I bought them. I really could not afford them, but I bought them anyway. I thought I would get a lot of use out of the shoes. I figured they would get me to stop wearing flip flops and sandals with my jeans.

My exGF hated me when I wore the flip flops instead of real shoes. Most of the time I wore flips anyway. And when she asked me why I did it I told her I forgot to wear shoes. Anytime I wore real shoes I told her I wore them just for her.

I don't usually wear my Doc Martens because I don't like them, but I did for the interview. I feel uncomfortable in my new shoes. But these shoes are Doc's so they will last me for years. I can't buy new shoes 'till these are ripped and torn. So instead I just keep wearing my flip flops with jeans. I'm 36. A good 15 years to old for that look. Also I am sure only women are supposed to wear flips and jeans. And I think that look went out at least 3 years ago. I'm so far behind in the times. It's not my fault girls get all the "cute" looks in fashion.

So fuck you all. I will wear my flips and jeans. And you can go screw yourselves. I have a really "intense" egg menu to go memorize.

I'm not an alcoholic, I just crush easily on bartenders

Which is why I wished I hadn't upset one of my favorite bartenders of all time. She works at Groggies in Mesa. I haven't been to Groggies in ages. You should visit the bar and her sometime and make yourself a regular there.

If you do go, don't make the same mistake I just did. Pretending not to remember her after being away for so long. I think I offended Groggies best bartender when I replied to her observation that she knew me by mouthing the words, "no she doesn't" to my friend. Over and over again. Like I was embarrassed to know her or something. Which of course isn't true.

Now the bartender with gold highlights and curls hates me. This makes me nervous. When she liked me she used to put Tabasco sauce in my shots in order to watch me puke on my birthday. I have no idea how she will treat me in the future, but I can say it may be dangerous for me to go back.

That's not the reason I didn't say goodbye to the bartender when I left. I tried looking back at her as I walked out the door. I hoped we could at least make eye contact.

I remember when it first started to get weird between me and the groggies bartender. I think one of my friends let it be known that I "had a thing for her." Which I suppose is true, but we both knew that it wasn't reciprocal. So we never had to broach the subject. Once the subject was "broached" by someone all my "innocent" flirtations were deemed creepy impositions by her.

Not that she didn't flirt too. That little bartender has a sensational smile and she loves to flash it for you. But she saves those flashes to interrupt her normally grumpy personality just at the moment you may decide to "write this chick off, that she is just another stuck up hottie always in a bad mood. Then she'll look at you and her eyes will sparkle and she'll give you that smile. And she's got your attention. I guess I am saying she's like Bill Clinton now. She "locks" into you. And suddenly you feel like a jerk for even thinking anything bad about her at all.

And then with a twist and a turn she raises her cleavage back up and is off down the bar chatting it up with some tattooed poser. Leaving you to swallow down your beer and take off with your friend for the next bar. Not that the friend hadn't noticed how you gushed over her, so there is no use to playing it off. But you still try and look cool. You finish a small pitcher between the two of you and slowly exit the bar.

You look back two times as you open the door to leave, but the bartender is busy pouring drinks for others. She is too busy to notice you leaving. And when she gets back to your spot in the bar your absence will confirm for her all her mental impressions of you. All those inadequacies you see in yourself you hope that others don't. She sees them.

We forgot to pay the bill at another bar in town in Tempe. I was pretty sure I saw a friend of mine slip the bartender some cash. I guess she didn't need the money because she refused it. She used to work as a stripper, so maybe she is loaded. A fellow bartender and co-worker of the ex-stripper is here tonight. Very hipster cute. For a while I was worried that the co-worker was going to mobbed by the desperate men that frequent this dive bar. They crowd in on her and press their bellies into her back. But she gets a free drink out of it.

Hipster bartender's bill came to 33 dollars which surprised her. She looked up at the ex-stripper barkeeper like "you're going to rape me too?" But she piled out the cash and left it on the table without a fuss. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it. She was just hoping that she could drink for free in the bar that she works in. Not a crazy request.

The Palo Verde was dead tonight, but not as dead as the Re-Work lounge. A total of two other people sat at the bar at 9 P.M. on a Saturday. Bad. Arizona's smoking ban has basically killed this bar. It has no patio or smoking section. Just a jive jukebox and oddly smoke free clean shine to the furniture which I remarked upon. Dive bars should not be this clean.

The barkeep was 21. She was cute and personable. She cheered for us to come in and order a pitcher of beer. So we did. Whenever I meet a person for the first time I always do my best to creep them out. That way they know just where I am coming from.

The bartender asked us how what were up to. I told her we were hunting for fat chicks. Because we want to get laid. I asked if she knew any fat chicks, but she said she didn't. So I asked if she was a fatist, and she said she wasn't. Then I called her parents hippies. And she told me I was right. That her parents were typical Boomers that used to be hippies but now work for the "man."

"They even live in a gated community." She volunteered. Her Dad worked for Honeywell which in my mind made him a bomb maker. She claimed that he worked in fiber optics. I replied that I thought there was quite a lot of fiber optics these days in bombs. Bombs these days being all smart and such. She asked if we would like another beer. There was no chance in hell of that.

Next bar is a Karaoke bar that Foxxxlove does her singing at. I gave the most interesting interpretation of Gloria ever "sung" at that bar. Which to my dissatisfaction contained no hipsters to "get it." Though I must say that the aging Karaoke DJ who sung like Alice in Chains "got it."

We fled that bar to get Tacos from Jack in-the Box. 2 for 99 cents. The drive thru nearly let us leave without our waters. And then it was back to the Palo Verde. This time the bar had filled up with 2 cute hipster girls playing pool. We watched as the two beat the pants off a couple of guys. I think they went about getting those guys pants off the hard way. I am sure they just could have asked. Anyone in the bar would oblige.

The girls got served after 2 am. So did we but we had to "buy" our drink before 2 am. The male bartender nearly refused to give us the second pitcher of beer, but we reminded him that we already paid for it. He kindly poured us another pitcher. I poured out my old beer in a glass and poured myself a fresh cold glass of beer. I did not finish drinking the beer. And I didn't beat myself up about not drinking it either.

8 year old gets molested by girl and then the law fucks him over by charging him with a crime

It's not everyday that you hear that an 8 year old gets charged with a sex crime.


8-Year-Old Charged For Sexual Conduct With Sitter.

But what makes this "crime" crazy is the 14 year old female babysitter is the molester.

"A mother is upset after a 14-year-old babysitter engaged in sexual conduct with her eight-year-old boy, and the eight-year-old was charged with lewd conduct. "

You heard that right, because the victim was a boy HE gets charged with a crime.

"The sexual conduct occurred during a game of “truth or dare” while the boy was being watched by the babysitter.Prosecutors say that, while the babysitter initiated the contact, the young boy was a willing participant."

I'm not certain who to induct into the Hall of Fame so I guess I will induct both of these kids. Here is more good news for both I guess:

"The district attorney’s office confirmed the charges had been made, and that they had been dropped. Other than that, they wouldn’t comment. The Division of Child and Family Services also declined to comment."

I will comment on the picture I included for this post. It turns out there is a running epidemic of people placing their children in microwave and conventional ovens.

I put laundry in 8 hours ago

Random thought from one part of my brain to the other just popped in my head, "You have a load of whites in the washer. You might want to put them in the dryer."

Thanks, other-part-of-my-brain.

"Your welcome."

Your welcome? Really? You're going to take credit for remembering the load of laundry put in 8 hours ago? 8 hours ago? That load of laundry is now quite possibly stank full of mildew. If it's not mildew then we are on the cusp of mildew. The verge of mildew. You don't remember 8 hours ago and now all of a sudden you flash this little thought out of the blue while I am sitting here typing away in my black "wear the shirt and get a free bag of popcorn" Harkins t-shirt and you are going to take the thank you?

Maybe other side of the brain would like to change the subject. Do I remember the girl at the theater today? The girl that gave me the pity stare. Just because I was sitting by myself against the wall waiting for the movie Knocked Up to start. She looked at me funny because I was wearing the Harkins shirt and had my free bag of popcorn.

Why does this shirt need boobies?

Do I remember how she watched as my popcorn fell all over the place? And how she continued to stare as I balanced my dollar Souvenir cups, popcorn and candy, as I sank to my knees awaiting the opening call all by myself? Like I was screaming at her "I love me some movies. I love free popcorn and dollar sodas!!!"

She's going to feel sorry for me? She was having her fat friend night out on the town. Thursday is a good day to hang out with your fat friends. Not Friday. Friday is for getting laid.

Now she is asking herself why I didn't have any fat friends like her to hang out with on Thursday. Or why some cool guy hasn't made me his fat friend to hang with when he needs to get away from the girlfriend. Stop the pity stare, bitch. I will cut you, as soon as I put down my ziplock bag of M&M's. I can't pay theater candy prices.

Now that the movie is over, I can't stop staring at the hot girl with the goofy boyfriend on the way out of the theater. I run a bit to catch up with her badonga bong ass when it slips out of view. I don't know how much that guy pays for you, but whatever it is it's worth it. Badonga-Badonga Ass has chemistry with this guy. She looks likes she wants to be with him. Not at all like the Heigl chick when she made out with my man Seth.

"Do you know what the difference is between you and the Seth Character?" I am going to get asked this a lot. "Nope." I reply.

"You are 11 years older than him."

Fuck me.

Pray I get the Dunkin Donuts Job

I spent a good part of the day looking for a job today. Some of you look for jobs the old fashioned way. You look in the paper, go to an employment agency or you ask a friend about job openings.

Well I am not like that. I live in the Ghetto. Like most of the Circle K's around me.

ME: "Are you guys hiring? I'd like to get an application if I could."

Clerk of the store: "Um..we ain't got applications...just a forms to write your name and number down."

Me: "OK. So could I get that?"

Clerk: "Oh. No, we ain't got any of those either. Here, just take a sheet of paper and write your name down."

I went to a couple of convenience stores and donut shops. At all three stores the same thing happened. Exact same thing at the local Dunkin Donuts. Only there the clerk was cross-eyed.

"Are you sure you want to work here?" Asked the cross-eyes donut seller. He looked me up and down with his good eye. His look seemed to say, you look a little white and shiny to take this job, you ain't gonna stay long. "If so just write your name on this receipt tape and I will pin it on the bosses door."

I regret placing a real phone number down. "Why?" Asked my roommate. "Are you worried he won't give your number to the store manager? I bet if you brought a resume to the store you'd get the job."

The last thing I need to get a job there is a resume. No way they hire anyone with a resume.Resumes are reserved for white collar jobs and bankers. And the only thing this donut guy knows about bankers is that if play Monopoly don't be the banker. Bankers have to count money. And that provides your friends plenty of targets to ridicule your math skillz. Unless you want to cheat at monopoly by hiding those orange colored 500 dollar bills under your side of the board when no one is looking.

My roommate is convinced I am wrong. But I know better. Dirty, cross-eyed, retarded, wipes sweat on clothes, forget to wash? That's what gets you hired, in the Ghetto. Also I don't have anything mean to say about the corporate cunt at a local "pizza" other than you still work at a pizza place. Just because you dress like Stacy from What Not to Wear doesn't give you the right to frown down to the ugly people. You are not fooling anyone with that corporate gear. All that said I still think you are cute. And I like peperoni on my pizza. So don't get pissy and remember me in August "when you start hiring."