What was once the blog that got me fired. Now try and figure it out. I intend to Track the eventual overthrow of mankind by robots. Conspiracy theories. Election Fraud concerns. Documenting the Silent Totalitarianism of the Surveillance Society. Or maybe this is just my real life, only fictionalized.
Somebody poisoned my hamburger from Carl's Jr. last night. I figure it was probably your boyfriend, the greasy mexican behind the counter. I know how he's pissed off at me because of our secret friendship. He gets jealous of the way you think about me when you play with yourself.
All I know is that I have exploding yellow diarrhea and I can thank you for that. Which is nice, because the liquidy yellow shit I get from you, is a way better prize than you get for not showing up to my store's Steak'n Potato party Saturday. 10 am is way too early for me to wake up, and I figured that the give-aways weren't going to be real, but they were. Somebody won a 32 inch flat screen tv, and one of the mentally retarded girls who works here won a bike. I wasn't even pissed when I heard that the little retard won the bike. I could just imagine her running around screaming after she won. Who could take away that kind of joy from a person?
Speaking of joy, all the winners from this morning, went around rubbing it in my face by forcing me to look at all the prizes I could have won like suns tickets or 50 dollar gift certificates to Red Lobster. Like me, my spirit wives did not show up, so they didn't get anything. We just sat around feeling sorry for ourselves, and I became the prize patrol for night crew by giving away 10 dollars in cash to some of my spirit wives, because they all earn minimum wage and don't have enough money left over to buy lunch. I am not good looking, so I have to give away money if I want to keep getting hugs from my underaged baggers. That's ok, it's way cheaper to give teen girls lunch money for hugs and fake emotional connection than to give professional strippers money to rub on you.
After my shift ended I discovered that the company put all the left over steaks and baked potatoes in the manager's office. If I 'd been smart, I would have found the stash earlier, and treated my wives to a fine sit down fancy meal. Because I found the left overs at closing all that was left where bags of Baked Lay's Potato chips in the single serving size. I grabbed 4 of them along with 2 big cookies, so take that Corporate America.
My little victory over Corporate America is short lived because they slash our store's collective hours from 600 to 400. They are slashing hours not because our store fails to meet sales goals, we break them, but because the district is not making sales goals. What recession?
I was at work when I finally got a voice mail message. I can't tell you how excited I was when I figured out that my phones vibration meant I was being left a voice mail. Well actually I think someone tried leaving a voice mail for my podcast. They didn't leave a message, or it didn't get recorded, or they recorded it, and I don't know how to check the voice mail correctly. I thought the messages were supposed to show up at a website in-box after they rang my phone, but neither my phone nor the in-box has a message left for them. So if you were trying to send me a message, I didn't get the message, unless not getting a message was the message, in that case I don't think I get the message, and that got me irritated.
I'm irritated and I didn't want you to think I am irritated from work. All my customers are depressed today. I have to make an effort to hold down all the bile they give me. Customers overestimate how good they are at operating simple devices like self checkout machines. The roll the the items they wish to purchase over the machine back and forth and then shake it over the laser like it can't pick up a bar code. They get pissed and scream at me. They don't realize they need to make sure after they scan an item that the item is then placed in the bag weigh scale station before it will let them move on to another item. The machine is intentionally keeping them from scanning more items because it thinks they are stealing, or it thinks they are scanning one item and exchanging it for another item. I don't know what the machine thinks, because if it thinks at all, it would let the 4 pre-teen girls buying Dora the Explorer products for $2.04 and demanding change back from their 2 dollars to just go, and not keep them on the pay screen where they can punch "cancel order" over and over again even though they are too far into the order to cancel, and I will have to void the entire transaction for the third tim. The computer if it contained any humanity would simply toss them 4 cents, so they could get the hell out of my store. But computers are heartless and that's why they rule the world, and that's why I will drink tonight.
My blood pressure is up from my encounters with customers and my throat feels like I just swallowed a jar full of cotton. My heart skips off on a random rhythm like it's pissed to have to do it's job. It's telling me soon it won't, like the customers who fuck with me at the self check, my body wants to get the last laugh.
Work wants me to wake up at 10 am for a celebration tomorrow. They are throwing us a party for being number one in the district "mystery shop" contest. Every employee at the store received a 100 dollar gift card. Everybody feels Ghetto rich, and blows the card money in the first few hours, I splurge on hair care products, the girls buy eye makeup.
The party is from 11am to 1pm and there will be "give aways and steak" and I can't afford steak or gifts so I guess I better get up early and get my ass down there. I laid down after work today to prepare for such and early rise and tried to sleep to MegaDeath screaming into my ears on my Phillips MP3 player. Megadeath is angry and so am I. I suddenly hate my manager, I want to tell her that growing her hair past her ass when she is 40 years old looks ridiculous, it looks more ridiculous than her braces, it looks more ridiculous than the sad roses she got on Valentine's day that I thought she stole from the back of the floral department.
I thought about asking my front end manager if I should report on her for stealing, but I figured she's the boss and she can get away with it. But then I heard that the sad rose basket came from her boyfriend and then I felt sorry for her, and I even understood why she drives three different Cadillacs to work, even though getting those three different cadillacs to work means she has to cut hour after hour for your employees, and it means I have to work 6 days a week in order to come close to 30 hours this week, and I'd rather have health care, and I'd rather get paid more than a dollar an hour over minimum wage, and if her company gave as shit about it's employees like it says it does it would do stuff like that, but instead my manager had Marty wash a 151 baked potatoes and plan a BBQ and she left nasty notes behind telling us to blow up 500 balloons and, "somebody should make them blue" because we only have 2 colors and you aren't going to spring for the money for a third color, and just how the hell does someone make a balloon that's not blue, blue anyway?
A fat chick was complaining today how nobody likes fat chicks. She told me how she went on Match.com and looked at the preferences of men and on every profile the men said, "they wanted slender, not fat."
Fat chicks love to talk. They also like to eat. This fat chick liked to combine both of her favorite hobbies at the same time. She talked the whole time she was eating. She talked to no one in particular, but sometimes she talked to me, at least she talked to me in between taking bites of her pizza and gulping down liters of beer.
The fat chick told me that she won "lots of money at the casino" and wanted everyone to overhear it. I guess she hoped that if her incredible eating prowess couldn't win you over, then maybe some good old fashioned cash would.
She talked about getting first class tickets on a real live locomotive train and hotel tickets for the Queen Mary. I have no idea why the fat chick prefers old school transportation like trains and luxury liners, maybe she is too afraid that a plane would crash on take off with such a big fat ass aboard.
I hate fat people on airplanes more than I hate muslims on planes. Though I am pretty sure the muslims that get on airplanes these days aren't up for trying shit. But if I were on a plane with an overweight, fat chick sitting next to me, you can bet your fat ass that we would all be headed into the ocean and that's assuming the plane could get going on any kind of forward motion.
I only ate half my pizza that night because I wanted to set a good example for the fat chick on how to eat. But I don't think she noticed me at all. She seemed pretty oblivious to anything except for blabbing on about her life in excruciating detail like anybody gives a shit.
It was just when I noticed that the fat chick wasn't paying any attention to me that I discovered that a waitress from across the room was. It turns out the waitress used to bartend over at T.G.'s about 3 years ago.
Tegan is a real beauty. Tall, skinny, with dark hair and an attitude that says she doesn't realize how hot she is. I guess she could be fooling me with her charm and sense of humor. But she really works at getting you to like her, almost as hard as the fat chick sucking down hot wings and booze, only Tegan never had to, she's so hot, you'd like her if she spat poison at an open wound. Which I guess brings me back to my original point. Nobody likes fat chicks.
My manager likes to make jokes that I should quit stealing all the good customers. I seem to never get the hot chicks, I get people with exact change. Speaking of change most of my customers don't seem to be too happy with the gender that god assigned to them at birth. About 45% of the shoppers at my work are homeless transgendered people.
I didn't know that you that could be transgendered and homeless. I thought you had to go to all kinds of therapy to get psychoanalyzed. I thought you needed tons of cash or a good insurance company to get the fake tits, electrolysis, and hormone therapy. I guess you could just do what these guys do and go transgendered on the cheap. Forego the electrolysis for 3 day old beard growth. Stuff your bra, add some chipped nail polish and cheap eyeliner and hope for the best. I guess you have to kinda admire that kind of hope in a person.
Even with all that hope my transgendered customers are never happy. It's always the same story every time they come in. They dig in their pockets for 78 of the 87 cents it takes to buy the cheapest microwaveable dinner. I think my homeless t/shopper works at a repair shop changing oil, or he hasn't washed his hands for a good year or two. I have no idea why these wanna be trannies buy frozen microwave dinners. I mean do homeless transgendered people have access to microwave ovens? I guess that's why my homeless friends always cry on the way out the door. I think some part of their brain wakes up and tells them, "even though you bought food you are still going to be hungry tonight." One final thought, I am in no way implying that Amanda Bynes looks like a transexual.
Hey there you bunch of savages. Yes, I just nicknamed all my readers "savages" get over it. Episodes 1-4 of the podcast are up and ready. Digg has not yet placed me on their site. If you have a request, or a suggestion for a an archived blog post that would make a great podcast send your request at romiustexis@yahoo.com
Or leave me a voice mail at 623-239-0852. I will play it on the podcast!
I've removed the my podcast player because I can't disable the automatic play feature. But you can still subscribe to the podcast at Apple's I-tunes by clicking HERE.
Or you can visit my feed at Switchpod to listen or download any episode. Over a 123 downloads can't be wrong!
I jog out to the mailbox early this afternoon. I am worried. I hope the DVD's I rented are here. I think NetFlix figured out that I am a "heavy user." I sent the videos I watched out in the mail 3 days ago, and their customer service claims to have not received them yet. It may have something to do with president day, or whatever national holiday it is. I don't have to keep track of national holidays, because the neighborhood association I live in hands out free American flags on patriotic holidays.
I hate america like I hate our flag. I usually never have to see any of the flags my neighborhood watch drops off because they pick them back up again around 5pm. That's about the normal time I pull myself out of bed.
I've had the last two days off from work and I figured since I was up early, and I had nothing in the mailbox, I would go ahead and clean up all the trash that's been collecting in my roommates front yard.
My roommate enjoys owning his house, but he doesn't think upkeep is part of the bargain. He's not alone in slumming up the suburbs. The Atlantic Magazine is telling all its readers that the suburbs are the new Ghetto. I want to slow down the decline, that's why I was out in the 70 degree heat collecting litter and spraying gray spray paint on his fence to cover up the graffiti that was left by some random gang banger. It was probably the same random french gang banger that broke the window of my car last year, and at least 20 other cars since then in this subdivision.
After I was done being a good roommate I decided I needed to eat and buy some soda. I rode the bike over to Rally's (they call it Checker's in Palmetto) for a burger. They offer 99 cent 12 ounce shakes. Just the right size to not make you feel like a fat ass who wears crusted Pac man t-shirts and sits in his underwear blogging all day.
At the Rally's I see 4 cute Mexican teen girls. The cutest one blurts out how she wants to get pregnant so she can rest her soft drinks on her belly. She tells the other teens that she can't wait to get pregnant. They remind her that she will have to wait until she goes on her mission. So the teen wanna be pregnant mexican is a mormon. You don't see that everyday. I grab two hamburgers and shake and bike off to Circle K. I buy a 2 liter of RC. Circle K has raised the price from 99 cents to $1.19. What a rip off. As I leave the store a drunk homeless woman asks me for quarters. She explains that she needs a beer.
I ride off a few nickels short and watch a woman at a nearby bus stop cry. I have no idea why she is crying, maybe she hates waiting for the bus. At least it's not raining. At least she didn't leave her keys at work and have to ride all the way back at midnight to retrieve her keys in the rain. And at least it did not rain on her all the way back home. When she got home she didn't have to throw her work clothes in the washing machine. Did she watch the Suns lose on TIVO? Even though they now have Shaq. Was she crying because she was so disappointed with her blogging efforts for a sequel to the awesome PalmGhetto post? I don't think she should cry. Sequels never work.
Anger in fits today. My assistant manager asked me why everone was complaining about the schedule. I told my manager that he cut too many hours. During christmas season the store had 470 hours for the clerks to share. This week we have 36o. I guess the recession is in full swing. Management had me working 6 days last week, but even with 6 work day I got only 28 hours.
"Now they want to cut the work days too." I told the manager. "I could have had 4 days off this week if I wanted."
"Well that's pretty cool." He says. "Only if you don't like paying your bills." I remind him.
I can feel the anger swelling in me today. I mutter under my breath everytime a customer does something stupid, or asks me for something. "Is it them or me?" I ask around the store. I think I just described my whole day, except for the handicapped guy wants me to sell him beer, even though his girlfriend can't produce identification.
"I have to bring someone with me to help me shop." He implores. "No you don't." I tell him. "We can always have some one assist you with shopping, but we can never sell alcohol to an underaged person." I'm no lawyer and he claimed the girl with him was just an "assistant," so I sold him the beer. Turns out the assistant was his girlfriend. At the self check register the "assistant" mentioned that her boyfriend would be over to purchase something.
I guess you can't trust the handicapped, even when they give you the "you gonna deny a brother in a chair some beer?" eyes. I don't normally pick on the handicapped, but this hadicapped guy is living the dream. Booze on food stamps, and underage girlfriend. I feel sorry for this guy? My life will never be that good.
I know I promised you a video of me and my brother 'Red Neck Boxing' in front of my brother's house in Florida. My brother never sent me the video, because like you, he is a lazy asshole that doesn't support my blog.
There are people who want to support this blog and my career. After hearing about my blog, my bagger wanted me to post his video. It was shot right outside of our grocery store in the front parking lot. After you watch the video you will know why I nicknamed my tuffest bagger "the enforcer." My bagger is from Bosnia, which means that not only can he kick your ass, he can cut off your head too.
Many shoppers act like just because they earn more than me, they are better than me. Well they aren't, and neither are you. I posted this video to remind you to behave in my grocery store. If you don't, you may just get to meet the "enforcer."
AVOID THE ENFORCER. Here are some tips to make your shopping experience better.
DO NOT BAG YOUR DIFFERENT PRODUCE ITEMS TOGETHER. If you throw all your produce in one giant plastic bag I will have to touch your food. I don't like touching your produce anymore than you like me touching it. But every different kind of produce has to be rung up separately. Don't worry about my germs, I may not wash my hands, but you can always wash your apples. If you want to save the environment buy a reusable produce bag, or don't use a bag in the first place.
If you enter the express line over the limit with a cart load full of groceries you are morally obligated to help me bag them. (Express lanes never get carryout help. See also: Karma and the people behind you who obey rules.)
State aloud to me how you will be paying and the amount in cash you are giving me. This simple rule will speed up your transaction and ensure you get proper change back.
If you have a bagging preference tell me right away. Don't wait until the bagger has half your stuff in plastic and tell me you wanted it all double bagged in paper. Not that I can fathom why you need paper doubled bagged. Old people love them some paper bags for "the frozen items," though I am quite sure I've never where they read the literature that proved paper insulates better than plastic bags. Paper tears when it gets wet, doesn't it?
I joined a union today. I even got my pin. I am not sure I would have joined the union if I did not get my pin. I warned my rep as I was filling out my paperwork that she better have a pin ready for me. I've seen some of my co-workers with the pin on their aprons, and I really wanted one. It's worth the 500 dollars a year in union dues just to get the pin. Lucky for the union she dug in her bag and found a pin for me and my babymomma (spirit wife #2). Yes, I forced my spirit wife to join the Union too.
I wore my new pin proudly all day at work today. It's the first time I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. Part of a team. I was unusually polite and friendly to customers because of my pin. I wanted customers to know that union workers are better than non-union workers.
I was high from joining the union the first 2 hours at work. Then I got an early break and my back began to hurt. I went back to being courteous and efficient. I took a pain pill after my back began to really hurt. I became serious and unhurried, until the pill took effect. Then I was back to pleasant and efficient. Union proud.
I don't like working for corporations, but I did not mind working today because of my newly acquired union membership. I took the job because daddy needs to eat, and daddy wants to drive a Land Rover someday.
The union claims to have stopped these cutback from management:
topping out pay at 10 dollars an hour
22% cut in pension
no sick day
no holiday pay
no pay raises
eliminate 20 hour a week minimum
permanently reduced health care benefits
Management was going for draconian cuts like these even though we have had 48 straight months of increased revenues and profits. That's right. The company is not losing money. It brags about how much money it is making in it's newsletter to us, but would still like to make all of its workers earn less than Walmart employees.
What kind of country do we live in? Why is this OK? Why are the shareholders viewed as the only stakeholders who matter? IF workers can't get pay increases when times are GOOD, when will we see them? What are they going to do to workers if times get bad? GM decided to buy off its entire labor force so it could replace them with cheaper workers. Welcome to end of the Manufacturing Era in the U.S. We are eating our own. Soylent Green was people. New and improved soylent green is workers!!!
Why is it acceptable to cut workers out of the gains of productivity seen in rising profits and revenue? It's not. It simply is immoral and wrong. We need to be outraged by instances like this.
Somepeople like to point to Costco as a company in the retail trade that treats its workers ok. It's true. They are lot better than the big grocery chains and the Walmart's of the world. Costco pays it's workers better and appears to think that stakeholders other than shareholders have value. Costco CEO and founder James Sinegal likes to brag that his salary is only 550,000 dollars a year after bonuses.
He does not like to brag that he has made 150,000,000 dollars in stock options over that time. I've applied to Costco. For the record, I had to fill out a 100 question personality test again. I really need to work for the government again. Maybe something in counter-terrorism.
I never noticed how sunflower seeds hurt my colon until I stayed with my brother in Florida a few months back. Every time he ate a bus load of pistachios he complained that his tummy hurt. After listening to my brother bitch, I noticied the same thing happened after I ate my sunflower seeds.
It's the same way with my acid reflux. I used to brag about how I never got an upset stomach or indigestion. I never thought I had indigestion, because I was always having indigestion. It turns out that I am just retarded and don't pay attention to my body. Before I realized I had acid reflux I thought I just had a mild case of the AIDS because my throat was sore all the time. The doctor explained that I don't have an AIDS infection, that the throat pain is just stomach acid eating away at my esophagus.
I told the doctor that my throat was feeling better lately, so the acid reflux must be getting better, he told me to stick to writing silly blog posts about under aged girls, because whenever your throat stops hurting, you can bet the cancer has moved in, and cancer is a shit load worse than you think it is.
I bring up the sunflower thing today because some guy went through my line and bought a bag of sunflower seeds. Only the bad of seeds was busted opened. I told him about how the bag was ripped open and offered to get him another bag, but he decided to keep that bag of opened seeds. He's probably going to eat sunflower seeds from an opened bag, and I find that shit disgusting. I thought you would too. But if you don't, I couldn't care less. I write this blog for me and not for you.
Grocery Store Etiquette.
Here is where I am going to write something for you.
Stop fumbling for exact change. Exact change slows me down. You think it helps me out, but it doesn't. I have an automatic coin machine which sorts the coins for me. I am 3 times faster when you just hand me bills and you shove those unwanted pennies in your pocket. The people in line behind you hate your guts. You are the second slowest payment transaction category, just behind grandma with her checkbook.
Don't even think about using a check. That's why they invented debit cards asshole.
I am not flirting with you. I don't even like you. Management is forcing me to be nice to you.
If you want to buy cigarettes from my line, tell me before I start ringing you up. Management tracks how long it takes for me to scan your purchases. If I have to stop my scanning process to go get you something, I won't earn my 5 dollar gift card for quick service. And 5 dollars is about what I make an hour, so yes it's that important to me.
Better yet just buy your cigarettes at Circle K like the rest of America does. I hate having to unlock the window to get your cancer sticks.
If you don't see a bagger at your register, then you are the bagger. If you want management to hire enough staff to bag your groceries, tell management to hire more staff. But bagging your groceries is not my job. Cashiering is.
If you see that I have not rung up all the items for the customer in front of you, point it out to me. Don't let him run off and then tell me halfway through your order. Be a human being for a change and help the guy out. Because it was your fault for not placing a divider in between your order and his. If you don't I am going to have to void off his items from your order. I can get in trouble for voiding items off. Yeah, as unbelievable as that sounds, I get in trouble for that.
Place the fucking divider down after you are done unloading your groceries, or before placing your items on the converyor belt.
Learn to add. If you only have 20 dollars you cannot afford the tequila and eat for the whole week.
50% of your coupons are invalid. I scan them anyway. I do shit like that for you all the time, and you don't know it. I never get thanked for it, or anything else I do for you.
If you think you are being overcharged you are wrong 89% of the time. If you think you an item was accidentally scanned twice you are correct 98% of the time.
I know when you are on the rag. Every day I see chicks in pajamas buying boxes of maxi pads, ice cream and wads of toilet paper. I don't judge you because of your purchases. If you need a case of monostat 7 to get over that yeast infection, so be it.
I am a jealous cashier. I get pissed when I see hot chicks in line with other male cashiers. I can understand if you want to move to another line because there is no waiting, but would it kill you to wait an extra second or two. I've been anticipating your transaction since you got in my line. The perfumed and soon to be drunk girl on Friday night in my line is one of the few perks of this job. I work weekends and nights because that's when you all choose to shop. Throw a brother a boner will ya?
If it appears to you that shoppers all go to the store at the same time, you are right. I am sure there is some kind of quantum physics which can explain it, but I failed Algebra II. That's why work at a grocery store.
I just got the chills. I read an article about how the sun is not giving off as much heat as it usually does. And that started to worry me. I don't normally worry about things like the Sun freezing, a giant asteroid hitting the Earth, or the super volcano that can erupt at any time, and end life as we know it. Things like that don't happen very often. So I don't waste time worrying over them.
But what if the sun really stopped working? What if it suddenly quit on us like Mitt Romney did? I mean other than quitting today, Mitt Romney never gave us any indication that he was a flip flopper like that. One minute he's in the next he's gone. He still has all that money to spend too. Millions left he could loan himself. Hillary loaned herself millions, and no one thinks any less of her.
I can't sleep and I can't concentrate. I don't think I can concentrate because I am having a hard time concentrating. It might be the caffeine. I've had six cokes since midnight, so I may not sleep at all tonight. I am not writing even though I come up with a lot of ideas when my head is buzzing from caffeine. I know most of them aren't any good, but that's not the reason I am not blogging. I'm not writing because I can't concentrate for longer than 3 seconds on any one topic. I have Netflix on my brain. I just watched three movies they delivered to me. One of them was Sunshine. A movie about the Sun cooling off. It gets 4 stars out of 5.
D-cup had writers block and still manages to post a great blog. My blog lacks focus and I post sporadically, because I can never think of anything "specific enough" to this blog to write about. Today I have lots of ideas. I want to start a section on the blog for grocery store etiquette. I want to teach you all how to act in a grocery store because your momma never did.
I want to talk to you about a fun anthropological experiment I've been running. I convinced 4 teens to join me in plural marriage, otherwise known as the "principle" in Mormon circles. As I write this post, I have 6 teenaged girls fighting over me. All my new spirit wives are tyring to establish their pecking order within the "family." Spirit Wife number 1 gets my heart. Number two has my babies, and Number 3 gets my body. Four just wants my money. My new nickname is "baby-daddy." #1 wife Leslie introduced me to her Mom as her "spirit husband." I hugged Leslie goodbye in front of her Mom. I don't think that was a good idea. I am pretty sure her Mom is going to have me arrested soon. Why? After I hugged Leslie goodbye she said "no kisses this time, not in front of my Mom."
I've never had girls fight or get jealous over me, so you can imagine how much fun this is for me. Maybe I am an idiot but I've always believed it when my girlfriends told me they didn't get jealous. I guess my behavior doesn't inspire passion from women. I treat women with as much respect as I would like to get treated with some day. I think we know that will never work. Only high status men are attractive to women. You can thank evolution for that. I have no beef with natural selection, it's just that some men are able to confuse women by exhibiting behaviors that mimic high status, when they are really just being jerks. You'd think women would have adapted some kind of mechanism to counter act the mimicry effects of jerkiness, but you'd be surprised to see how few have. I guess that's why it pays, evolutionarily speaking, to be a jerk.
When you examine passion scientifically, you find that passion is just a button you can push. Molesters, charlatans, abusers, and manipulators understand the human psyche better than Freud. Love is a condition and not the transcendent experience we are taught to believe it is.
I'm an atheist so you'd think I could have accepted that emotions are built on circumstances and not attached to some kind of soul, but it's been very difficult for me to let go of that notion. Maybe one day I will let go of it, and maybe one day I will get laid again.
Kirsten Dunst seems intoxicated. Kirsten Dunst acts erratically. So Kirsten is placed in rehab. I feel bad because I warned all you guys about Kirsten a while back. I knew she was sad and depressed and drank too much.
I think I said something about grabbing a bottle of wine with Kirsten and getting drunk with her.
and my lips will get cold from all the wine we drink like bitter lawn darts swallowing our youth
I take that back now. I don't want Kirsten to swallow her youth down in a bottle with me. I want her to be ok. I stopped drinking a few weeks ago and my eyes still have the pale yellow glow of jaundice. I guess my liver will never heal. Just like Kirsten' s pain and troubles.
Kirsten got her big break in a Tom Cruise movie about vampires. She played an 8 year old kid who gets bitten and turned into an immortal creature of the night. Doomed to be eternally young. Obviously, Kirsten has never gotten over that role. Kid's are impressionable, and I am sure Tom Cruise had some kind of mind control of her. He probably played subliminal tapes while Kirsten slept to convince her that she really was undead.
Now Kirsten feeds on wine like it's blood. And it's all your fault Tom Cruise.It's all your fault!
Please don't suck my blood Kirsten. Just keep drinking the booze. It's the only thing that keeps you alive.
I took another trip to the DMV yesterday to get my identification card. The bus ride to the DMV took 2 hours. I was wearing my cool A & F blue and white striped polo along with a new pair of 567 Levi jeans. I'm 37 but some days I wake up and still feel young. I had a lot of energy yesterday, so I chose to enjoy walking to the bus stop. The day was crisp and clean. It had been raining lately and the storms had washed all the pollution of out of the valley. If I looked out at the horizon I saw mountains instead of the familiar brown haze.
I get to the DMV and a bunch of hippies are waiting in the "free speech zone." They want me to save the Grand Canyon. I tell them I don't have time. I want to give them a lecture on Objectifying nature, but I don't. The inside the DMV is abandoned. I don't have to wait in line to get a number. I fill out the paperwork and decide to register to vote at my correct address, and to change my party affiliation from Communist to Democrat, because I am tired of not being able to vote in the closed Arizona primaries. As soon as I get my number I get called up to a DMV agent. The agent is a middle aged Latina. I mention something about voting, and she starts in on how Bush is ruining America. She hates him and wants to vote for Hillary. She is worried that Obama is secretly too conservative. She insists it is better to go with what you know (Hilliary) than what you hope for (Obama). I can see her point.
I tell her it is a shame that Edwards won't be in, and she agrees. We talk about how the rich get richer and the FBI wants to track citizens with new "real i.d." I figure she hates real i.d. because it means a lot more work for her. I sympathize with her. I have to ask where I take my paperwork to get my i.d. or I think we would have talked for an hour.
I leave the DMV the whole process takes just 5 minutes and I make it back to the bus stop just as the bus pulls in. I stop at a great Hot Dog restaurant before making my way over to the bank.
I have a debit card again. I needed my freshly minted DMV identification card to replace my lost debit card. My banker has a "just voted" sticker on her chest and I think she is flirting with me. She seems concerned that someone could take my i.d. or my bank card and "rent a u-haul" or something with it.
I tell the cute banker girl that my credit is a mess and I'd be grateful for anyone taking on my identity. She laughs and says she can "think of all kinds of things that people can do with a i.d. number." She warns me to get my license number modified or the terrorists win.
I had a whole mess of things I needed to get changed while at the bank. My e-banking, and my e-phone password don't work. I need to deposit money so I can buy insurance. Basically I am stuck at the bank.
The banker chick ushers me into her office, sits me down and gets to work on my problems. The whole time inside her office I feel like I am in a counseling session. I wanted to tell her all kinds of things about my personal life. I told her I was like a chicken with its head cut off. I mentioned that chickens can live "weeks without their heads." I know I bring up points like this all the time in conversation with friends. I like to point out how the third biggest political party in the U.S. is the Constitutional Party. I read that fact on the Internet, and I am not too sure if it is true, but it informs my world view, so let's hope it is.
My banker laughed at all these thoughts. I say thoughts because I can't remember if I told them to her, or just thought them to myself, and superimposed her laughing on my jokes. I do remember she laughed a lot though, so I must have been funny.
Today, I tried logging into my e-bank account to check my balance, and to see if the password I was given worked. It doesn't. I tried logging into the account so many times that the account was disabled. Now I am back to square 1. I guess that gives me another shot at seeing the cute banker girl though. Nothing shows your dominance over a female like pointing out her flaws and mistakes.
A lot of you who read this blog think it's boring. You won't read my blog unless the post I write is about you. That's why I had to add a tag for Card Shark. And that's why I have to add a tag for Leslie. Leslie thinks I am boring. Before I found that out today I though Leslie loved my blog, but Leslie will say anything in order to get 25 cents from me.
I must have given Leslie at least 10 dollars in quarters by now. And with me not getting my tax rebate this year that hurts. I thought my 25 cents was at least buying a reader. Leslie is 17 and one of my huggers. Like other members of her generation, Leslie gets pissed when I try to hide her true identity online. I tell her it's for her protection. She says she is really only worried about stalkers.
I tell her that she really doesn't have much to worry from guys in Ohio jacking off to her pictures on the Internet. Most people who stalk you know you personally. They are ex-boyfriends or family members. I tell Leslie that she should worry about future employers finding her on this blog and not giving her a job. I tell her she needs to worry about insurance companies reading her MySpace and denying her coverage.
I'm not going to post pictues of Leslie because of the potential stalkers and perverts on this site. Instead enjoy this totally clean picture of teen queen Miley Cyrus.
Leslie tells me she will start reading my blog again if I write a long post about her, but she says she is never sure when I add another post. I tell her it's about time to abandon the ego-centric moral development of juveniles. She gives me a pouty face. So I decide to write a long post dedicated to her where I can explain what an RSS feed is. But I decided to just let you guys look that up on Wiki. By the way I have as RSS feed, and I am pretty sure that I don't have even one subscriber. The feeder link is the orange button next to my stats info. I put the RSS feed up on the suggestion of my brother. I know from my RSS stats that even he hasn't bothered to subscribe.
Leslie and I play SAT vocabulary games at work to pass the time. She is smarter than me, but I read 18th century Philosophy, so whenever she stumps me with a word I break out Kant. Antinomy, gets a blank stare from her. Reification? Leslie does not think these are words. But I can use those words in a sentence. In fact I will commence with an entire paragraph, because I am tired of people reifying the concept of God.
"Reification in thought occurs when an abstract concept describing a relationship or context is treated as a concrete "thing", or if something is treated as if it were a separate object when this is inappropriate because it is not an object." [Wiki: Reification-Marxism]
You know the way that some deists and "spiritual but not religious" people think that god "must" exist. When people talk about "god" that way they usually empty the content of the word. But if words are to mean anything they must describe something in particular. And there are plenty of examples of what people think god is, and most of those ideas are sillier than than the idea that God wrote in Egyptian hieroglyphics on golden tablets about his son's trip in to the New World and then buried them someplace in upstate New York.
I have no idea how that was supposed to tie in with Evil Spock being dead. But I wasn't going to lecture you on the meaning of god I was just going to break into my character Medusa-in-a-box and tell you about Evil Spock's return. But I can't remember how the hell I was going to do that. I think it had something to do with the disappearance of Cowboy killer Jessica Simpson's now red headed little sister, Ashlee Simpson.
I mean where the fuck did she go? She go that cute little nose, anorexic figure, and capooee. Blogs don't talk about her anymore. I guess with the Britney and Jamie-Lynn's hogging all the attention and the coloring of Ashlee's hair red, your guess is as good as mine. Though it turns out Scottsdale is the correct answer. And Scottsdale is very close to me, and Ashlee is close to Jessica and Jessica killed the Cowboy's chances for a Super Bowl and My name isn't Romius Texis for no reason y'all, so yeah I'd like to kill me some Ashlee Simpson. I think I'd fuck them before I killed them. Or maybe after I killed them I'd fuck them. I mean can you imagine having to listen to both of those emo-cunts in one night? Below is a picture of Ashlee looking hot, not red-headed.
I don't like paying taxes. And it's not because I am some kind of Internet superstar that could start his own blogger commune and collect millions of dollars from all my silly followers. I don't like paying taxes because I am poor. I don't think people earning less than 12,ooo dollars a year should pay taxes.
A second reason I don't pay taxes is because I don't support the war. And stop trying to sell me those "I heart the troops" stickers. I don't support the troops either. If you want to be patriotic you don't have to go around killing women and babies, you could volunteer at a polling booth this year. If you started volunteering at polling booths I could vote faster. The old people at my voting place are the near dead and slow as hell. They keep telling me that it's a shame that "Jack" Kennedy died. And I keep telling them that only assholes try to fly at night when they aren't instrument trained.
Even though I don't like paying taxes, I still file them. Unlike my hero Henry David Thoreau, or my new hero, action movie star and 16th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States denier, Wesley Snipes. I file my tax return because I expect to get a tax rebate.
But that shit is about to change. I just got a letter in the mail from the Treasury Department telling me that they were gonna take my refund, all 308 dollars of it, and apply it to my student loan. First of all I haven't graduated from college. So asking me to pay for the tuition is like asking me to pay for a half eaten apple. If I took a bite out of the apple and discovered that it had a worm it it, I wouldn't have to pay for it at the grocery store. I don't see any difference here.
Credit card companies are evil, and credit card companies are owned by banks, and banks cheated student borrowers out of billions, so I don't feel any moral compassion for Salie May, or whoever the fuck I borrowed all that money from to go to community college. Last week some guy made fun of me for going to community college in the first place. Then he gave me a brochure for Al Collins Graphic Design School. I got accepted and I can't wait to begin drawing for a living.
As pissed off as I am at the Treasury Department or the IRS for giving away my tax refund, the laugh is on them. I claimed exempt for most of the year. So I only paid about 80 dollars in federal income tax. Most of my tax rebate consisted of an "earned income credit" for being poor. The government gives about 300 dollars in EIC money to single people who earn less than 7000 dollars a year. The IRS thinks it collected 300 dollars from me towards my student debt, but in effect all the IRS really did, was make this months loan obligation for me. Just call me the Henry David Thoreau of the Gulf War.
I think it all started when some good looking guy went through my line buying hormone free milk. His hot girlfriend complained about the 30 dollars they just spent. "Because you need organic milk." She said.
I told the guy I thought buying organic was a good idea. "You don't want all those hormones in your milk. 10 year old girls get puberty early because of that shit." I figure if I start eating like this guy does I will be as good looking as he is, and I can have a hot girlfriend who complains about the cost of eating healthy. Those are my dreams, and I don't apologize for my dreams.
The doctors are worried about me. So now I am buying organic milk that has plant extracts in it. It's supposed to lower my cholesterol which is like 500 right now. I also bought some yogurt that has fiber in it. 20% of the fiber I need everyday in one little jar of yogurt. Not bad, because I have no idea what to eat in order to get the fiber I need. The only thing I know that has fiber in it is celery and sunflower seeds, and you can't eat celery in every meal.
All I know is that no matter how much health food I eat it doesn't matter, because all I do is add the health food to all the bad food I eat, and all those extra calories have to go somewhere, and by somewhere I mean my ass. But at least my bowel movements are little more solid. So who cares if I fart all day?
I am out of sunflower seeds. And I don't feel like riding the bike to the convenience store to buy more. I totally forgot to buy some at work today. I had to stay late because the freezer busted or something. All I know is I had to take all the frozen food out of the freezers and stack it into carts and take the carts to the big deep freeze.
I wasn't gonna stay and help out. I was tired of working and not in the mood to be nice. But then I remembered that I should have been fired by now, so I decided to help out after all.
I keep making mistakes on taking WIC checks. I got written up for it a while ago. We get written up for any mistake we make. For instance, if I were to make a mistake like giving you too much change, or I forget to "greet you," I can get written up. I have hundreds of customers a day, so I literally have hundreds of opportunities to fuck up everyday.
After a second write up you can get fired. Thing is, they have no intention of firing me. If they did every cashier and worker at this store would be looking for a job right now. Imagine at your work if you could get fired for forgetting to turn you computer off, or something silly like that. I don't know what people with real jobs do or how they could make a trivial mistake. But the truth is we all make mistakes.
The only reason we get written up is because management assumes that we will eventually try to file an unemployment claim. It's an understandable position for them to take. I mean with unemployment benefits, food stamps, and free health care I'd actually make more money if I got fired.
You'd be paranoid too if you paid such crappy hourly rates and forced your employees to wait so long for their benefits to kick in. Frankly, Walmart probably pays better than the company I work for. So I guess Walmart wins. And I lose again. At least now I am no longer paranoid about getting fired. It seems they have no intention of sticking to their guns, I have not had my hours reduced, or been placed on probation, or anything like that.
Nobody has really threatened my since my first couple of write ups. I think that they won't because they know that I will always stay late for them. Management only schedules cashiers for 30 hours a week. I need to work at least 40 hours just to break the 250 dollar mark, and that's only because I claim except on my taxes.
Uncle Sam wants to give me a three hundred dollar tax rebate I have to repay. D-Cup knows that George Bush doesn't like poor people. I won't make enough money to cover my income tax bill this year. And now he wants to give me three hundred more of it back. That's a weeks salary. How the hell am I supposed to pay that back? I can't. Unless I get a second job. Maybe that's what George really wants poor people to do. Take that second or third job they plan on stealing away from the immigrants in Arizona, and give them to us, the working poor.
I think we all know how much I love working in the first place. I can't stomach the idea of getting a second job. Christ, this is only the second job I have had for more than three months in the past 5 years.
None of the preceding has anything to do with the fact that I spent my day off yesterday completely unproductively mired in government bureaucracy.
I took the bus to the DMV. Only the bus route has been changed because of road construction. Only know one felt the need to tell the bus passengers this. So I get jerked around by the meanderings of a crazy bus driver. Eventually I figure out which route and where I have to stand to catch the right bus, but now I am 2 hours behind schedule to get my drivers license back.
I wait in line for just a second and I catch what think is going to be a break. The line taker creates a special line for folks getting permits and licenses who have their paperwork filled out already. Yeah me! I jump way ahead in line and it will be just a few minutes before I am called over to the DMV agent. Just as my number is called though the manager of the DMV stands up and announces that the computer system is down. They can't make licenses. They can't even look up your record in the system.
Great. I just ask my question anyway. I go up to the agent and ask if I need to get my SR 22 insurance before I can get my license reinstated. She tells me "yes." So the trip was for naught. I thought I might need to get the insurance first, but I chose not to. So I am not really disappointed with her news. Now, you would normally assume that money is going to be the hardest part of getting SR-22. You'd be wrong.
A few weeks ago I lost my debit card, along with my state I.d. Because of that I haven't been using my bank account. Which I am sure is over drawn anyway. I can't write a check or pay by check/debit over the phone and I can't fix my account because I need to get another i.d. I sound like some kind of retarded step-cousin or something. My mom wants to know if I am going to deposit my birthday money. Very soon, mommy. I promise.
I feel like a 5 year old who was told not to touch his Aunt's favorite vase, and did it anyway. I am not quite certain how an almost intelligent 37 year old person puts himself in these kinds of situations. I guess I am just Ghetto like that. I blame my Mom. My mom never got a drivers permit until I was 20. So maybe it's just genetics. Two generation of idiots is enough. That's why I only spill my seed into my blanket and never in a real women.
Women don't want my seed. All of my girlfriends are pregnant, have gotten pregnant, or will be pregnant by someone else. Plenty of them have done so while we've been dating. They insist that I wear a condom, but allow some of the skeeziest dudes to go all bareback in them. I guess they just get off on rubbing their big fat bellies while they straddle me. All the time thinking what a genetic loser I am, and hoping I will stick around long enough until the WIC checks kick in. Then they can dump my ass and put the moves on the guy who rides a skateboard to work. "At least he's athletic." Bitches can smell Darwinian fitness, and the world is tuff and set against me.
That's very unfortunate, as you all know, I have something of a lactation fetish, which I why I totally still love Britney Spears. Britney and I have a lot in common. Half the stuff she does, I think, "I can see why." I am not quite certain why the world is so sure that Britney is really all that crazy. If you think about all the crazy shit you've done in your life, and then it magically got reported in the paper or magazines like the Sun or Star, then I think we'd all think your a crazy little pony too.
And am I wrong? Is Britney's body coming back a bit? Lately she's been into wearing strapless and see through tops. Her tits are bigger that when she was a dream queen. And sure they sag a little, but they'd look good if she wore a bra. And from I can tell she still looks good in jeans. That's better than I can say for most of my girlfriends. Most of whom only look better in those mirrors that say objects are larger than they appear.
I am not calling most of my girlfriends fat. They aren't really fat, by American standards. Mostly they are just pregnant with their ex-boyfriends sperm, or their soon to be new boyfriend's spawn. I usually figure this out as soon as they get around to telling me that the reason we haven't had sex in 3 months is really that only I haven't been getting the sex for the past three months.
Ok. I am going to pause here because I am really craving some sunflower seeds. It's 1:32 am and I need to get my ass to Circle K before the homeless people take up spots on all the corners of the parking lot, and I have to worry that one of those asshole homeless vets is going to steal the bike. I don't care what Bill O' Reilly says about all the benefits "unemployed" vets get. One of those benefits is not taking my only mode of transportation.
I just got back from the store. I got my sunflower seeds, and I bought a giant 24 pack of coke. I am set. So sit back and enjoy. If you've made it this far you must enjoy hearing that inner voice of mine. Because this is exactly the way it talks to me all day long. Only I don' t have a voice recorder or a type writer with me at all times.
I warned you about the store I got my seeds from. And with some good reason. As I made my way up the handicap ramp on the bike I spot 3 black homeless people blocking my path. Now don't get me wrong. I've got nothing wrong with black people. I got nothing wrong with homeless people. But you combine the two after 2am and this slow fat white boy with less upper body strenght than the average 17 year old female carryout is going to be a bit intimidated.
I place my bike against the wall and I notice an old man talking to a woman in a black leather skirt and long leather coat. Then I realize the old man isn't talking to women. He's talking to a prostitute. She tells him to buy some beer and they can go back to her place. "No one is home right now." He tells her that he's rented a hotel room for the night. The hooker is quite pleased with her john.
She looks OK for a hooker. She's about 45, blond and thin. She has on high heels and she's painted her toes a bright "hooker" red. Her look says she understands something about fashion, but she get something wrong the way a person who spends most of her nights on the street would get it wrong. Her look says high fashion call girl if by high fashion call girl you mean a 26 dollar motel 6 and a 5 dollar bottle of wine and a 100 dollar a night hooker. There is too much leather going on here. Her hair is stringy and she has that wet hair-sprayed look that is all the rage in the trailer park.
On some young girls before they get knocked up, the wet look is ok. And I guess at one time or another every Mexican woman under the age of 50 has used the look, so maybe it's cultural bias of mine, but I just don't think spraying your hair stringy says "classy." Even if you pair it with nice footwear.
I lug the 24 pack on the middle of the bike frame. It's awkward and I have to shove the sunflower seeds into my front jacket pocket. I ride back home against traffic with my vision obscured by my hood. It keeps falling down over my eyes, and I can't see where I am going. My gloves have a yellow glow to them which I now recognize as the residue from boxes of frozen food. I should have taken the advice of my superiors and used company gloves.
Half way home I hear the pluck of the Frito-lay brand sunflower seeds falling onto the wet pavement. Shit. Now I need to circumnavigate back towards them. As I turn the bike around I feel something give. I think it's one of the muscles that supports my balls. I feel a pain from my thigh to my member. I reach down to pick up the bag of seeds, but I am too lazy too exit from the bike. I squash my balls like I am trying out for a cameo on America's Funniest Videos. "ahh. Fuck me mc butter."
So now I am back and I am just typing it what you just read and what just happened. I still haven't opened my back of seeds and I need to pee. Also I want another coke, but I think caffeine at this point will mean another restless sleep for me. I do have sprite 24 pack in the fridge and I will probably go get one.
But I am crying while I do dishes. And I am day dreaming while I scrub away at my bathroom tub. My girlfriend is super hot, and super nice, and super smart. I can't stop talking about her while I ring up your groceries. But my girlfriend has a bitchy mean best friend who likes to point out how my hot girlfriend is totally out of my league. She has a point. Daydream Girl Friend is out of my league. But I don't see the need for bitchy best friend to be so bitchy about it. Right to my face and all.
She tries to start trouble at a thanksgiving after meal family football game by inviting daydreams ex-boyfriend. I set up ex-boyfriend by passing on a chance to intercept a pass sailing towards him. Instead I brace myself and let him reach out to catch the ball. I stick an expertly placed elbow into his forehead and he drops like limp biscuit. The ball deflects upward and I catch it and run for an uncontested touchdown. Nobody tries to tackle me because everyone is so concerned about Ex-b/f. He stays three days in the hospital just to get sympathy from daydream.
So me and bitchy best friend have words in a bagel shop. And I call her a cunt. And she tells me that my g/f has cheated on me. Then she tells me she is "turned on" and wants to have sex with me. I tell her she just want me to say "yes" so she can run back to Daydream girlfriend and tell her "told ya so."
My daydream girlfriend is totally talented. She'd never sell out and sing teen pop crap. Even if her mullet wearing father sexually abused her. He can tell himself that she is just a performer and he's not really selling her childhood out for a chance to sell out the football stadiums he never could. But I think we all know the truth.
Bitchy best friend knocks on the door in a trench coat and tells me she is going to rape me and she does. Daydream girlfriend calls me afterwards and tells me, "she wants to get back with me." I've got to do dishes though. I should have taken M.'s invitation to dress up in a naughty french maid's outfit for me and clean my house for 10 dollars and hour. I can afford it because my wallet is fat. 275 dollars fat. I'll be eating Manwhiches tonight. I've got a bottle of Oil of Olay for my face. Brand names, not the no-name stuff. Because you suckers can't play poker. I check raised you on the river. And you never saw it coming. But I can't spend my money on M's cleaning services, and anyway J. has asked me to stop picturing M in the French Maid outfit. So I'll save my money. I need to buy SR/22 insurance. Your government has agreed to reinstate my driving privileges. Watch out bums. I am coming after your ass.
Today at work people stink worse than me. I smell the Diaper lady all the way at the other end of the register. Somebody needs a change I think.
I have to work Customer service today. This is the second day in a row. They weren't busy early in the day, but I had 10 Western Unions before 6 pm. After 3 or 4 Western Unions you start hating the human race. After 6, you question your sanity for working. After 10 you just drift off in a psychotic state. The person at the keyboard types information and Hershel Walker like, your real personality shakes and marvels at how the typist keeps typing. "That guy is crazy." Your real personality says. "Which one of us is the real one?" Asks the the other personality.
She hugs me from the front. If I suggest that a couple of king sized pillows get in our way is that too subtle? Then L. rests her head on my shoulder. How sweet is she?
I get to describe this hug. But the description has to be edgy. Otherwise L. says she isn't going to read my blog anymore. I tell L. that my blog isn't "edgy" anymore because she has forbidden me to blog about the hugs she gives me at work. I ask L if we can post pics of her on my blog. I figure a pic of her hugging me will prove to all of you out there that I am not gay, or a pedophile. Or at least not gay. But she rebukes me, sighting "possible stalkers" as the reason she won't be featured on the blog. I tell her if we charge guys $1.00 to get a cyber hug from her, she could make enough money to stop asking me for quarters everyday. No dice again.
Now that I'm allowed to blog about the hugs that L. gives me again, I still have to worry that my stepsister will read my blog, now that I looked her up on myspace. I am pretty sure she's gonna have a cow over how I depicted our childhood.
Even if sis never finds the blog, I can't imagine she reads, I still have to worry what Card Sharks's g/f thinks of me. At the Five and Diner I mention that I went to the see a movie on my day off yesterday. He asks which one. I tell him Juno. He vomits ketchup across the table at me. "You really like teen girls, don't you? That's not just an act." He can barely control the laughter. I calmly reply that the movie has made like 65 million dollars, so I am hardly the only person to see the film and that it has gotten rave reviews. "Plus" I add. "It's not like I watch Nickelodeon or TIVOZoey 101 or something creepy like that. "You watch Hannah Montana." Counters Card Shark "I don't watch entire episodes of Hannah, I just flick it on to see if she is wearing a short skirt."
To my knowledeMileyCryus has never been accused of molesting strangers.
[An aside}
L. hates Juno and thought it was over-hyped. I agree that it was much too hyped but I still thought it was a good movie. But you can totally tell the female character was written by a dude. A 16 year old girl who loves punk music and knows more about old horror/slasher films that the prospective 36 father is completely ludicrous. Not to mention that Jason Bateman as the adopt a dad turns in a fine performance as the ass grabbing, not-quite-sure-I-am-ready-to-be- a-dad, 30 something that all men my age truly are.
It turns out though that I may have been a bit to tough on the writers of Juno. The drudge report is highlighting the case of a 13 year old girl who was arrested for sexually assaulting a couple of boys on her bus route.
There is not much to the story as one of the 311 commenters on the web points out "My problem with this whole incident, IS, what in the world, ever possessed the Reporter, and then the Editor, of this RAG. to print this story, in the first place. There are FEW FACTS, no names, little Information, and not likely to get more, in the future."
Judging by the fact that this story with no facts, pictures or information can spark 311 comments, it's no wonder that Drudge has it blasted on his front page. Kudos to the girl for her induction into the Jail Bait hall of Fame.
And fromGawker, another Hall of Fame candidate ... Creepy Celebrity stalker website narrates
HS: Taylor Momsen, aka Jenny from (cult show) Gossip Girl, wearing a very short skirt... I noticed her because she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, showing her underwear to all... on the 1 train, heading uptown. Got off at Lincoln Center, looked lost."
I think this guy is full of shit. First off I don't see any underwear, and I have photoshop technology. And sometimes I think girls just cross their legs because of poor circulation. Poor girl probably has juvenile diabetes. I'm sure her doctors have warned her that wearing underwear causes loss of circulation, and not crossing her legs in public will mean amputation of those legs and toes for sure. Which would seriously lower her hottness factor by a shade or two. Excepting for certain really perverted fetish sites.
All the girls in the library look hot today. Girls in tight jeans. Girls who wear hooded sweatshirts and have their hair pulled back in ponytails. And they read too. They visit the library and ride their bikes next to me. They lock those bikes up on racks and walk ahead of me. I get to stare at all those tight asses in jeans as they walk all the way into the libary. I can still smell her perfume as I sit at the public library computer terminal. she used.
I think it all began after I stopped masturbating. It's been 2 days now. And suddenly all you fat bitches look good again. As good as fat bitches look, I might be gay. I watched Brokeback Mountain on HBO by myself last night and cried at all the sad parts. And there was lots of sad parts in this movie. The saddest thing about the movie is the director Ang Lee's vision of romance and sex. Ang thinks Americans idea of homo's sex is the horseplay of 7 year old boys. Later in the movie I guess Lee feels bad about his depiction of gay sex, so he makes sure that the hetero sex is just as "horsey" as his gay sex scenes.
Straight sex isn't anything like that in real life. Mostly it's about getting the underaged girl away from her drunken stepfather long enough to convince her she doesn't need to make you wear a condom cause you can't ejaculate "proper." By the time she figures it out you can just tell her it was a miracle and you'd never come before. She'll be so pleased that she made you cum, she'll forget all about her pregnancy scare until it's too late, and by the time she gets you on Maury for the DNA test that little whore will already be on her third attempt at finding a baby's daddy, so no one will even focus on you , or how your like 20 years older than she is.
Even though I cry at gay cowboy movies I still get laid more often than you virgin heteros do. Fat bitches love me. They e-mail me all the time in chat rooms. They call me sexy, because I love fat pussy. I love fat pussy even though I know no matter how much Feminine Deodorant you spray on your cunts, you still can't hide that cheesy smell you get from an untreated yeast infection. But at least you moan like a chainsaw is cutting through you everytime we fuck.
I stayed up all night last night. Maybe it was because I had the day off yesterday. Maybe it was because my sense of day/night is off. 7 in the am seems like a good time to go to sleep. My 1pm alarm clock startles me awake. And I will ignore it. Today, like every other day, I get to work 6 minutes late. I don't see the big deal.
But someone else at work does. He is the director of write ups. And he had many write ups for me and my pals. I think the director of write ups will have 20 or so "counselings" today. The counselings are warnings printed out on computer paper that we must sign without reading. First comes the warning , then comes the write up, and then suspension, and finally termination.
The counselings are purely bogus. They are used to show "just cause" for any firing made. That way the store can deny any unemployment claim they get. The director makes no attempt ensure the accuracy of his records. I get written up for days that I am "tardy" even though there where days when I was asked by management to make a change to my schedule. I point this out to my boss. Who at first denies my accusations but then he remembered that he was the supervisor who asked me to make the change. "Well, but still" is all the director of write ups can offer as excuse.
I politely ask if now the timekeeper will be written up for making a mistake, as I was just given another write up because of a similiar clerical error I made. I get no firm commitment from the Fuhrer. But just like Heidegger I have no problem ratting out Husserl. I will bar him from the university, and laugh at his decline in health, and even after the Allies have retaken Freiberg, I will suffer no harm. Heidegger went on teaching, and I will go on checking out your groceries, and you, the good people of the world will be no wiser.
He even looks like a little Hitler.
My Existential Angst is acting up today. Maybe it's because I drank a tall 32 ounce can of Foster beer last night. My liver doesn't process alcohol anymore, so I get depressed and moody easily.
On the bike ride home from work I grapple with Truth. Because Heidegger got a few things right. Like nothing matters. If a starving Ethiopian could be granted reprieve, for just a moment from the pain and hunger and futility of his life, he would agree. The first thing he would do is look around at all the suffering he has done and ask, why. And he would quickly come to the conclusion that the study Heidegger did for us.
There is no reason. There is no choice. We are no more defined by our choices, than we are the products of our birth. (contingency.) Do not worry about living the authentic life. There are no authentic lives to live. There is no leap of faith to make. There is only confrontation with the abyss. And when you look into the pit, to paraphrase, the pit looks back. And all we find in the pit is anguish. And in anguish we recognize the absurdity of it all.
i miss sleep, then sleep too much, but the sleep is just the sleep of tossing and turning, of staring at the alarm, wishing deep sleep was real, reading science stories that say no sleep makes me fat, and boy am i fat...
In life and at work I'm constantly being out performed by underachieving teenagers. I've never had a job that a high school dropout couldn't get, so you wouldn't think being outperformed by a talented teen would bug me, but I'm a petty man.
At work my back hurts again. I gobble down pain pills and my manager glares at me. "I shouldn't drink while I work" my manager reminds me and "I'm not smiling at customers," but that's because I can't fake cheer. A cripple comes through my line in a wheel chair. A strong black man who asks me how I am doing. And something makes me want to tell him. Maybe it was his eyes. But I tell him ok. But he sees right through me. I tell him my back hurts. He says he could tell. He has back pain too. And he tells me he understands. I tell him I am sure my back can't hurt as bad as his. He says cut the shit. When your back hurts it hurts.
I wish I was half as brave as this black man seated in the chair 3 feet below me. I wished I was half as kind as he is. To be able to reach out and comfort strangers. Where do you go to get a soul?
I overhear a poor mother talking to her child. She comes through my line with food stamps and her kid coughs and hacks away at me while I ring up her Ramen soups. Mom tells me that you can die from Ramen poisoning. Something about how Ramen doesn't have the necessary nutrients and vitamins, that poor people and college students need to be careful not to rely on Ramen as a staple.
I guess Dimetapp and cough drops aren't covered by WIC or Food Stamps because I 'm asked to void them off. She doesn't have enough money. I look over at the kid. Now the kid is begging for just the cough drops in a husky broken voice, "but Momma I really need the cough drops." But momma needed her wine and momma needed cookies, and momma needs you to keep quiet "cuz your embarrassing me."
Momma pleads with me through her eyes to get this transaction over with quickly. I'd like to buy the kid some cough syrup a little voice in me says, but instead I just tear out the receipt and hand it over to momma and mumble something about her savings from her value card. And I take mommas advice seriously. I add it to the list of things to avoid eating if stranded in the wild. Rabbits and Ramen soup will get you killed if that's all you eat. I join this bit of wisdom to life experience; sometimes little girls get to cough and sometimes little girls get to eat.
