The Grudge

"Feeces the Hut."  Unfortunately this scan doesn't pick up the wonderful shading. Mia has the original now.

I don't "hate" a lot. I say I do and that I hate people in general (which is mostly true), but to truly hate someone takes a lot of effort. Even people who have wronged me in deep, soul-crushing ways I manage to forgive. Except one. It's not so much that she hurt me, but the woman had such audicity to treat people like shit and berate and belittle everyone and exert authority where none existed. She was my boss for a while, and I hated her at first. We got in a yelling match, and I let that twat know I was not to be fucked with. Then we got along great. Then Mia showed up and the bitch, we'll call her Feeces, started alternating favorites and trying to pit us against each other. Well Feeces was a super cunt and compromised my employer's relationship with other businesses, so a bitch had to go. I texted her a little afterward, then one time, I didn't answer her call and just texted her the next day. She obviously felt slighted, so she never responded to a subsequent text. Ever since, I've focused on how awful she was. Mia and I recount our time with her like war veterans. This bitch reminds me of her, please WATCH THIS SHIT.

I could write pages about how horrible and disgusting this woman was. Like how she'd chow on popcorn at her desk, or how she'd shit in the bathroom and it would literally stink the whole office up. But I won't go there.

Anyway, the point is, I was writing about Feeces this morning and had this to say:

I hope she gets some pussy wasting disease and it rots her from the inside out and she's miserable for years before I finally come to her bedside, whisper "fuck you," and smother her with a pillow. Too much?

Mia: Jewess, Wordsmith, Comedienne

"Oh you got a ouchfit?"

This morning I was tasked with writing a report for some events I worked at over a month ago.  I don't remember any of those details!  What time was set-up?  Who was there?  How long?  Any costs?  What did we display?  How was it displayed? What did we hand out?  How many people did we talk to?   On the trill?  That is trippin because I don't know that shit.  I just had to estimate.  When I relayed this to my friend Mia, her response was this:

Here is your summary "Lots of sluts stopped by our booth to get free condoms and pregnancy kits, they supplied their own wire hangers if the pregnancy tests came out badly. It took place on a thursday, it took three hot seconds to set up (i just threw some pills on the table and screamed FREE PUSSY PROTECTION). I was there for an excruciating hour and I set it on fire at the end so I wouldn't have to pack anything up. Three horny co-eds stopped by and they suggested that next year we do free abortions at the fair! I think It's a great idea!"

1 to 10, how much do you love me?
 
How mazongballs is that?  I had to go to the bathroom and laugh because I was starting to make a scene.  Oh yeah, I'm making MAZONG happen.  At least for Mia and me.  It was a typo once, but we've been rolling with it.  Now at least the word predictor in the typing program of my phone knows it.  Just like it knows that when I write "pancake," the next words are most likely going to be "makeup gift certificate" #Starrbooty.  Am I allowed to just hashtag something like that?  Too bad.  I'm forcing it upon your eyes.  Ocular rape.

Squirtle, I Choose You!

I found this adorable little creature in the parking lot at work. At first I thought it was dead. It wouldn't be the first time I found a random dead animal in the parking lot. But after a moment, it slowly moved its little head. Maybe Parking Lot Squirtle defeated the Parking Lot Lobster that I saw back in April. Squirtle was just sitting on the black top, and I didn't know if I should do something with it. It reminded me however of an incident from a couple weeks ago.



It was a hot, sunny day and I encountered a worm on the sidewalk. I was convinced there was no way it would survive on the hot pavement, so I felt terrible and planned to move it to some moist earth. But then a thought struck me: how fucking arrogant of me! Who did I think I was? I was prepared with good intentions to move this worm to what I thought would be a better life. But really I didn't know what was best for it. Maybe it was on the way to see its little worm babies. Or perhaps it was "meeting the sun," giving up on its life. Who was I to get in the way of his plans? So I let the worm be.

I put the turtle back where I found it, said good luck, and went to wash my hands. No salmonella for me, thank you! I hope it's okay. Part of me wanted to go back and bring him home. But again, I thought of the worm and stayed put. Maybe next time I'll snatch that shit up in a pokéball.

I'm Tripping

My sadness begins with a happy tale of a vacation six or seven years ago. I had a college friend who came from a small town in Massachusetts, so I spent a day with her family there, a day with her friend Mike in Boston, and several days at her family's house on Cape Cod. It was wonderful. We assembled a group of our Febo friends and spent the time playing, partying, eating, and cavorting on the beach. One day at the Cape, we were out shopping and stopped in a cute little store. The owner was a trendy, if somewhat snobby, young woman who specialized in Lilly Pulitzer and the like. Since Gay Mike and I weren't in the market for female clothing, there was nothing for us to do but browse, so we were a little bored. We focused our attention on the cheaply-made yet overpriced tacky jewelry. The bracelets were all on stretchy string and would actually compliment the bright colors of the clothing in the store. One of my female friends was talking to the owner in the center register, while Gay Mike and I were fondling the bracelets. We were talking and laughing, having a good kiki, when Mike's object of disdain/affection suddenly exploded, showering the floor with dozens of beads. We immediately look at each other, mortified, and hauled ass out of the store. We laughed about it while waiting for our friends to finish up inside. We were worried there was some kind of trouble, but we agreed that he couldn't show his gay face in there again. I headed back in to see what the hold up was, and they weren't even aware what had happened. I informed them, and they appropriately guffawed. They were almost done browsing, so I went back to fondling bracelets. Wouldn't you know the same damn thing happened to me? I was truly surprised, and once again ran right out of that bitch. I made such haste that I was still clutching some of the chunky beads in my hands. I met Gay Mike outside and showed him my shame, causing us to practically pee our pants.

I kept those three beads as souvenirs of my trip, and they eventually found their way into the bag I take to work every day. I keep them in a little pocket with my keys, backup chapstick, and several dollars in quarters that I for some reason insist on always having. At the beginning and end of the workday, I swap out my personal keys for my office key. This has been fine for almost two years now. While switching keys this morning, I noticed that I only have two beads. My heart sank. After all this time, I've lost track of one. I don't know when it could have been lost. I've been out of town a few times with my bag recently, so my special little nugget might be bringing someone else luck in San Francisco, Chicago, Las Vegas, or Dallas. I guess I should be grateful I still have two, but I feel a little empty today. The frustration of helplessness is the worst feeling in the world. Even when it's over something as little as a missing bead. I knew I should have strung them together as anal beads.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

This is a rating system for your doodies. Which one are you?


Someone wrote "Mexicos sucks" on a bathroom was in Dallas, TX.


This is some little tree bit I noticed. You can guess why. This is about twice its actual size.

I was in Dallas the past couple days for work, and let me tell you IT SUCKED. Even people who live in Dallas hate it. First of all, it was 105 degrees the whole time, so I didn't even bother doing anything outside. My mega-meetings were fine, but I always have trouble during those. The portions that are novel to me are fine because they're at least interesting, but there's a lot of material that these people have to legally cover that I've heard thousands of times. They're very drawn out too. I'm very fidgety to begin with, and sitting in one spot for 8 hours trying to pay attention is difficult. For the parts where I'm not taking notes, I find that there's only one thing I can do to stay awake: doodle. I was constantly drawing in the margins in school, and it actually helps me stay focused and awake. The essential topic of my conference was irritable bowel syndrome with diarrhea. Yeah. IBS-d sounds super fun. I learned all kinds of things, like how to rate your shit in terms of consistency. And that scientists developing new drugs do fun and terrible things like get monkeys addicted to heroin to rate the addictive potential of investigational drugs that contain narcotics. Or that to study the effects of an IBS drug on mice, one has to perform mustard oil enemas on them. Hot stuff. I also learned that I really need to cut back my consumption of tylenol, or my liver is going to be FUCKED. Anyone have tips for dealing with arthritis pain? No? You mean the average person in his 20s doesn't have advice for self-treating acquired arthritis? Fine. Well, check out a couple doodles I banged out. One is my depiction of IBS, and the other side is just. . . I don't know. Just tell me you like it. Oh, I'm also including a couple random shots of things I encountered during my day and half in Texas.

Schooling the Children

We have this glorious model of woman's inner workings at my office. It's a promotional model for the Nuvaring. It is so fun! You get to see all the biznass, PLUS there's a mock Nuvaring on a string that you can practice sticking up the sniz! How amazing is that? Then you press a button, and it zooms out of the sniz! It is way too much fun. It gets better:



Nice! It even comes with a snatch-for-dummies diagram, for you queers out there who don't know your way around a lady crotch. I'm seriously going to figure out how I can get one of these models for myself. I would proudly display it in my apartment. PROUDLY.

The Poopin Missle Crisis

I rarely poo at work. On my first day back at work, I pooed in the morning before I started working, and it was a close call. When I flushed, the ahem, material went down the drain, but then the water level started to rise! Right before it was about to spill over I said a little prayer and flushed again. Luckily it worked that time, and there was no overflow of nasty blue water. I didn't really want to be the guy who fucked up the toilet my first day at work. Today was the first time I dropped a deuce during actual office hours. I'm a thorough wiper. I get it as clean as I can, and I would totally keep a stash of babywipes here for me. I prefer to save my poops for a time when I can shower afterward, but that's not always possible. Bidets are both practical and awesome. The point is I use a lot of terlet paper. That was the problem today. It's not like I took such a massive shit that the pipes couldn't handle it. I did my business during business hours, and a funny thought occurred to me: "watch today be the day the toilet overflows." I flushed, and the dense mass of toilet paper wouldn't go through the hole! I freaked out. I grabbed the toilet brush and tried to nudge it down to no avail. Meanwhile the water is rising, getting closer and closer to shaming me. I turned the stick around and jabbed the terletmass with the thin end to see if that made a difference while flushing again. The water continued to rise, and I gave up all hope. I started washing my hands, waiting for the inevitable. Then I heard a familiar noise. . . could it be? Yes! The toilet flushed properly! Crisis averted.

Here's part of a message I got from Lila a while back, names changed:

"Last week my slutty roommate Brianna had some guy named Winston spend the night. The next morning, he dropped a deuce in our toilet and left. When we went in, the whole thing was clogged and overflowing. Talk about getting up close and personal with the person you just slept with. We made Brianna unclog it."

Black History Fail

The first thing I said to Shawnda at work this morning was, "happy black history month!" This prompted our other coworker, I'll call her Linda for now, to joke, "you have to teach us something about black history every day this month." To this Shawnda replied, "okay. . . the republicans just elected a black man to represent them."
*sigh*
Not good enough, Shawnda. Not good enough.

BTDubs Michael Steele sounds like a crazy dick.

Oh, and Rush Limbaugh played this song on his show:

Just Because

This shit makes me laugh so hard: