November 14th, 2007


Lifting The Towlie Ban

I didn't sleep well last night because my bedroom was a toweled priest, rabbi, and United States Congressman shy of a full-blown Turkish spa thanks to the fact that my wall heater has a mind of its own and that little circle thing on my wall with all the numbers and such is merely a plaything that has no bearing on the temperature of our apartment.

When you go to sleep, don't forget to bring a towel. All the sweat from your pores can soak your sheets down to the bone, causing dehydration, loose stool, and syphilis.

Thanks Towlie.

You wanna get high?

Is it weird to have just the one eye that's bloodshot? Maybe I've got Pinkeye; have I been making mudpies with my own shit again lately? And then taking a needle and injecting doses of those shitpies directly into my eyeball? Again?

Is it also weird to want a tube of lube and about five hours' worth of slow-gas-leak ass-play with the new Asian girl who works here? It's like Satan graced me with my ideal woman: 15 year old's body with the bosoms of a 25 year old. Ahh, to be young again.

So, in the last two days, we've had two birthdays here in the office. For both people, they've had me go down to Walgreens and pick up birthday cards. Has anyone ever had to buy birthday cards for someone they worked with but didn't know all that well?

Furthermore, has anyone bought birthday cards lately? Pretty much, they're 33% for old ladies; 33% for alcoholics and retards; 20% for golfers; 13% for people who enjoy the sight of cute animals in funny poses; and 1% mildly amusing.

In relation to the Empire State Building Walgreens, that equates to there being exactly 3 cards worthy of my discerning eye. Two of them were simply Far Side Comics in the form of birthday greetings (with the corresponding comics having nothing to do with birthdays whatsoever), and one was a picture of two pigs standing in front of a refrigerator. One pig is asking the other why he's been looking at that carton of orange juice for the last half hour and the other says, "Shh! It says concentrate!" It was a tough choice, but of the two birthdays, one card had to be left out. Too bad for those damned pigs.

I think they tolerated the first card yesterday, but I could tell today they simply didn't understand the Far Side humor of a group of vegetarian cavemen triumphantly carrying back their kill of a giant carrot. Maybe next time they won't ask me to pick out any more fucking birthday cards.

I got nothing, you guys. Seriously, my life is one continuous loop of eat, shit, work, run, jerk off, sleep. Not always in that order, but always the same shit.

Sycophant Picnic's revision is nearly complete. Click the link at the top to see what it's going to look like when I finally get all the pages up. Feedback if you like, here on the site, where it says to leave a comment or whatever. Or don't. I'm tired of looking at my writing; it's time to write something new or get off the pot.