Friday, April 25, 2003
Wiat. FUCK I did it again. Am I retarded? Wait. THANK YOU fuk am I secretly dislexic, but only in my fingers? Damn… wiat. FUCK’n shit, literally, I didn’t mean to do that at all.
Wait. (grrrrrrr) I have to call the east coast. And it’s already like 4 pm over there, so it’s probably useless, as most of those fukcs are lazy piles and out of the office by now, but if I leave a message I can check it off on my things to do and then blame iraq if the job doesn’t get done. So gimme a fukn minute ferchrissake goddammit.
Ok I’m right now – the guy’s name is “O’Toole” ha ha whut a punk ass bitch. Ok phone ringing, ringing, ringing, fukc pick up you pile of donkey shit!! Oh great voice mail, you goddamm pile. Ok hold on…
Oh god I’m such a kiss ass pile of donkey shit myself, I even said “aloha” at the end of the message. Actually this guy O’Toole is a pretty decent fella from whut I know of him, which is next to nothing, so I shouldn’t rag on him, but I will anyway.
I can’t believe that Joe said I can pull a blog entry out of the air out of nothing. Shit, Joe, does this look like nothing? This is fukn substance, playboy!! Shit!
That’s my new line, calling everybody (well, guys, not girls) playboy. I’ll be like “whutsup playboy!” so far it’s working out pretty good for me. I used to say “playa” but then I had the idea of adding the “boy” at the end, I think it makes people feel very comfortable and happy that I am in the same room. I’m pretty damn awesome like that. I mean, I’m a people person, oh hold on…
Jesus fukn Christ, this guy just came in my office and was talking to me, and it was like, I wanted to kill him. Jesus I hate people, everyone, and they all hate me. (ha, ha, see that didn’t really happen, you see, because I was being IRONIC) isn’t it ironic? You may ask why I suddenly went out of the parentheses on that sentence, and again, I was being ironic. Ironic about what? Fuk if I know, shit man, you don’t ask people what they’re being ironic about, I’m just fukn being ironic, alright, shit, don’t sweat me like that, shit, can’t be ironic up in this muthafucka without some bastard stepchild from the planet nebulon trying to bring the heat on a honkey. It JuSt AiN’t RiGhT. Isn’t that soooo stupid how I alternate between capitals and lowercase? You see I think that I want to use italics or bold for emphasis on certain words, but I know I’m not gonna read this before I transfer it from word to blogger, so that’ll never happen, so I do that instead. Aren’t I a genius? Yes I know.
Wiat, ooh shit there I go again, anyway, I just turned off AIM cuz it’s acting all weird and opening up windows and bitching about “blah blah” or some shit, and I’m like “oh no she didn’t” yeah nice job Alfred used that line yesterday, don’t quite your day job punk.
Don’t worry I won’t.
Two more things: lakers suck ass but they’ll still win a title (hear dat?) and I loves me a good motorcycle ride. I was riding all over the town yesterday, and it was like playboy short rolling up on them bizzles like in 1964 all over again, but this time it was me instead. I’m pretty badass when I’m on my motorcycle, even though it’s not mine, but I get to ride it, cuz I gots my license, hoes.
Whatever I’m outta here.
Thursday, April 24, 2003
Anybody got a goddamm problem with that is invited to dial my special hotline at 976-PHUK. You will be assisted by a blind otter named Waldo, who is a specialist in the realm of customer service and ophthalmology. If you get a voice mail, leave a message, dumbass.
It’s someone’s birthday today in the office, which means I will get to drink beer at lunch. Expect some possible drunken rambling later this afternoon.
But FARK it europa is calling and mrs. P & I must answer the call. Onward and upward they say. Who the hell says that? I don’t know, but it’s pretty damn inspirational, wouldn’t you say? (who, me?) no you. no you. ok me. No him. No her.
Yes well then. The lakers have to get their shit in gear if they don’t want to get the ass-handers award again tonite. Troy Hudson, I think, no, 37 points will not be happening again. 2 suggestions lakers. Listen and listen good. Kobe: if things are not going well, you taking every circus shot you can think of will probably not turn the tide back to the side of good. Oh and phil, just a LiTtLe less mark (fuk stanfurd) madsen and a little more shaq. Fuk it was like they were running point mad dog for a while that last game and I was like “oh no she didn’t” and that was just cuz some bitch was wearing the same dress as me, don’t even get me started on that mad dog thing.
Anyway, fuk the lakers. The clippers are rebuilding around, um, yeah that guy. Ok I’m on my annual lakers bandwagon. Sue me. Fukn sue me. See what you get. A bowl of goddam grits and a certificate from the chump of the month club, that’s what.
Now step. Over there. A little more over. Yeah right there. Now raise your hand. The other one pinochle! Now say after me: “I promise to….”
Ah ferget it.
Post, publish, outties.
But wait there’s more!
Oh no there isn’t. my bad.
I’m kinda thinking that I didn’t give you that good shit today.
But I don’t care.
Cuz I’m a fukn dick, aren’t I?
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
I’m speaking in a figurative sense here, folks. These two fukn stroke-fest masters in the next office over, let’s call them old fart & crusty fukbag, same politics, same views on everything, same view of the company and where it’s going, and they just sit there and tell each other how fukn great they are until someone, let’s say a random person (me) wants to go in there with a shotgun and let loose like fukn Mickey Spillane. Not that Mickey Spillane was a fukn gangster, he was a writer I think, crime novels (?) fuk I don’t know, but it sounded cool.
After about the 80th time of hearing how great you are and hashing over political views that you KNOW the other person shares, don’t you think you’d want to take a cigarette break and maybe clear the cobwebs of horseshit out of your skull? Why is it that extremists of either side (these guys are heavy conservatives) only want to hear their OWN FUKN SIDE???? You’d think it would make it more interesting hearing other views, but NOOOO, these fuks like to bully and cuss out any dissenting views without even listening to the other side, or even if they give it a chance & listen to it, it’s with one hear solidly closed shut and the other one wrapped around their fellow conservative’s bone. Yeah the one guy has pretty big ear flaps.
I mean, some people, you can’t even paint them a picture of WHY the fuck America is set up the way it is! Ok asshole, shut your pie-hole for, let’s see, 5 seconds, and comprendo… other points of view exist so fascists like yourself don’t steamroll their fukn agenda all day long. But they just don’t see it like that. Every democrat is a fukn asshole. Every liberal tree-hugger should be bombed. Drop nukes on north korea, blah, blah, blah, blah fukn blah. Ya know, if you have a point of view, fine, great, congratu-fukn-lations, but at least do the courtesy of listening to the other side, at least understand through that dumb ASS of yours, how advantageous it is to this country that dissent exists! Without two sides to an argument, without the liberal assholes to yell and scream at every move bush makes, he would do whatever the FUCK he wanted above and beyond what he’s already doing.
This is in no way indicative of my own politics. I’m pretty fukn wishy-washy, but I agree with the war we just waged basically & fuk Sadaam. I also think that “bitches” that should be “run over by a fukn truck” like Arianna Huffington, also make a point, when they say that all the hand-jiving and stroking going on in the oval office over how “right” they were all along should be tempered by the fact that if we busted iraq’s cherry so easily, were they really the threat we imagined, and was this whole thing just a big fukn stroke-fest to get a better foothold in the middle east? And if you can’t even CONSIDER that possibility, if you discount it so fukn fast with the rationale that Arianna Huffington is a Russian bitch that can’t even speak English (wise words of a racist old fuk – you can’t make this shit up) then you’ve lost the battle before the tanks even rolled in. you have taken yourself out of the logic loop becuz of some half-assed agenda involving the fact that the republican’s line your already rich pockets in a more handsome fashion.
Or something like that.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Why did they even try to have Laverne and Shirley without Shirley? There was that one season and it was like “Laverne & Company.” Laverne & Company? Whut the fuck are you on crack? Was there like one episode of that, where Laverne goes to jail by mistake, and it was just a blatant bite anyway of the classic episode WITH Shirley, you know, the smith & jones episode? Am I the only one that knows this? Or are they the same episode? Someone help me here. And was Carmine a homo? (not that there’s anything wrong with that, really) but was he? I mean, how many cold showers can you take before you’re like, FUCK this shit. Listen Shirley, strip your ass down cuz the Big Ragu ain’t taking this shit no more! But no really, it’s cool, Carmine was down, but shit, how he would hang from his legs from the top floor when they moved to Hollywood, and the whole “Big Ragu” thing, highly suspicious of homogeneity, I’m just saying, I’m gonna call a ragu a ragu. How many fukn cold showers did Carmine have to take anyway? It was like every episode, meanwhile Laverne is banging every hobo that looks at her cross-eyed.
My fish wacko looked at me cross-eyed this morning, and normally that would entail a beating, but this morning he looked so happy that I though, no more imaginary beatings, because just the fact that all you kind people even think that I might beat up Wacko the Talking goldfish was just too much to take. In fact this morning I could have sworn, just for a minute, that Wacko was possessed of the ghost of Randy Rhoads. Juuuust for a minute, mind you, in fact more like 30 seconds, he was like strumming an air-guitar with his right little flipper or fin or whatever the crap you call it, and I could have SWORN his mouth was doing the words to Crazy train. Yes maybe I’m on crack, or maybe wacko is, because yes I know, Randy never sang, he strictly spoke with his axe, na mean, yes, I know, but still, he wrote that shit with Ozzy, right? RIGHt? Yes. Yes indeed.
Where the fuck is Randy Rhoads’ ghost anyway? How long do I have to put up with this? Imagine, if you will, a man, named Alfred Pennyworth, more than just the Batman butler, the secret scribe of an ancient scroll, suddenly taken unto sacred responsibility of sole communication rights with the greatest guitar player ever to grace this earth. Imagine him having in depth conversations with said interplanetary (inter-dimensionary?) visitor on an ongoing & regular basis on a range of topics from peace in the middle east to the proper proportions of peanut butter and jelly in said sandwich, and different amount per certain breads, (ie rye at a 3/1 ration, wheat at a 3.5/1, and so on)…
Where was I? Oh yeah, Randy. Imagine really getting into discussions on life, love, madness, death and the nature of the afterlife with the OG metal rock god, a man of mythical talent & fame, born in the same hospital as you ferchrissake, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, mofo is gone, like a wisp of smoke, something that never was never to be seen again. Unprovable to anyone that he ever existed except as something more than a lunatic’s sick imagination? Imagine that if you will. What would you do?
And the answer to that my friends, is I do all that I can do. I hope for his return and pray that he’s ok, that he hasn’t somehow fallen into the clutches of Beelzebub, playing solo jams for Satan while being pummeled by jackals and flayed by rogue trollocks. Cuz fuck that, I can’t be seein’ that, I might have to bust a move and go to Charlotte the local witch doctor and have her send me to hell in a hand basket for the search party, cuz Randy, you belong in heaven loc, you belong up there with the angels, main. And moreso (ok, less-so) in some small way, I like to think that you belong here with me, kicking it, at least on Tuesdays and maybe Thursdays, helping me through life and strife, and maybe bustin out a free style on your custom Jackson.
Monday, April 21, 2003
Oh, no I’m sorry, Pat McGroin isn’t here right now, can I take a message?
Um, no that’s ok, I’ll try later.
We’re fukn out of control ovah heah.
I’m busy as a goat with forehead acne. I’m, like, fukn, swamped with shit to the extent that I’ve decided to siphon the swamp out into the yard and make a pool for the kids.
And then I’m going to eat an ice cream sandwich.