Suuuuuuuu....

Lick the nutties!!!!!

There are two kinds of People in the world

Douches that know how many types of people there are in the world and the rest of us. Hey bartender, take your original, sage wisdom and use it as a seating pad while you go f yourself.

I HATE the way all lawyers talk

To the extent that you can blow me, please do so, at your earliest convenience.

Wow

Are you guys ready for this?

I ask again, is everyone ready for what I am about to tell you??

I shit you not, this actually just happened to me about 15 minutes ago.

Ok, so I am at my desk and I get a phone call from a colleague. This was not an ordinary call, the voice on the other end was somewhat panicky, asking me to come over for a second. Now you very rarely get a call like this from someone unless they are gonna drop some heavy shit on you.

I had no idea.

So I get to this person's office and this is literally what was said:

Me: Sup
Them: We are friends right?
Me: Sure
Them: I need you to watch the door for a minute while I change my pants.
Me: What the fuck?

It didn't really occur to me why this guy needed to change his pants, but he seemed pretty desperate, so I took up my post at the door. Only after a minute or so do I actually ask why he is changing his pants. His response: Cause I just shit myself.

It turns out this guy let one slip and it got past the infield for a bloop single. He then proceeded to run around the firm in his shitty wears until he could go get a new pair of pants and underwear.

Fuck me.

At least it's Friday.

Nervous wreck

Toothache. Need root canal. Took a percocet to sleep through the night. Wake up. Feel like Satan wiped his ass with my forehead. It's alright, though, I get to wash this down with a nice drive to the dingleberry of Western civilization, Richmond, Virginia! Almost makes you want to go to work. Wait, maybe I'm still high...

Anywho, hopefully I can rant about the "Nation" epidemic later today, if K-Ville doesn't shit on my soul today because he knows today is MY Friday.

Don't call it a comeback

Yo yo yo!!! Cawfee Kupz Rockin Travlin Muhfukkin Mugz back up in this bitch, snitches!!! I been around the world and I-I-I...

I got a lot to say. So, with out further ado (lies), here is what I owe you:

-Trip to Charlotte - Livin free and NASCAR racin
-Expensive golfins not paid for
-WhiskyFest NY 2007
-Fuck the BoTards
-I hate "Nations"
-Jabbadoo need ta find anova jobbyjob!
-Straight Billin' (and the filthy lies I spew once a month)
-Listing (Including, but not exclusive to, People Who Can GFThemselves)

All coming soon, but for now, get bent.

And, D, you need a backpack cuz you are a rap hippie. F you.

I need a backpack...

Cause right now I am carrying this team. Its ok though, if my stress and anger were able to conduct electricity, I could keep New York lit for a week. Klipz has some sort of blog hunger strike going and Trey should actually think about changing his name to Nancy. So I'll let you guys in on what has been happening...

Everyone on my team is freaking out. But not me...nope, not me. Why? Cause I don't give a fuck.

In the legal world, shit has the tendency to hit the fan all at the same time. Lets put it like this: I work on case A, which is always busy. My team works on cases A, B, C, and D. Now case B will be quiet all year because its early in litigation. Case C will be busy on Wed. and Fri. for no apparent reason. Case D will be busy on Tues. and Thur. for no apparent reason. However, suddenly cases A, B, c, and D will all need something done before noon on Wed. We do not hear about this until we get the email asking for it at fucking 10:50 Tues. night. And all of us paralegals check our email after we go home...(that was a joke).

So, everyone needs everything ASAP, but first they need to suck my balls. My case manager (we have thrown around the idea of calling this guy Sick Boy, but I am leaning toward Radioactive Man myself...) freaks out because he is the one who is gonna get shit for not being able to do the impossible. I am so used to this shit that it really doesn't faze me. As long as I am not being yelled at for more than 10 minutes and I get a check when your done, its fine with me.

What else is new...

Oh, I forgot to sign in yesterday and Party Girl sent out a nasty email to everyone who did not sign in that day. Apparently everyone who forgot to/decided not to sign in on October 23rd has a chronic, dare I say habitual, tendency to not sign in each day. I will spare you the quote.

Anything else?

Oh, I am in love with a 16 year old...

delicious bottle of Lagavulin single malt. Mmm, so peaty, so smokey, so good.

Oh Snitches

So I just got an email sent out to my team (the group of mercenaries I roam the office with doing similar types of mindless tasks) about how my snitches had a few non-billable hours last week.

Holy shit.

Listen up snitches.

You are a snitch, and the only thing worst than a snitch is a fucking temp snitch. If you put down that you just sat there and did nothing for 2 hours one day because I was too busy to assign work for you, then you threaten your own delicate fucking existence. Here is why:

The case manager (he will recieve his own "Kill Me Now" moniker soon enough, there are just way too many possibilities at this point) sees that you don't have any hours billed and he freaks out. He has to approve and give out your time sheet to Party Girl, who is going to freak out because anything that the firm has to pay for is gonna get noticed by the big partner who is in charge of all that shit. That is literally all the big partner cares about. He doesn't want the firm to spend one fucking penny more than it has to for anything. In not billing your hours, you have basically kicked the sleeping giant that is this big partner, and he is not going to say "why don't these snitches have any work to do", he is going to say "eliminate those costs immediately".

You know what that means snitches?

That means you take your fucking informant status out of protective custody and on to the streets. Believe me when I tell you that your temp snitch status is well known, and those gang member temps from the last agency we used are gonna smell you out and eat you for fucking dinner.

The moral of this story is that even if you sit and do nothing for a few hours, say you did something. Bill those hours as having to wait for me or something. Or, since you fucking love work so much that you have to ask me for shit to do every 15 minutes, find something to do. Rearrange the cabinets, put away files, vacuum the floor. I do not give a fuck. Just do something and preferably leave me alone while your doing it.

Welcome Back

I would like to take a minute to ask everyone who reads this blog (all 6, perhaps even 7 of you) to say thanks to Treytew for posting a blog. You may not have known, but Trey has been quite busy watching videos of street fights and fat kids getting owned on youtube. In fact, just the other day I caught him watching movies of kittens. Before he gets all defensive and gives me shit, yea, I watched a few of them with him. Kittens are cute, but going out of your way to watch them on youtube is sorta yag.

By the way Trey, thats a hell of a fucking post. Keep up the good work kid.

More Lavatory Antics

Ok, so yesterday I was the one that had to stay an extra hour(editor's note: This requires explanation. Either Klipz, Myself, or our case manager has to stay an extra hour every day "in case we are needed" according to the attorneys. That is to say we need to fart around this festering rat's nest an extra hour because scanning documents, and sending packages out via FedEx are just a couple of tasks beyond the
dignity of any self-respecting legal scholar. Humility should be somehow structured in to the required coursework for some of these wannabe magistrates. I guess it goes to prove that all the money in the world can't teach some how to act like a genuine person. Anyways, I digress.

What I was trying to say was that it was my day to stay late in the off chance that anything needed to be taken care of. I was going about my usual, reading the entire internet, thinking of errands I needed to attend to, dreaming of a life that didn't so closely resemble Dante's 6th ring of Hell when before I knew it I needed to take a squirt. "No big deal" you're saying, right? My sentiments exactly friends. Yet, you are forgetting about where we are. This is Funder, Cunt, Hymen, and Scrotum. The comfort zone of assbackwardsness. The mascot of this place should be Mr. Tom Foolery, himself. I swear every time I get off the elevator coming to work I step into some parallel dimension where anything, and I mean ANYTHING is possible. This being said in the least positive way imaginable.

So I make my way to the men's room to do the deed and upon entering I found myself shocked by what I stumbled upon. An attorney, who from here on will be known as Lucky Chang, was standing at one of the urinals taking a piss...WITH A TOOTHBRUSH IN HIS FUCKING MOUTH. Now, personally I have never understood the whole brushing-your-teeth-at-work thing. I don't mind if others do it I could just never get into it. But really? While you're pissing? This was too much. Awestruck, I forced myself not to stare at this travesty of personal hygiene. It was like watching a pop culture icon slip into addiction. Disappointing to see, but just to ridiculously hysterical to look away. There stood Lucky, Dick in Hand(no pun intended), tooth brush in mouth with the slightest hint of toothpaste at the corners, slowly rocking to and fro, with this shit-eating "I don't know nuffin, boss" look slapped all over his mug. Now at this point you may be asking yourself, "Is that it? An attorney brushing and pissing at the same time? That's all you've got for us Trey?

Worry not comrades, there's more.

So I sat there pissing, while at the same time trying to completely digest what I had witnessed. Little did I know the coup de grace was still to come. Lucky went about finishing his business and, as is customary, migrated to the sinks to complete the ritual of the #1 with a wash of the hands. However, Lucky apparently is a rogue, thumbing his nose at the clearly established etiquette of the men's office bathroom. What I saw next was something of unprecedented proportions.

At this point in the plot I had finished pissing as well, and had situated myself a safe sink's length away from Lucky out of respect for my own personal bubble. I still could not help myself from gawking at Lucky even if only out of my peripherals, for the simple fact that I was waiting to see what would happen next. And as it turns out folks, not much of anything happened. I don't mean this in the sense that the rest of my time in the lavatory was uneventful or lackluster. I mean it by saying that LUCKY CHAN PROCEEDED TO NOT WAS HIS HANDS DESPITE SITTING IN FRONT OF A SINK FOR 5 FUCKING MINUTES! He stood in front of the mirror happily brushing away, seemingly oblivious to my presence a mere 5 feet from him he and simply did not wash his hands. He continued to brush to his heart's content, shoveling water down his gullet rinsing the pearly whites to no end but failed to wash his hands after pissing.

Let's look at this from the beginning in a time line format:

1. Lucky goes to bathroom, begins to brush and piss at the same time(keep in mind, dick is in hand)

2. Lucky pisses, dick still in hand for control purposes.

3. Lucky proceeds to sink and continues to brush and rinse, using the same hands that held his dick not 20 seconds ago.

4. Lucky exits bathroom having pissed, brushed his teeth, not having washed his hands, all while inadvertently me in an unimaginable state of dumbfoundedness.

Am I insane? What is wrong with these people? Since when is shit like this ok?

Granted, I may fuck up and not flush the urinal from time to time, but this is intolerable. Kids don't wash after pissing. I remember pissing no-handed for that exact reason when I was four. These are attorneys earning hundreds of thousands of dollars per year, many of who have multiple post-graduate degrees other than a JD and they still don't wash they're hands after taking a leak.

Does thinking you are the last sane person on earth make you crazy? God I hope not.

The Happiest Kid in Drunkytown

Go-ing to-o NAS-CAR! Go-ing to-o NAS-CAR! Cha-cha cha-cha cha cha!

The whiskyfest charity rare whisky list came out today. I got my eye on you, Laphroaig 30. Maaaaaan, we's gonna get f'ed up on some funky-fancy-ass shit on Oct 30, yo.

The douchebag who shits on us every Friday at work got shit on, himself, this morning. Awesome. Oh how the toilet bowl swirled has turned, hasn't it, K-Ville? Suck it.

I had to run to the dentist cause the train I caught damn near an hour early was a gd half hour late. Then I get to work (almost on time, I might add) and have a ton of shit to do on a case I haven't worked on in over a year. But you know what, not even a temp banging my gf could bring me down right now.

No 'body gonna break-a my striiiiiide....

Lalalalalalala... me so happy. You know what I'm gonna do for the rest of the morning? Print out crosswords for the ride. Ahhh, fuck this joint.

I feel like Pee-Wee Herman when you say the secret word. You know what the word is? Temp. Or whisky. Or NASCAR muhfukkin racin!!! Or whatever you say. I'll be happy.

Freaking out.

Gonna go play ball now.

Can't Stop Won't Stop

Another thing to add to the never-ending math equation that is the list of things that piss me off:

Running in to temps you have used for past projects.

This is very much a case of the good, the bad, and the ugly...

Today I saw the good. I ran in to a temp we had used a while back. For all intents and purposes I will refer to him as Abercrombie & Snitch (not because he was actually a snitch, I just think that all temps are natural born snitches and should be snitch slapped on a daily basis). He knew the deal, I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, he spotted me out the corner of his, and we acted as though we had never met each other, the way God intended it. That is the good.

I have seen the bad. The bad is when you run upon a temp who got a better job than you. It really doesn't get much worse than that.

Then there is the ugly. The ugly is when little snitch temps get axed and go out of their way to run over to you and complain about it. There was one snitch we had here, a real fucking loser, and literally everyone hated him. I am serious, everyone who even looked at this kid didn't even like him. This kid then proceeds to get a job in the immediate area and complain about how we let him go because he was a pissant little snitch motherfucker. Fuck you, you ARE A TEMP, you are literally the scum of the white collar world. The world is a tough fucking place, deal with it.

Perspective

Got shit on at work today, but nothing can keep me down. NASCAR racin is just a couple days away. Treatment royale in Charlotte can only mean one thing. And when I find out what, I'll tell you. The south is crazy.

The fat chick in the previous post is a specimen. I mean, really special.

Anywho, on the train this morning some guy wearing a green shirt with a tie and a yellow fleece (yeah, he looked like a children's show host) started eating garbage. At least that's what it smelled like. Then he washed it down with koolaid power mixed with gotorade. Serious.

Got to work and get shit on. Same f'ing guy. I fucking hate this guy.

Favorite guy I work with got his fannie pack stolen across the country. Devastation ensued.

I put on a display of boozin on Sunday. Hilarity ensued.

I still want to blow my brains out, but not until next week.

Peas.

Note To Self

Remind me that when I get home tonight, I need to add "Sweaty Aged Fat Party Girls" to the never-ending list of things I hate and make me want to die.

So I had to come in at 8am today, and I am taking the elevator up after getting my coffee. On cue, the elevator opens up so the scum from the firm below us can take a fucking elevator ride up 1 floor (a separate and inevitable blog in itself). So this fat, sweaty, 40 year old (she looked 40) lady gets in, literally panting (I shit you not, she was about to have a heart attack) and hits the dreaded up-one-floor button. Not only was she as I aforementioned described, but she was listening to the stupid "don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me song", which was blasting out of her shitty ipod headphones.

I immediately wretched and threw up in my mouth.

Another awesome fucking start to another awesome fucking day.

A Few Things to Address

First off, I would like to refer to Klipz's post about me not flushing. I will admit, i do forget to flush the urinal from time to time. Why?, you may ask. Because FUCK THIS PLACE!! That's why. My soul has been systematically yanked out of my ass over the last fifteen months so I'll treat the toilets as I please. You want to know what else I might do? I just might take a steaming hot dump on the desk of every fucking attorney I feel has ever wronged me. And believe me, that would require many a brown trout on my part.

Another thing that has been getting to me more and more is the fucking attorneys asking us to stay late at the most inconvenient times. Don't get me wrong, I do like to do my share of Overtime. It helps pay the bills, alleviates financial stress, and of course, allows me to subsidize my ever-growing alcohol addiction. However, for the last month Klipz and I have been sitting on our asses all fucking week, then, with no warning, our attorneys proceed to give us 4 hours worth of deposition prep at 4:30 ON A FUCKING FRIDAY. It's getting to the point where I feel like I'm going to go into one of those uncontrollable rages where I black out and the next thing I know I am sitting on the floor of the 13th floor conference room in a pool of blood with a dead, disemboweled first-year associate next to me, and upon further inspection, I will have eaten said first-year's entire intestinal tract along with part of his/her liver. I'm really not trying to come off like a freak, I'm just trying to give you broke-ass suckas fair warning for when you ask me to take a CD from your office down two floors and I respond by removing your kidneys with a utility knife. And maybe eating part of you.

Let Me Count The Ways

I really fucking hate my job. Every day I think of about a million things I would rather be doing that sitting here answering these stupid fucking questions and doing what I basically do. Since I probably only have a few minutes before I get the next email from someone I have never heard of before asking me some stupid fucking question or telling me that they can't adhere to a fucking deadline that I didn't even fucking know about, I will spare you all the list of things I would rather be doing. However please rest assured they include drinking and various other ways of grevious bodily harm.

Fuck am I one miserable piece of shit. (a statement not a question)

And to all of those who say, well if you don't like it then leave...Fuck you, it took me xx amount of months to get this job in the first place, and number one can't buy no scotch if number one don't got no paper.

Busted!

Treytew used the facilities, and did not flush the urinal. I saw it with mine own eyes. O ye gods, have mercy on his poor, pitiless, Rhode-Island-ass soul.

Bathroom Etiquette

An open letter to all at the firm, or at least those on the 13th floor (not my floor, but in an attempt to remain completely anonymous we will say that Klipz, Trey, and myself all work on this floor).

Rules of the Bathroom

1) No "owning the urinal"
By owning the urinal, I do not mean taking up more space than is necessary, that was remedied by the partition that is between each urinal (however I am sure that some dickhead would take up more space than he should). No, I mean, when you take a piss, do not act like you are fucking Christopher Columbus setting foot on the beaches of the New World for the first time. Likewise, the urinal is not some hooker that you just punched as did a line of coke off of. Do not treat it like such. I do not care what level of importance you hold at this place, when your dick is in your hand, we are all the same.

2) No talking
If you must say hello, fine. However please do not continue talking when you have started your business. I am busy concentrating on not getting any splash back on my khakis. The second you start talking to me, things have the potential to go wrong and I make it a daily habit to walk around with as little piss on myself as possible. Don't mess up a good thing.

3) ABSOLUTELY NO LOOKING AROUND
Holy fucking Jesus Christ. If you must talk, fine. Have it your way. But do so as you stare at the wall like God intended you to. There happens to be one partner at the firm who likes to stare at you while you are taking a piss. This makes me very uncomfortable and I hope it would make you uneasy too.

4) Use two hands
Just like driving a car. I understand that, after however many years of practice, you can use one hand. Cool, alright, good for you, but leave that shit at home. This is not Shea Stadium or the Vince Lombardi Service Area.

5) Don't be that guy...
Being that guy includes...
a) Using the middle of three urinals for no reason.
b) Using the middle of three urinals when the two outside urinals are in use (use a stall).
Being that guy includes alot more, but for now, we'll leave it at that.

6) Leave the belt alone
There is no reason for you to unbuckle your belt to take a piss. I don't care who you are. I have been pissing for 25 years and not once have I ever fucked up my shirt-tuck-in while unzipping my shit and taking a piss. You are basically just being a weird guy who untucked his shirt to take a piss, don't be that guy.

7) Try not to fall asleep on the pot
Strike that. That guy ruled. I took us about a year to figure out who that guy who was falling asleep in the stall was. Besides finding out who the random hot/cute people walking around are, that was probably the most fun thing I have done at this place.

Things that blow

Going to the dentist. A vacuum cleaner being operated in reverse time. Everyone in the elevator at the same time as me. Everyone driving on the same road at the same time as me. Wind. Bombs. Beastie Boys lyrics. Porn stars. Making copies. Making less than $50G a year. The Eagles' offensive line. Seriously. Summer associates. First years. Associates. Pahtnus. Sendin ish to dead storage. Getting shit for not posting to a blog that 2 people read when I talk to these 2 people twice a week. Most gay dudes. Plastic p.o.s. staplers. People that own the sidewalk. Six hundred f'ing gift-giving holidays a year. Us not being in Charlotte, livin' the life man... NASCAR style. Party Girls that don't party. Cokeheads that DO party. The Giants' defensive secondary (lest we forget). Guns, for my brains out. Kids on the train. Most of the people in the office. Having no drive. Not drinking right now. Cheeks and lips that work together. Hair dryers. Trumpet players. Being a douche in front of your gf, knowing that half the time she is a douche to you, and not being able to recall one muhfukin' incident of it. Being home sick at 11am and realizing being at your shit-ass job would be better. Muhfukin' punk-ass, no good, know-it-all, QVC shoppin', broke-ass, no-insurance-havin', pussy-foot, I'm too good to move boxes, bastard, no-deoderant-wearin', foreign, system fuckin' up, gold toof havin', homeless, muhfukin' TEMPS. Calling the court reporter service. Bringing a CD from one moron's office to another's. System changeovers.

I'm hungry.

Scotch I don't want is better than no Scotch at all

Trey just said this to me and it already made my day. Alcoholism is no longer a lonely road. The problem is when we suckaz get in a muhfukin car accident. Oh well, at least we are enjoying the ride. Trey is about to finish Glenlivet Nadurra. D-Ring housed a bottle of Yamazaki, and is bearing down on a Macallan Cask Strength. Myself, I finished a Talisker, Lagavulin and Laphroaig last night. Can a brutha make a purchase? Are we waaaaay to young to be going through quality bottles of booze like this? Is it bad that this is usually the first and last topics of discussion every day?

Anyway, Trey looks hurt today. For no apparent reason. So does Party Girl. I am not sure she is such a goer anymore. She talks all this ish about goin to tha club and stuff, but every time it goes down, she bails. She ain't nothin but a lotta talk and a badge. Get on it! We can't drink this city dry by ourselves and with the sucka-ass help of some half-assed temp. They probly get lost on the way to the bar anyway and call the agency because they don't have any work to do. Scrubs.

Continued open letter to all people I correspond with. I do not need color coordinated emails. I caught your emphasis with the BOLD CAPITAL LETTERS, ass hat. Take it easy on the red. Oh, you are cutting and pasting? Congrats. You have passed you gradeschool equivalency test. Now make it all one color. Do you sign letters with crayons? If you have any kind of background to your correspondence, you should stick forks in your eyes so you can understand what it is like knowing you.

I watched the the single worst botched abortion pretending to be a TV show last night. It is called Private Practice. Spin off of Gay's Lobotomy. I did it for her, but this is why I finished off 3 bottles of booze in one night. Lucky for her the Yankees clinched, otherwise it would be all over. This made me realize that it may have been my fault that they didn't win the last 2 games I watched every pitch of. Times is hard paralegalin.

That's it for now. Ill try to let you know what my ass-ignment for the rest of the day will be when i get it. Maybe I'll get to file something. Or copy everything. Most likely I will look like I am doing some combination of them both while reading the entire internet. Maybe I can sneak in the Heroes I missed on Monday.

Ahh... I wish I was drinking Scotch right now.

Temps

Ok, I have tried to hold back, and was prepared to write one big blog per month about how much I hate my temps, but I don't think it is in my best interests (or the best interests of those within 25 feet of me at any given time) to hold it in any longer. I fucking hate my temps. I hate them like I should hate my boss, but Party Girl is actually pretty chill. Let me begin to explain...

I do not care if the whack ass flesh peddling temp agency that you worked for tells you that you are a "consultant" or some other bullshit, but the fact is that you are a temp. For some reason you don't have a real job (not that I should say that my job is actually real, but at least its regular). I do not know why you don't have a real job, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Having said that, I do not want you to give me advice on how to do my job. I may hate it, but I do it somewhat well. The only reason that you are working for me in the first place is because one of our earlier plans did not work out and you are only slightly more expensive to hire than some 12 year old in India, but we like to save the kids for the more important work. You, you temp can go and put this giant stack of paper in chronological order, and then put it in a box and bring it to my office so I can put my feet on it. Wow, you went to school for Sociology and look, you're a carpenter too!

Another thing, lets say I were to take your advice and do things the "civilized" way. YOU WOULDN'T HAVE A FUCKING JOB. Who gives a fuck what you do here? Who gives a fuck if you have substantial work?? You're a temp, the fact that nobody knows your name and you have literally zero accountability is the greatest gift God has given you since free will. You get paid the same to move boxes, print documents, do data entry, whatever.

Also, we are using a new temp agency, a little different than the one we had used in the past. In the past, it didn't matter what you asked for...you were going to get the same thing. A thug from either Queens or Brooklyn who would move boxes, steal box cutters, and very contently get paid to sit around and do nothing. Nowadays I can't even ignore the temps because if they have been sitting idle for more than 15 minutes they come running looking for more work. Then, when I get stuck doing something else, they run to someone else and say "I spoke to D-Ring and he didn't get back to me, so now I have nothing to do! I am wasting the clients money!! Thats not responsible billing..NOOOOO!!!!". Snitch motherfuckers.

I hate all of you.

Happy F'ing Hump Day

Someone just dropped an SSDD on me. I said, "How's it going?" "Same shit, different day!" Hysterical. Is it really necessary to regurgitate other peoples lame office drivel? Make something up. How bout "How's it going?" "Foot foam, booger beer!" I am going to try to reiterate every lame cake office-banter conversation I am involved in. Although it is going to be difficult since the old librarian (king of office banter shit talkin) left. I will call them all SSDDs. God, it sucks here. Anyway, Friday's only two days away, so I'll catch you on the flip-side.

PS - I drop "Have a good one!" on a daily basis. And for that I am sorry.

What CAN bROWN DO FOR YOU?

For one the other day I actually did rip a fart and shit myself.



And this morning i am again embarrsed. I woke up from a night of complete wastedness to my girlfriend giving me morning instructions. Lock the dog behind the gate, clean up his piss and poop off the floor, and clean your own shit off the toilet seat. Last night I got wasted took a dump and left a decent sized skid mark on the rear of the toilet seat. No suprise when I really think about it. I've been pretty constipated lately so I just use the rear to get more leverage on the out squeeze. Must forgot to check myself. What?

And oh yeah, and last year at thanksgiving I went to North carloina with my family. Worst Idea ever. But anyway. I was wasted off of BLs as usual, taking a dump. When wiping I felt and extreme amount of excess on the paper. Like there was a full shit left. So I pulled the paper around to check to see what I had left to go and to my suprise there wasn't much on the paper. Wow i'm wasted I thought.

About an hour laterI'm about to walk down stairs to pass out and Iput in something on the railing. I smelling it, thinking its chocolate. But no shit, its shit. I swear I almost tasted it. So, I go to my brother and sister who were still awake at the time. Did anyone step in dog shit?...not puting to and two together. After a little investigating we discovered that it was human shit and I had some remnants on the back of my pants. So, I must have wiped off a serious amount while I was on the shitter earlier but it fell off onto the back of my pants during the paper check without me noticing. So after leaning against the railing once and sitting on the couch, There I am almost tasting my own shit with with a thirty of BLs in my body. I debated killing myself, but after getting caught whacking off by my GF I've figured what the F, Iv'e only got one life and nothing worse can possibly happen. Right?

Can't Stop Won't Stop

I have shit three times today and the dumps have gotten progressively worse in two respects:

1) The structural integrity of said shits has gone from a respectable "brown trout" to a pathetic mud-butt consistency. After I was done with my lunch I went to rip a fart and was so fucking close to shitting my draws I started to sweat. And in no way am I lying to you.

and

2) The last time I did BM it felt like I was shitting out broken glass and lava. Now when I walk I feel like wiped my corn-hole with a fucking glove made out of sandpaper.

I think this is almost a perfect metaphor for my life after college. When I left school I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed college grad with his whole life ahead of him(see: the brown trout). Now I am hopeless and am resigned to my fate
(see: diarrhea).

The painful fiery part of my dumps can only represent one thing:

My broken dreams.

Another reason I drink

One time I got called a dork by some old guy on the NYT crossword puzzle forum for questioning whether 'Jedis' was the correct plural of Jedi. I think 'Jedi' is already plural. I thought that might have been rock bottom for me. Not even close.

And I still may...

While trying to explain to Trey how to staple 30+ pages together with our piece plastic staplers, these words just came out of my mouth:

"Thank God I am having a Subway meatball sandwich for lunch today, otherwise I might kill myself."

Today's Project

Please print out everything ever written. Please then staple each individual document.

Thanks, shitknob. This is awesome. My parents must be proud. I can't believe I went to college. What's better than staplin' shit? Nothing. Oh, wait... then reorder it? Killer. I want to punch kittens in the face. This is why I can't wait for more diarrhea. And why I drink. A lot.

PS - My stapler is a f'ing piece.

Kids

So I just got off the phone with one of my attorneys, who you may remember from one of Klipz' earlier posts as that argyle wearing hot little piece of juris doctorate. I will admit, she is very nice and her enthusiasm kind of makes me feel bad that I have to shit on her, but alas, she is a first-year, which basically means that even the guy who sharpens the pencils (yea we have a guy like that, and he is the fucking man) gets more respect than she does. Hey, if we don't let them know what the fuck is up (ie, "no, you can't have that, I have other shit to do" or "no, I won't print that for you and bring it down 3 floors to your office" or "call the mailroom") then they will never learn. Another time-tested way to get them to leave you alone is to act big, angry, and way too busy to be bothered by them...oh wait, thats me and Klipz all the time (Trey is learning though).

This happens every year, just like the seasons come and go, so do our sucka-ass associates, and they must be replaced by new meat. Some of them get better offers from other firms, some get shit on for 3-4 years and decide that in lieu of killing themselves (like they should), they will go somewhere else.

Back to the first-years...

It gives me a special feeling inside to see these new first year associates (hereafter referred to as "kids") and their zeal for the law. This special feeling I get is something akin to seeing a plane flying high in the sky and knowing that it is going to crash straight into the fucking mountain. In 3-5 years these kids will either be one of three things....

1) Not working here...doing doc review for 3 years will do that to a person.

2) Not on the partner track, aka "Da Black List", which means that you're a dick and everyone hates you. Not only does everyone hate you, but it is common knowledge that everyone hates you. Not only is it common knowledge that everyone hates you, but I will tell whichever sad soul replaces me that you are a dick and everyone hates you and he/she will hate you just to have something in common with everyone else. Basically, if you were to make partner, the firm would collectively shit itself and the world would come to an abrupt end.

3) On the partner track, which basically means you kiss more ass than anyone is the history of the world, and for this, everyone hates you as well. In order to be considered for partner you have to bill hours upon hours upon hours upon hours of time to a client. This is how you and the firm make money. But, unlike us whack-ass paras, the attorneys can't really sit around and bill for nothing, they have to come with something they call "work product" (let the record officially show that I hate the use of the term work product, I don't know why, I just do.). Ok, so this dickhead who is on the partner track has to be doing stuff and when attorneys do stuff they generate work for the lower level attorneys and us. This is why we hate you. This is also why everyone else hates you.

You might ask where I am going with this, so here is my point. If you're an attorney and you work at a law firm then everyone hates you and you might as well kill yourself.

Have We Met?

I took a day off yesterday because-- well, because I hate this place, and I come in to a string of emails this morning as is customary after being out of the office on a Monday. Most of them are pretty-run-of-the-mill requests from attorneys. You know:

From: Stupid Attorney
To: Trey; Klipz

Subject: Question

Was the chopsticks piano song named after the eating utensil or was it the other way around?


Basically, the stuff one would expect from somebody starting out at $145,000/ year. However, as I was executing this most menial of tasks I stumbled upon yet another reason why I should consider self-mutilation before I come in to work every day. My response is first followed by the attorney's question so you might want to go to the bottom and read up. It should be noted that I have worked very closely with this person for about a year:




Hey Sucka-Ass Attorney,
I'm not an attorney but sometimes I like to pretend and tell my friends and family I am. Thanks for helping me keep the dream alive.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Sucka-Ass Attorney
Sent: Monday, September 24, 2007 1:38 PM
To: Sucka-Ass Attorney 2; Sucka-Ass Attorney 3; TreyTew Load-Letter; Sucka-Ass Attorney 4; Sucka-Ass Attorney 5
Subject: Attorney registration


Hi all,
Did the firm pay for your attorney registration in NY ($350)? Just wondering if I can get a reimbursement.
Thanks,
[Said Sucka-Ass Attorney]

[Sucka-Ass Attorney]
Funder, Cunt, Hymen & Scrotum
Big-Ass Building
New York, New York
tel/ (212) XXX-XXXX
fax/ (212) XXXX-XXXX
e-mail/ saattorney@bitchasslawfirm.com
http://www.fundercunt.com




Is this person serious? What in holy hell would make them think I would even begin to know the answer to this question. There are two possible answers to this:

A) This person is either ignorant thinking I would know, or would even give a shit about something like this.

OR

B) This person really thought I was attorney after a year of close interaction and countless conversations, which should qualify them for immediate sterilization.

Wow.

New Naminz

My friend won't leave me the F alone about not posting on the weekends. Now you get a name. Since you work in a hospital, I dub thee "Sir EKG 3000 (da Exxxtra Kurricula Gangsta)"

Dear EKG,

G. F. Y.

Love,

Byndah Klipz

Back to Normal

Phew! Just got shredded on the pot at 9:15 in the morning on a Tuesday. Thank God the routine is back. I know there is more to come, and that is a good thing. Now I have something to do with all of my paralegalin' documents that I copy today. Wait, I just realized what that first sentence looks like. I am not high. I would like to be, but I'm not. Straight MNF wings 'rrhea, y'all. God bless Ameeeeericaaaa....

Let The Record Show...

That I was sick and still am...

And yea, I thank God everyday that I am so handsome...

Recap

Party Girl says that there are going to be at least 3 more events like the other night coming up. I think I am going to have to sit one out like Tiger Woods.

Last night I had the best waiter service of my entire life. I wanted to give the guy a hug. I know you're out there man. One love.

Last night at the bar, Trey and I saw a chick with a disproportionate fupa. Really weird. She had pretty nice legs, high heels, crazy hair, cute enough, but huge fupa.

Gay voice. This accent needs a name. We are now accepting submissions. I nominate Gaelick. Get it?

Heels. I saw a fat chick in 4-inch heels. I felt bad for the heels because they looked like they were under a lot of stress. Then I thought people should not have emotion for shoes.

This little Russky temp in our office has huge eyes and it is adorable. HUGE EYES!

Apparently this year, my MNF steez is to wait three days after I eat wings to get the 'rrhea. This sucks.

I want to die

Went out last night. On some greasy vendor's tab. Trashed. Can't write. Idiot. D-Ring didn't make it to the office today. Slob. Party Girl told me to have shots for her because she couldn't go. And have shots we did. The young guy that came to party for the guy paying the bill was a goer. But he didn't know what he stepped in. I want to puke. "Shots!!!" This is still ringing in my head. Kill me now. The vendor gets his hairs cut at the same place as the guy who runs our mailroom. My head feels like if I picked my nose too far, my brains might slide out of my head. Did that make sense? Who cares. We did six shots of Johnny Black and something very fruity. The bill-payer got in an argument with the bartender because she didn't give us a buyback until the end of the night. The bill was $1200 bucks. D-Ring thought it was gonna be around $180. It's a good thing he's so handsome, cuz the learnin' smarts not so good. My face feels like the bed springs at a cheap motel. My insides feel like pond. I made a complete ass of myself on the train home. Apparently I told my girlfriend she is driving a wedge into our relationship. Douche. I also was giving the finger to the window. A bagel stick and Crowd Pleaser (tall can of Bud) is a good dinner. I am not gonna be surprised when I poop myself tonight. Today I had to print my entire case out and put it in a binder for some scrub. I think my toes are still drunk. Feel like dump-rot. The bill payer had to calm his party boy down because he could see that we were not backing down from his repeated challenges. "Shots! Yo, you dudes want another? Come on!" You're goddamn right we do. This guy was paying for us to get drunk. Us filth, some dude who doesn't even work with us anymore, and a chick who is slowly losing her will to live. Hurt. I wish I was back in the womb. If they could simulate the womb feeling for adults that would be pretty sweet. No breathing, or noise....

Can't write anymore. Probably shouldn't have started.

Nice move.

So I went to the bathroom earlier finished doing my business and turned to check myself in the mirror.

Hair- Aweful too long; need haircut

Face- unshaven; a few random grease pimples

Shirt - Wrinkled and untucked

Pants- wrinkled as shit and the cloth near the fly is permanenly folded over so you can always see the zipper.

Pretty regular day going I thought.

But to my suprise something new was there. A small dot of pee somehow soaked through by boxers right near my fly. So i tried the rub out move. This takes skill and some determination. The rub out move is where you create enough heat on the wet stain to make it evaporate and dissappear. But top my dismay the pants were too thin, so the pee just expanded. It went from about the size of a dime to the a half dollar; Hardly noticable to blatant pee coverage. Panicking I didn't know what to do. So, I took my door pass which is usually attached to the outside of my pocket and I attached it to my belt directly over my penis to cover the spot. So I went from creep who pees on himself. To creep who wear his door pass on his penis. Nice move.

Open letter to everyone I correspond with

Dear Everyone

Stop sending me emails that say "Thanks!" There is no need to convey this part of our interaction electronically. I am pretty sure you are contributing to global warming by doing this. Al Gore is gonna be pissed. And why are you yelling? Please email me less. I hate most of you. I know this is cheesy nit to pick, but it is epidemic now.

Also, I have found that I enjoy more medicinal whiskies if I have already been drinking.

Thanks!

Dump Action

So I am definitely hung over. I was by the copier earlier and let one slip. No sound but juicy and a sharp sting. I have been seeing blood on the toilet paper. Anyway, the smell was asstastic. I heard by boss coming so I panicked and quickly logged out of the copier and took any traces of documentation with me. I just managed to escape whe I heard her turn the corner. She said and I quote "Its smelly down here today." That was a close one. i let one slip out in her office a few weeks ago, i wonder if she will put two and two together.

Plagiarism

Last night these comments were made to me at the bar, and I have to agree.

Friend 1 - "At this point, Derek Jeter could rape a 4-year-old boy, and the back of the Post would read, 'Should It Be Legal?'"
Friend 2 - "Jeter Scores Again!"

But Still...

The Captain, however, is still a giant tool considering he has his own fragrance. Seriously, Jeter has his own scent. Yeah, Schilling blows but at least he resembles a man on some level. I don't care even if Jeter did plow Mariah Carey. He still is a giant tool. What's next, a David Wells endorsed line of feminine hygiene products? C'mon people, if this ass-clown is the future of the MLB I might as well look in to some figure skating or synchronized swimming classes for my future son and heir.

Also I was told today that "the world will come crashing down on Friday"(that quote was verbatim) by an attorney because of the insane amounts of work we will have. At least Klipz, D-Ring, Skrilla, and myself are not the only ones with less than optimistic outlooks in regards to our crummy jobs.

Oh Captain, my Captain

I would just like to note in this time and place that Derek Jeter has the biggest pair of nuts ever bestowed upon any human being. Arod may have the MVP, but Jeter hits three run homers with two outs in the eighth against there biggest most hated rival in a must win against a world class pitcher who is having an exemplary outing. Up to this point in the seasin the Captain had hit only 10 home runs. The man doesn't hit homeruns. He only hits them when it counts. As that ball sailed over the center field wall into the hopeless decay that is Boston as a city and a population I just couldn't help but realize, regardless of how bad this job gets this man will continue to provide these almost indescribable feelings of gladness. Jeter I am pround to say "you are the wind beneath my wings."

P.S. Curt Schilling is pathetic.

The Bar is Now Open...

Ok, I have waited a day, and since neither Klipz nor Trey have undertaken this task yet, I am going to attempt to sum up the topics that were discussed during Friday night's post-work drinking...

The real question is actually where to begin..

First, let the record show that Trey has a habit of skipping skipping on rounds at the bar (or at least Klipz says so). To remedy this situation, Klipz has demanded that Trey buy a proper drink for us when his round comes up (also factor into this equation that Trey loves to throw down the plastic at the bar) and apparently it all makes sense. Now, Klipz and Trey don't like to spend one minute more than they have to at work, whereas I, on the other hand, am an in it for the paper and need to work overtime or I will freak out when I see my bills and my check side by side...Having said that, I arrive at the bar and, of course, Trey has already bought the first round...

I believe the night started its descent into absurdity when David Ortiz tried to beat out a throw to home when he could literally see the ball being caught by Posada as he rounded third. Words cannot describe the image of Ortiz trying to slide into home. They just can't. Klipz is a Yankee fan and I think this aroused some of his more baser instincts as the round table discussion that we are now having turns from us laughing at Ortiz' slide to Klipz asking us if either of us has seen midget porn...which, unfortunately bothTrey and myself must admit we both have (we went to college and so did you...don't kid yourself), when it turns out that Klipz has already seen midget porn, just not the kind of midget porn he would prefer to see (I'll let him talk about that...).

Then Trey mentions that someone he knows is going to open a bar in their garage and says he wants to name it "(insert generic Irish name)'s Bar". Klipz, for some reason (I can't really remember why) took offense to this and proclaimed that he would open his own bar, aptly named (though I don't really know why) "Trey's Mother's Fucking Asshole"....

The night ended with us debating the average life expectancy of someone with Down's Syndrome.

May God seriously have mercy upon our souls...

Seriously

I am gonna shoot the next idiot European I see walking around New York in a t-shirt and a scarf.

I am yer uncle, Argyle

Hot New PersuAsian Chick is wearing a dope argyle sweater today. There is no greater honor that could have been bestowed on myself and Trey. Thank God we finally got a hot chick back in the mix. Long overdue. Anyway, TTLL and I have an unhealthy obsession with argyle. By far the sweetest of all, uh, patterns. Oh, your angular lines... and endless color possibilities. This entry is beyond saving. Weird.

Oh, also, we got this email today:

From: (Sucka-ass Azzociate)
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2007 10:27 AM
To: (Klipz; Trey)
Subject: cd for (Sucka-ass Pahtnuh)

can one of you guys bring (above-mentioned pahtnuh) a cd for me that i have in my office?

thx.

Once again, I want to blow my brains out.

Mysterious, yo.

So I went to do my business on another floor. I was doing something down there and got the pang. Wings from Monday, I think. Anyway, as I unfurl my crossword, the strangest thing happens. Toothless Willie comes in the bathroom. Toothless Willie is called so because of some pretty self-explanatory reasons, and works in one of the smaller departments at our firm. Now he had also strayed from his home floor. I knew it was him because he walked in the bathroom singing and I recognized his voice. He must have been pretty happy to be there. He stood in front of the mirror for a minute. Normal enough, but the following actions blew my mind. He walked into the stall next to me. I was in the second of four stalls for a reason. Needless to say, he broke accepted bathroom seating protocol. Anyway, then it got weird. He closed the door behind him, turned around, waited about ten seconds, did not undress or bend, and then farted. He just farted, waited about seven more seconds, opened the door and walked out. He washed his hands and whistled his way out. WTF???

Oh, toothless Willie, you never cease to amaze me.

PS - I will never be grossed out again giving Toothless Willie a pound. The man washes his hands after farting!

Let's Discuss

Ah, the saga of Dick in Hand. A more hackneyed tale of desperation, woe, wit, and triumph was ne'er told. But, now that the story is out there, let's talk about what really happened.

OK, before we judge Skrilla for his actions, you must understand who he is. And who he is is basically defined by where he is from. Let me just say this. This town, from here on out known as Beerstye, could most gracefully be described as a shit-dump-hick-zoo-puke-stain-asylum. The wikipedia entry for said town characterizes it by it's illegal immigrants and garbage. Anyway, noone should be surprised that an act of this nature was purported by this poor child from such "humble" beginnings.

With that out of the way, let's get into it. First of all, he was at his gf's parents' house. Her parents! Has he done this there before? We may never know, but (please see above) would you be surprised? He was in the middle of a party. There were tons of people there! Was he thinking about getting another drink? Or maybe talking to some old friends, or grabbing a bite? No, he was thinking about shaking hands with the (apparently) unemployed. This party was in someone else's honor, but he was thinking solely of himself. Now, he left the party to get busy. Did he go find a bathroom, or somewhere he might be private? Well, maybe... But at least lock the F'ing door! Moving along, I guess he was too drunk to get the job done, so did he give up the fight? Nope. Tried, and passed out. This is like failing to commit suicide. The shame of not properly executing the ultimate shameful act must be unbearable. We may never know. I understand that he was drunk, but when the gf came in with two friends (And why wouldn't she? She was at a party at her parents' house and it was still in the swing.) and asked about the situation he told her the truth!!! This may be his one saving grace. Myself, I may have gone with something along the lines of, "Uh, oh, I'm drunk. I must have thought this was the bathroom. Did I piss myself? No? Phew, really dodged a bullet right there. What's up with you guys?" But Skrilla? "Jerking off!" Ooohhh reeeaally! Duh, I guess... What else would I be doing in here with Dick in Hand?

Now, I have heard of some screwed up shit in my day, but I think this takes the cake. When we showed up at the house at 6:30 in the morning to play golf, I did not expect him to be awake. I didn't even really expect him to be sober. But the state I saw, first the gf's mom, then him, then gf herself, was hysterical. Complete waste. There were even people camped out in the front yard for Christ's sake! So he comes out, and in a fifteen second stare down we had this conversation in our heads: "Get in the car, you're a waste. I can't, I'm trashed. I see that, but we didn't drive all the F'ing way up to Beerstye to NOT pick you up to play golf. But I can't even walk. You made it this far. Dude, look at me. You are from Beerstye, we expected nothing less. OK, anyway I am too ashamed to be around my gf and her family right now... and anyway, I got a great story." He got in the car, and in his drunken drool he told us the events of the night before. As we discussed how to save face in front of his girlfriend, the evilness in the parties of the front seat grew. This is why we told the tool we played golf with. As a sidenote, this tool started making fun of Skrilla too, cuz he thought he was down, and for that I am sorry. We told the starter. And the hot little beer cart girl. And everyone we work with. I plan on telling my family at Thanksgiving. The world must know.

But if he is not ashamed, great.

Damage Control - Dick in hand

Before Bynda Klipz lets the cat out of the bag. I've decided to tell the story to show that i'm not that ashamed.

The other morning I awoke after an insane night of drinking to my girlfriend's mother's voice. With a look of utter pity she said someone was at the door looking for me to play golf. Laying on the bed above the covers in only my underwear (boxer briefs), i thought to myself how embarrassing. My gf's mom just saw the outline of my dong. In that same moment the part of the night where I okayed playing golf the next day with bynda klipz came sweeping back to me. Thinking I would just dismiss klipz to play without me knowing that I could barely stand,
I quickly rose looking for my clothes trying to get a grip on what the hell was going on. With no real idea as to there whereabouts I asked my gf if she knew where my clothes were? She said in a disgusted tone "I don't know maybe next to your lube." In utter shock I asked "what." She said you dont remember. I said "no." But from her look and words I had some idea as to what was about to come out of her mouth.

She apparently came in (with two other people i might add) and found me peacefully sleeping with my penis limp in my hand, lying flat on the bed. She then politley asked me after I awoke what I was doing as if it wasn't obvious and I candidly exclaimed, "jerking off!," I then rolled over and went to sleep. So apparently I got wasted and left the middle of the party to relieve myself but in the process passed out. We have not spoken about the incident since. Hopoe it statys that way.

Quid Pro Quo

Today Klipz, D-Ring, and myself received an e-mail from our boss, who I will refer from now on as Party Girl, telling all the paralegals that she had a camera stolen over the weekend, and we should keep all of our valuables under lock and key. Some may look upon this as an isolated incident. I think the rest of the underlings around here are wising up and realizing that they are not being adequately compensated for services rendered. It's one of the fundamental economic principles. Person "A" is employed by person "B" and "A" completes "X" tasks and is paid "Z" dollars in order to equally compensate for the completed "X" tasks. Here's a simple equation;

"B"+"Z"="A"+"X"

However, in the world of paralegalin' the equation is slightly different as seen below:

"B"+"Z"="A"+"X"+"Robbin' muthafuckas when the muthafuckin management committee don't come correct with they salary packages and the muthafuckin paralegals have to pop-off and show suckas what time it is"

Sloth

Today I sent an empty box across the entire country. Not as a joke, or because I am pissed at FedEx or anything, but because I was asked to. Apparently they don't have boxes on the west coast. I should have taken a dump in it. Everyone I work for is away, and I am finally getting some things done around here. (Seriously, I read the ENTIRE internet already.) And then this happens. I think I am going to light a kid on fire later. Right before I blow my brains out.

Houston, we have a problem...

Thats right you lame fuck, you and me in the playground at 3, and we aren't balling.

As a life long fan of the New York Knicks, I am severely distressed to hear that Alan Houston is trying to make a comeback to the NBA. I have even read that he is trying to come back to the Knicks. Holy shit. If Isiah signs Alan Houston to a contract that is worth more than the retail cost of seat he will be warming on the bench, I swear to GOD I will kill myself.

We Knicks fans have a small sense of optimism about this season, not because we are actually going to be good (Not at all, I give Zach Randolph 6 months to a year before he is arrested for weapons possession at the Hustler Club. This of course will be after 20 cops let him off for driving drunk or with weed in the car, only for the sake of New York basketball glory). No, it is because since the times of Ewing, Oak, and Starks (I am still trying to forgive/forget that 2/18...you broke my heart John), and my personal favorites Derek Harper and Charles Smith (keep on pump faking ass), do we have a team with some character. Now, I have thought about this, and the Sprewell/Camby/LJ team does deserve some credit. That team had heart, not as much as the early 90's crew, but they got us somewhere. I figure if I am going to pine about the past, it might as well be with the better squad. I digress, for the first time in a long time we have a reason to be optimistic. This however, is fucked by the fact that everyone else in the East got just as much better as we did, which still makes us a team of herbs.

But I SWEAR TO GOD, if Isiah signs Houston to any kind of contract I WILL SHIT MYSELF AND DIE. He says his knee is pain free for the first time in years. You asshole, it's because you haven't been playing basketball. Shooting around in the drive way or your private court (cause with the fucking money we paid him he better have a fucking swimming pool built into the backboard or something) is not comparable. The bottom line is I hate Alan Houston. He was good for a couple of years (when he was young and could run), but the last time he checked he could only run from one three point line to the other, and the only person allowed to do that nowadays is Ray Allen.

Fuck...and I only mentioned how much we paid him once...

Did I mention that Derek Harper was the fucking man??
Rolando Blackmon was the shit too.

Happiness

I used to consider trying to go to law school, but I feel like the only reason I want to go is so I can argue sometimes and tell chicks I go to law school. So I've taken it one step further and now just tell people I'm a lawyer. Not directly, but when people ask what I do. I say, "I work at a law firm." Lying can be sweet in this way. By the time these chicks find out your not a lawyer they can't turn there back on you. That would be shallow. As for the arguing. I just leave the seat up and leave little drips of post piss pee on the toilet. That gets my girlfriend angry. Then we argue about it.

Freestyle

I think yogurt beats diarrhea in Rock Paper Scissors.
I think Rick Hendrick is going to win every race for the rest of my life.
I think the IT dept. is out to get me. Seriously, they are gonna put me over the edge.
I almost passed out when I went to take a leak this morning, and I don't know why. Went to pee, went to get water, started losing vision, landed in bed.
I think going to your friend's sweet-ass house to defend him from douchebaggery and drink on his tab is a noble cause. Seriously, though, who the F buys a house and it has a basketball court with floodlights for ballin' at night? What are you an F'ing R and B star?
I think Laphroaig makes the best whiskies on the market I can afford. This stuff makes me happy a lot. NASCAR, Scotch and smoked salmon. Welcome to last Saturday night. It was the best one I've had in a while.
I read the entire internet again today. Nothing happened. Oh, wait a minute... I just don't care about anything that happened.
Saturday crossword puzzles piss me off. They start easy early in the week and get harder throughout. But then Saturday comes and it's retarded. You have to know shit like opera singers' middle names. Hmm... wake up first weekend morning. Let's relax and get the mind going a little before I start drinking. No. Pissed off by 9AM. Goddammit. On my third for the day, though. Paralegalin' be diffiko, yo.
I think it is hysterical when my boss curses. She gave her computer screen the finger today.
Being broke blows. Not because I don't have money; money is not what I want. I just can't get my hands on more single malts and snowboard pants without it. Goddamn frail teeth! Take all my money. That dentist is so nice when I'm in there. I think it is because I am funding the little bombs she is sticking in the inside of my teeth that blow up after time.
I think she is a terrorist, and I think she is winning.

The Agony and the Agony

So my boss watches Africam all day. Which is basically a camera focused in "real time" on an empty watering hole at a national park some where on the dark continent. She calls me in sometimes to stare at it with her. Has anyone out there reached this level yet.

I just remembered this from a few weeks ago... And it made me smile

Trey: I hooked up with that bartender last night.
Clipz: Cool. How was she?
Trey: Pretty cool. This morning I mean when we were just hanging out at my place.
Clipz: What? Do you mean she just left or something?

Please tell me I am not the only one who finds humor in this.

Monday

Welll, Monday nights during football season are finally here. Sweet. All I can think of today while I read the entire internet is devouring a shitstye of hot wings, drinking 5 pitchers of watered-down King, and the ensuing rage of 'rrhea that I will deal with for the next two days. This reminds me of a couple of things:

1-Diarrhea is way better at work. Then I have something to do. At home I could be drinking, or singing songs to myself, or thinking about ways to get back at the IT dept. (fuckers), but at work, it is like a little painful vacation to a crossword in my favorite stall. Plus, free toilet paper!

2-Apparently I screamed across a bar at the top of my lungs, a couple of months ago, that I get said diarrhea every Tuesday and Wednesday from Sept to Jan. I was standing next to my boss. We were back to back. She was talking to someone else. I was talking to someone else about pooping. I do a lot. And in my excitement about football, I apparently said this a little loudly. I did not know until about 15 minutes later when one of my esteemed co-writers walked up to me and said, "Every week for FOUR MONTHS?" "Yep- Wait, weren't you way the F over there?" "Yep." Yep. Mmm.

I will have to drink a lot tonight to make this memory go away.

Anywhoo, back to football. The Giants blow. Jets? Blow. Rex Grossman? Blow doesn't even do him justice. The NFC blows. The talent pool in the entire league has seriously fallen out of the you-can-be-proud-of-yourself zone. And may God continue to bless America.

This is why I drink.

A little Explanation is in order

For any and everyone that stumbles upon this blog, you might need a little tutorial concerning the stuff you read here and the people who are writing it. We are all paralegals at law firms that, from what I have gathered, are pretty reputable by most accounts. We are all pretty well educated and all of us are in our twenties. I'm probably not too precise with the dates here but we've done this for spans of time ranging from about 1 to 5 years. Due to the mindlessness of our work and the sheer idiocy, at times, of our peers, we have each taken our own respective downward spiral resulting in everything ranging from bad habits to possible spells of psychosis. We all are trying to get out and move on to bigger and better things, but haven't. And may never. Here you'll be able to see the daily musings of several people and how they cope on a daily basis with their crappy jobs.

Bring on the Pain

Spicy food is my escape. Whenever i'm really bored i go get a slice of doughy ass pizza, load it up with an unbearable amount of red pepper and begin to choke and cough until my eyes bleed and head is on fire. What a rush!

Kill Me Now...

Nevermind, I'll do it myself.

I don't even make 22 an hour.

Who wants a drink?

Same goes for me

Yeah he's pretty much right. The worst is when we drink during office hours and then return to the job that makes us want to commit suicide.

filing paper

Sometimes when I'm filing paper. I say wow filing paper not too bad for 22 bucks an hour. Then I realize I'm filing paper and I wan't to kill myself with paper cuts, but they arn't deep enough. Then I think wow filing paper isn't that bad. Atleast you can't your self with paper cuts.

Here we go

Sometimes I want to blow my brains out. Actually, most of the time. That is why I drink.