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.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
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.
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.
PS - I drop "Have a good one!" on a daily basis. And for that I am sorry.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
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?
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.
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."
"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.
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.
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.
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
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....
Friday, September 21, 2007
Let The Record Show...
That I was sick and still am...
And yea, I thank God everyday that I am so handsome...
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.
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
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.
Can't write anymore. Probably shouldn't have started.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
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.
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!
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!"
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!"
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
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.
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.
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...
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...
Monday, September 17, 2007
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:
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)
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.
Once again, I want to blow my brains out.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
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!
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
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.
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"
"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.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 10, 2007
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.
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.
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!
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.
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