Ah, but thank you satellite TV. You make me smile when I need it. HBO, especially, gives me reason to thanks to G-String Divas, the life and times of strippers. And I thought getting up on stage with whipped cream down my ass was only reserved for visits to Indiana. To those with a permanent wedgie, it's part of the grind.

Work, last night, was just full of all sorts of weirdness. Lucky for me, I have someone that understands the hell we go through each night til 6am. That girl with the "I'm Not Wearing Underwear" t-shirt is becoming the person to bitch about things with. I really do not understand how so many of the people I work with have been doing this since October every single day.

You probably remember reading something like this. That girl happens to be quite cute so a lot of the guys are showing major interest in her. It's the face because while she's cute, the body is chunky and total dorks (pretty much all I work with) see her as attainable. Either that or the "I'm Not Wearing Underwear" really does get guys all revved up for sexytime.

Well, I mentioned this to her but she already knows that guys give her a lot of attention. It's not surprising that she has a boyfriend while fending off nerds of various sizes and smells (guess who also likes her). Oh, to hear a girl tell me that it's obvious I get hit on a lot as well. We both need rings to stop these foul creatures from trying to take us into their beds and do filthy things to us like Stinky's enjoyment of masturbating to anime porn.

Oh, guess what? I got chewed out for taking my day off. Apparently, I was supposed to come in even though the schedule clearly stated that I can enjoy a Tuesday free of idiotic managers. Plus, that's my Veronica Mars night and time to take a more relaxing walk with 5-Pound Phooey. It's not the same when I'm rattled from work.

Apparently, managers do not understand the concept of wind. The parking lot is nice each night thanks to me. Cigarette butts, bullet shells, and used diapers are all placed into the large garbage containers thanks to moi. I get taken out like a small child and asked why it's a mess.

1). I just got to work, jackass.

2). Wind. Look up the physics to what it does to light-weight objects.

3). The night before was my day off. Oh, wait a minute. That was just a false printing on the schedule? My bad. You didn't think someone would actually take that day off, now did you? Asshole.

It's a wonder why people that are so stupid are allowed to be managers for businesses. The one I work under is okay here and there but has a tendency to allow himself far too many brain farts. For a guy like me that absolutely hates obvious stupidity, it's so hard to bite my tongue.

So, I must deal with Black Friday, the date where stores 'go back to black' thanks to huge sales. If you don't know business wording, this means that stores 'in the red' (losses) go back to 'black' (gains) with impressive sales. It also means total chaos.

What I will always remember is our women's bathroom problem from last year. Since most shoppers are of the female variety and are forced to wait in long obscene lines, toilet paper is gold. Somewhere close to noon, a major moment where the women's restroom was out of it nearly caused a riot. Oh, the horror of a woman having to wipe with paper towels!

Then again, even those were out. I was called out of my job to deal with the long line for the women's restroom. Imagine enjoying a nice pee only to find no t.p. while a boy (gasp, a boy!) walks into the women's restroom. Old ladies are at near heart attack while young girls giggle. The hard-core feminists take the safety off their pistols. This is a major defining moment where anything can happen only to have shouts of joy as I hold up large rolls of toilet paper! Hooray!

I must admit that it is hilarious to find women patting me on the shoulder while various women are peeing in the stalls to my left. "Oooooh, he's a wonderful man!" seems to be said from these unknown occupants while I try to make my way out of that dreaded room. Just as much as it was hard to get in, it's also nearly impossible to get out thanks to the crowd.

FYI: I would make Crotch Rot wipe with sandpaper and not feel any amount of sorry for her. Am I a sadist?

So, I'm outta here but would like to mention that I now have a comments section courtesy of my need to play around with Gold Member Resources. I'm curious as to who would pop my cherry in being the first one to tell me I'm such good raunchy fun. Won't be back til this afternoon to see who it could be unless insane women needing to pee tackle me while walking down the hall with toilet paper. Even 1-ply can lead to certain death, death by females witha need, a need to pee. Gawd, I am so happy to be the proud owner of a large dick. Happy twats all around.

- - 2009-07-07

Love Facebook - 2009-05-07

Retards Away! - 2009-02-16

Jackasses! I Sees 'Em! - 2008-11-28

My Birthday Happened - 2008-09-07