Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Worthwhile? No.

I totally let out the biggest, loudest fart in karate class this afternoon. But when my fist smashed through those 17,000 cement blocks, all I could smell was VICTORY!


I have a feeling that sometime in the future, when I look back on these days of unemployment, I'm going to think Maybe it wasn't such a great use of time, playing all that Final Fantasy X. But for now, the pursuit of the red amulet and the staff of wisdom is drowning out those concerns in waves of spectacular fantasy!

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Putting Shit in Perspective

Being unemployed, writing in this diary is totally not lucrative at all. Why do for free what you could not do for free? There are a lot of things that I can do for absolutely no pay at all, and writing in my gay diary is not at the top of the list.

Anyhow, let me tell you this fact: not working is totally fucking awesome. It is not, however, very interesting. Today, for example, my alarm went off at nine. Did I get up at nine, ready to take the bit in the teeth and kick the shit out of this day? Absofuckingnotly. I went right back to sleep, a-holes. Then I ate three donuts and two eggs. By the time I return to the ranks of the gainfully employed I hope to have gainfully employed three hundred pounds.

Ask me how many times I have played playstation 2 since I have stopped working? Only once, motherfuckers, once because THE VIDEO GAMES NEVER STOP!

I don't listen to NPR or read the NewsPapeR anymore because current events are for fags! I did glance at the headlines in the New York Times long enough to give you the Corporate Casual Headline of the Week. It was the tagline for a review of the new Denzel Washington--greatest blactor ever, according to the Academy--and it said "There Is a Price to Pay For Kidnapping Little Girls." Judging by the previews, the price involves Mexico City and fire.

In the time it has taken you to read this post, someone has died.

Monday, April 19, 2004

Corporate Casual Midget

Earlier today I tried to download pages from this diary into some kind of text file. So the program said it was downloading, but then I couldn't find anything on my computer. I did a search of "livejournal" and then a search of "corporate" and found an old word document titled "Corporate Casual Midget". I opened the document and this is what I found:

On the street Maston saw a little midget walking with his normal sized friend. The little midget was wearing a tan, button-down shirt and dark gray wool pants. Corporate casual midget, Maston thought to himself. Look at that little corporate casual midget there, he thought. Boy. People in bad movies, or old copies of Mad magazine, they’d see a giant standing next to them and ask How’s the weather up there, and think themselves very funny. But Maston wanted to know about the weather down there, and didn’t think it was very funny at all. Could you smell different things at crotch level? You thought like an adult but saw through the eyes of a child. Even if Maston got down on his knees, he could never think anything other than I’m on my knees here, this is what things look like when I’m on my knees. And he could never move with any particular agility like that, no one could. Knee walking is hard and not much fun. A midget could cut through that half space like a wire through cheese, a short, well dressed wire.

How cheap it would be to drink as a corporate casual midget, Maston thought to himself. One drink and you’d practically be smashed, I bet. Oh, the life of the corporate casual midget, the darling of your co-workers. Everybody would say Hey there guy, how’s things for the Little Big Man? But how hard he must have worked to get that job, Maston realized, what a struggle it must be. Imagine sitting through a job interview, as smart as the next guy, as professional a demeanor, as snappily dressed, but you’re a midget and the other guy is totally regular sized. He might even be a bit dumber than you, because you worked your ass off in college, being a midget and all. But the drinks, Maston couldn’t get over the idea of being drunk every night for a couple of bucks. He himself was up to five, six drinks. Thirty dollars plus at the bar, and still at least nine or ten if he drank beers at home.

Oh corporate casual midget. Ha ha. You are so tiny!

A Reference Lost on Everyone

In the G-Unit song, My Buddy, 50 Cents raps the chorus:

"My buddy, my buddy, wherever I go, he go."

This obviously references the popular, overalls-wearing doll made by Hasbro in the mid-eighties. I feel pretty sure that very few G-Unit fans remember this doll, as most of them are adolescent suburban white kids, but 50 Cents is certainly showing his age. This reference also makes me wonder about Mr. Cents's creative process. I'm very much looking forward to the new G-Unit album featuring Teddy Ruxpin Is A Baller and Poppin' Bitches With My Popples.

Unemployee #3116

Friday, April 16, 2004

Adieu, Fuckwads!

Today is my last day in this office, so it's goodbye to Lambchop, Left Eye, Shaft's Cousin, Prince Akeem, Gramms, Crazy Aunt, Phylicia Rashad, and Onion Ring.

Prince Akeem came by my desk with this really nice "thinking man" statue from Ghana. He is from Ghana and he just took a trip there. "This is for you," he said. I was very surprised and thought that it was sort of an over-the-top gesture considering that Prince Akeem and I have not really spoken that much in the entire eight months that I've been here. "Actually, I give it to Onion Ring, but she say I have to give it to you, and she the manager, so she call everyone in her office and you were not around or something I don't know."

WOW! Thanks, Prince Akeem. I will cherish this regift always. It was very thoughtful of Onion Ring to tell you to give it to me, and even more thoughtful of you to tell me how she made you do so!

I fucking hate this place. And as nice as this "thinking man" statue is, it is clearly a cursed object as it will forever remind me of my work here. I'm sure that at some point this summer I will be drunk and the statue will be on fire.

In related news, I fucking hate this place.

I Will Give You $100 Dollars to Kill Yourself

Rarely does Falluja make it into the Corporate Casual Headline of the Day, and today's winner is no exception:

"Son to Hitman: Kill Mom, Don't Hurt TV"
(taken from cnn.com)

Usually, I think that parents are being kind of awful when they talk about how ungrateful their children are, but this woman may have a pretty strong argument to back up such a claim.

"Tipped by an informant that Chereza had offered to pay to have his mother killed, an undercover detective posed as someone willing to do the job, Fort Myers police said.

Chereza offered the detective $2,000 that he expected to inherit from his mother's bank account, and gave him the keys to the family apartment, a map of the apartment and a picture of his mother, the police report said. He asked that the shooting be made to look like a burglary, it said.

'Carlos stated that he didn't want anything to happen to the television,' the detective wrote in the arrest report."

First of all, this kid should have known he was being set-up. $2000 dollars is a very cheap hit, especially when you are trying to pay using the victim's own money. I'm not sure there is a single hitman on the planet who's like "well, so you really can't pay until after the hit? Not even half? (whistle) Two grand is a helluva lotta money, I guess it's a risk I just have to take!" Also, if you have to ask that the shooting look like a burglary, you're probably not dealing with a professional. More importantly, though, let's look at all the facts:

1. "Please make it look like a burglary."
2. "Please do not let anything happen to the television."
3. "Upon completion of the task I will give you my entire inheritance: $2000."

Now, WHAT, may I ask you, was this hitman supposed to burgle? A box of Bugles and old issues of Hawk magazine?

Speaking of Hawk magazine, any skinmag that publishes a picture of a girl sitting spread-eagle on the floor, eating a can of beans with a plastic fork, is the kind of skinmag that makes me want to rub one out.

And It's Hard to Hold a Candle...

I used to go to a summer camp in Chicago, and the year before I entered high school I had a camp girlfriend. Our song was "November Rain", and she wore daisy dukes every single day. She was so hot. When was the last time you dated a girl who wore daisy dukes every day and just couldn't get enough Gn'R? Never, you fucking lonely ass nerds.

On my last night in Chicago we were very sad because we were going to have to break up. It was hot...crying and making out is very very hot! Her dad dropped me off at my dad's apartment in his little Volkswagon and was like "um...well...I guess this is goodbye..." you know, trying to be the cool dad to his daisy-dukes-wearing-Gn'R-listening-gum-chewing daughter's boyfriend. "Here you go, consider this a going-away present." And he handed me a giant kosher salami. I fuck you not at all. I was weirded out and kind of embarrassed, so I hid it in my backpack. Later that night, not knowing what to do but knowing that I didn't want my dad to find a kosher salami in the garbage and ask me about it and me having to tell anyone that my girlfriend's dad gave me a kosher salami that he had in the back of his hatchback, I just threw it in the closet.

It is still there.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

John F. Kerry: Politician. Fool.

Sometimes my mom tries to be cool, so she'll buy a hat like Six used to wear on Blossom, or refer to a new grocery store as "da bomb". It does not make her cooler, but it definitely makes expressions like "da bomb" less cool.

The effect is similar when politicians try to appeal to young people. They played a bit of a John Kerry speech, which he was giving to students on a college campus somewhere, on the radio. "There's a lot of energy in this room," the democratic candidate for President said. "I can feel it. It reminds me of when I was in college. You know, living up here, pizza or whatever. Wooo." Did you hear all of that in a flat mortician's voice? Because that's how it was delivered, even the exclamatory "wooo". And "pizza or whatever"? Pizza...or whatever...Don't get my boner up so quickly, Mr. Kerry, I want to make it through your whole speech.

Oh, and did I mention that before John Kerry got up to speak, the crowd might have gotten a bit of a warm-up from the musical band known as Guster.


The Kerry campaign has it's fingers firmly on the pulse of something, but I'm not sure what, and I don't think it's anything kids like.

I'd Rather Have a Free Bullet in My Face

I just got this e-mail that reads:

"A Gift From All of Us at Doubleday Book Club: FREE Weekly, Exclusive Newsletters!"

Please, would someone show me one other example in the history of mankind in which a newsletter was considered a gift?

Vomit Tastes Better Than This

The office smells like someone took a poop on the carpet and someone else stepped in the poop and then took the long way back to their office and then forgot they had to make a copy and took the long way to the copy room and then decided to get a cup of coffee and then went to the kitchenette for some cream and then all the way to the other side of the building to visit a friend and then back. Meanwhile, as this person tracks poop everywhere, their chimichanga lunch is repeating on them and they begin to fart diarrhea smelling farts and burping bean and salsa burps.

Incidentally, it has smelled this way for months, MONTHS. But for some reason, the geniuses for whom I work have only just discovered it, and somehow their discovery is making it worse. It's like they're opening doors unto dimensions that should never be opened. I don't know what they're doing, they're certainly not making it any better, and I wish they would stop. It used to be I'd only smell the foulest of sewer odors when I walked down the hall towards the bathroom. Since yesterday's discovery, I now smell it at my desk. Moreover, everyone talks about the smell but their conversations sound like this:

Worker #1: Have you smelled that, in the hallway?
Worker #2: It's awful.
Worker #1: I don't know where it's coming from.
Worker #2: Me neither.
Worker #3: It smells like brussels sprouts.
Worker #2: Or stuff rotting in a refrigerator.
Worker #1: It's awful.
Worker #2: I don't like the way it smells.
Worker #3: It smells bad.

Imagine this conversation repeated over and over again with minimal variation all day long while you endlessly hit the refresh button on your Yahoo e-mail account and the air fills with the pungent odor of cooking diapers.

An Open Letter to My Alma Matterfucker

Dear University of Chicago,

Remember when I paid you an extortionary amount of money for a useless graduate degree. That was funny, right? So, um, can I just ask what you did with all that money that you are now charging me seven dollars for a copy of my transcript? I just thought that my 30,000 dollars would have, you know, gotten me a coupon book for ten free transcripts or something.

Catch u l8er!
Worker #3116

No, You Are Fired

I know that this is a tired subject, but it seems an appropriate time to mention it insofar as the season finale of The Apprentice airs tonight.

I've only seen one episode of The Apprentice, right near the beginning when they had to develop an ad campaign, but I've read recaps of all the episodes at televisionwithoutpity.com, and I've also seen The Apprentice-themed advertisements for cellular phone service, as well as the cover articles in Newsweek and today's article in the New York Times,etc., etc. What I'm saying is that I fucking know what is going on, all right?

But can I just say that in the world of catch-phrases, the overwhelming popularity of
"You Are Fired!" totally eludes me. It has to be the lamest catch-phrase since "Ah'll Be Back!" which at least had an Austrian accent associated with it. "You Are Fired!" is about as interesting as "Here Comes The Bus," which I actually think is a much funnier catch-phrase and am going to start using around the water-cooler. In fact, while I'm on the subject, here is a short list of comparably mundane catch-phrases that I hope will sweep the nation:

"No thanks, I brought my lunch."
"I already told you."
"Call me later."
"No one tells me anything."
"Sometimes yes, sometimes no."
"You are not fired. I do not have that kind of authority."

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

What Do I Look Like, the Fucking United Colors of Bennetton?

One of my tasks today is opening these digital pictures that Lampchop took at a recent event and adjusting them for brightness and contrast because the flash was not going off and she is an idiot. So, having graduated from high school AND having taken some pictures myself at certain points in my life, I only need to look at half of the files before telling her that for future reference it didn't seem like the flash was going off at all, ever, and she might need to figure out how to turn it on. It's a new camera and I was just implying that these electronic gizmos can get confusing. "Oh no," she said, "the flash went off sometimes. I think it's just that there were lots of people with let's just say different hues and I think the camera got confused on how to expose correctly for them."

Is she calling the digital camera a racist?

Also, the flash didn't go off, Lambchop, you cunt.

Still Tarded!

Text in black: President George W. Bush
Text in red: Worker #3116

This has been tough weeks in that country.

A free Iraq in the midst of the Middle East will have incredible change.

He was a threat because he funded suiciders.

I wouldn't be happy if I were occupied either.

He had asked me if I was, something about killing bin Laden. That's what the question was.
Okay, I will interject here. All of these quotations are from last night's press conference. Most of these totally awesome quotes from the greatest president ever in the history of the Greatest Country on Earth, are pretty self-explanatory, but I thought I would just point out that sometimes it's not that he uses the wrong word, or even that he makes up a word--suiciders, for example--no, sometimes he does not even speak in complete sentences. But Worker #3116, you say, you are taking these quotes out of context, perhaps the sentence fragments make sense in relation to what he said earlier. I will not categorically refuse this possibility, but I did my best to take stand-alone quotes. Although I hate the president almost as much as he hates poor people, I honestly did my best to be fair to him and not ridicule him for out-of-context or ultimately intelligible remarks. If something he said could eventually be made sense of with a little concentration and a knowledge of esl speech patterns, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. As you will notice above, "something about killing bin Laden" is not a question. It is simply leaning towards a possible subject or area of interest upon which a question might be based.

There was kind of departments that at times didn't communicate because of law in the F.B.I.'s case.
Again, not a sentence. Here I deviated slightly from my rule since, with a little hard work and some scratch paper, you can eventually uncover the meaning beneath what some High School English Teachers might call "the work of my favorite special ed student." Nevertheless, not a sentence.

And we've been on a war ever since.

It was also an indication as you mentioned that that bin Laden might want to hijack an airplane, but as you said, not to fly into a building but perhaps to release a person in jail.

I mean major newspapers had talked about bin Laden's desires on hurting America.

Some of the debate really centers around the fact that people don't believe Iraq can be free, that if you're Muslim or perhaps brown skinned, you can't be self-governing and free.
Um...brown skinned? Okay, let's just keep going.

Oceans don't protect us. They don't protect us from killers.
This one is my favorite.

This was a shadowy network of folks that were willing to sell state secrets to the highest bidder.
There's not much wrong with this one in terms of grammar and semantics, but I honestly don't think there can be a shadowy network of "folks".

I'm sure historians will look back and say, Gosh, he could have done it better this way or that way.
Again, nothing wrong with this one on its own, but do historians look back and say "gosh"? Seriously.

Well, you're talking about one aspect of possible.

We have an obligation to lead the fight on AIDS, on Africa.
Hear that Africa? You brown skinned fools have the freedom to get your asses kicked!

And I will say it as best as I can possibly can to the American people.
He said this. I am not shitting on you at all.

Up All Night, Down All Day

Apparently I am very susceptible to peer pressure, as evidenced by the following conversation:

Hanye West: Aren't you going to get coffee?
Worker #3116: No.
Hanye West: Why?
Worker #3116: Then I'll never be able to sleep.
Hanye West: It's 8:30, live it up, Grandma.
Worker #3116: ...

So not only was I not able to sleep, but I also had what is easily the scariest dream since the time I was seven and dreamt that I poked a hole in my finger and black oily blood flowed out until it filled my mom's car and I drowned. Or the dream I had in college where I was in a concentration camp of sorts and had the top of my head sliced off with a razor-thin wire. And now that I have relived these previous nightmares, last night's horror-session sounds retarded, but anyhow, in the dream I woke up and found out that in the night the town was invaded by robots who killed most of the people. Then this guy tried to rob us, then we hid in the attic, then everyone was told that the robots were coming back at nine-thirty and that it was best to hide in a park because--for whatever reason--the robots were only invading homes, but if you were still in your home YOU WOULD BE KILLED. I remember the general feeling of the dream to be much like the day after "the tragic events of 9/11" when I really did wake up feeling like the world had changed irreparably. Perhaps for those of you who were not in New York at the time, the most obvious parallel would be the opening sequence of Dawn of the Dead in which ALL OF A SUDDEN EVERYONE IS ZOMBIES LOOK OUT FOR THOSE ZOMBIES AAAAAAH ZOMBIES!

Whatever. I know it might sound like a silly dream when I describe it in my online diary, but it was scary as shit and now I am tired as shit.

The dream did however remind me of this screenplay I read for my film internship years ago where these alien robots landed in the midwest and began strip-mining for copper for use in building more ships in preparation for their GLOBAL TAKEOVER. Try and attack these mining robots, go ahead and try, don't you know they have lazers that can sense electromagnetic emissions up to ten miles away and destroy their source? Granted, the screenwriter did not really delve into the bothersome fact that all electronic devices (incl. pacemakers, car batteries, walkmen) are emitting electromagnetic emissions even when they are turned off. But there was this awesome scene in which the sheriffs' son is making out with this girl in a secluded grove as the botliens approach and the sheriff pulls up his pickup truck in a cloud of dust, whips out his pistol, and shoots a boombox--which was playing hot fuck music--just in time!

Tuesday, April 13, 2004


At lunch I met a very old woman named June who is on cancer watch. She pointed at my i-pod. "What is that?" she asked. "It's like a walkman," I said. There was a pause. I put my hands near my ears to simulate headphones, "it's for listening to music." June smiled. "No, no, that!" She shifted her pointing finger half an inch to the right, now indicating a bottle of water. "Um...it's...it's just water." June shook her head at the wonder of it all. "It comes in all forms, I guess, doesn't it?" Then June told me about how she used to have to wear an eyepatch, for 17 years. "Argh, matey!" I said, then we both laughed a whole bunch.

Dear FOX, I Hate Myself. Love, American Women.

Much like MTV's "I Want a Famous Face," the FOX network has taken their X-TREME X-PLOITATION of low self-esteem to the prime time. Their show is called "The Swan" and the premise is that two hideously deformed--i.e. normal--women will go head to head in a series of high impact total body reconstructions but only one of them will be chosen to go on to The Swan Pageant, a beauty pageant of surgical freakshows with "money and prizes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars." Now, I have to say that I find this show somewhat easier to stomach because the people involved are old enough to vote and are being egged on by FOX, which is, granted, a major television network, but certainly does not hold the same power over miserable 27-year-old housewives that MTV does for suburban teenagers with a Christina Aguillera obsession. If these women want to air out not only their TOTALLY DISGUSTING bodies, but also their total inability to cope with what psychologists and physical trainers often refer to as "life", that is their business. **Dear MTV, I hope that you choke on that giant dick you are sucking. And, barring death-by-dick, I hope that one day a legion of mutated celebrity-look-alike spawn rises from the sewer and destroys you with the chain wallets they purchased at Hot Topic. Love, Worker #3116.**

"The Swan" is a terrible, terrible show that does more than simply prey on regular people's desire to be famous in order to ridicule them on national television for Mega-Ratings, it exploits the desire of women to be "beautiful" to the point that they will expose themselves on national television as wretched Gollum-like beasts in order to get the attention of top-name plastic surgeons like Dr. David Cohen. **I did like the plastic surgeon best out of all the clowns on this show because he was like "yeah, you're pretty ugly, but let's just fix that big nose of yours." The other people were like "it's going to take work, but Rebecca is a beautiful woman on the inside and it's time to bring that to the outside." Not the surgeon, he was like "Hey, tubby, I've seen worse, but that's because I'm a doctor!"** Anyhow, the point that I am trying to get at is that in the last commercial break, right before we got to find out whether Rebecca or Consuelo--an immigrant from Paraguay whose only dream was to live in America and have her chin restructured using Teflon implants--will go on to The Swan "Beauty" Pageant, there is this weird animated public service announcement with a voice-over by Jennifer Fucking I'll Marry Anyone Lopez warning women about the dangers of low self-esteem.

Ay-ay-ay. Let's see that one again!

In the last commercial break, there is this weird animated public service announcement with a voice-over by Jennifer Lopez warning women about the dangers of low self-esteem.


This would be like airing a reality show in which black people had their skin lightened and then showing some fucking "ERACISM" p.s.a. at the end, or a game show where the contestants fought each other to the death for a truckload of cigarettes and then there was some "Truth" advertisement with teenagers pretending to be dead outside of a tobacco company's corporate headquarters.

And does J-Lo really have the kind of self-esteem that she can give anyone advice on how to feel good about themselves? Honestly, I imagine that she is always complaining to whomever is around about how fat she feels and how her skin is breaking out and there's no way to control it, and how no one will ever really love her for who she is. Taking self-esteem advice from Jennifer Lopez is akin to taking fitness tips from Big Pun.

I will end in noting my favorite part of "The Swan," which was a clip in the opening credits from a totally different episode that I have not seen, but one of the mutants is standing in the kitchen of the beautiful Motel 6 suite that FOX has rented for her during her transformation and her physical trainer or nutritionist or some shit says "I would hate to see after all the work you've done that you lose the pageant because of butter."

Monday, April 12, 2004

Dear Hackers, It Would Make More Sense Hacking Into A Speak-and-Spell You Fucking Nerds

After six months of explaining to Lambchop and Shaft's Cousin that the reason I was having trouble making the perfect Microsoft Word-formatted flyer for this weekend's Science Academy Festival was because a large part of my day was spent replacing the aaa batteries and rubber bands that made my computer go go go, they have finally gotten me a new computer. By new computer, I mean one built after 1995 but before 2001. Nevertheless, it is to my old computer what an outdated and well-used graphing calculator is to a broken solar powered calculator without any buttons, i.e. it at least works and only faintly smells of nerd oil. I should also point out that so far in the telling of this story it would seem that Lambchop and Shaft's Cousin realized how shitty my old computer was and knew that they wanted me to be able to work at my full capacity and therefore spent some time making sure they could get me exactly what I needed and went about doing so. In reality, last week after my computer froze three times in a row and then started smoking, Lambchop called the computer guys to fix it, at which point the computer guys after a two second diagnostic admitted that it was not worth fixing and that there was probably a much better computer sitting in a dumpster out back, which, of course, there was.

The best part about my old computer was that it had been hacked! HACKED! This makes me think of the movie Hackers, and of roller blading in an airport, and of how at some point someone thought that the combination of roller blading and computers would get all of the coolest kids to pay seven fifty plus concessions! Sometimes I wish that instead of remaking already decent movies like Cape Fear, and Psycho, and Dawn of the Dead, that they would remake Hackers and Wizard and Drop Dead Fred.

Don't You Want To Fuck Up On Me

I just got an email from Britney Spears. The subject line is "Oops, I'm Nudie Again, Worker #3116!"

What I love best about Britney is her ability to laugh at herself. Wait a second, no, that's not true, what I love best about Britney is that she sends me nude photos of herself at ten-thirty in the morning.


Sometimes in life, God will offer you something just to show you how easily he can take it away. Friday, God offered me what seemed like an obvious blessing but in fact turned out to be a curse in disguise.

3:30 Worker #3116 is told he can go home early.

3:40 Worker #3116 arrives at his apartment and gets his workout clothes for the gym.

3:50 Worker #3116 arrives at his parents' house to feed the dogs while his parents are in Europe.

4:00 Worker #3116 realizes that he forgot his walkman at his apartment.

4:10 Worker #3116 cannot find a walkman at his parents' house and so finally resigns to driving all the way back across town to his apartment to get his walkman.

4:17 On the way to his apartment, Worker #3116 IS PULLED OVER AND GIVEN A SPEEDING TICKET. **At this point, Worker #3116 did not panic, he simply looked down at his WWLD bracelet (What Would Ludacris Do), took a deep breath, gunned his engines, threw the rest of his OE 40 in the cop's face, dropped some chewed chicken bones out the window, tweaked his girlfriend's bare titty, and sped away.**

4:30 Worker #3116, in tears, retrieves his walkman from his apartment.

4:42 Mere minutes from the gym, Worker #3116 realizes that he has forgotten the headphones to his walkman at work.

5:00 Worker #3116 realizes that the hour and a half that he should have been working have been the worst hour and a half of the week, proving that God hates him.

This entire event reminded me of a poem I once read, called Jesus:

One night I dreamed I was with the Jesus on this beach and sometimes there were two sets of footprints, and then sometimes there was just one set of footprints. I was pissed, because this is my life and why do I have to walk alone when I was supposed to be walking with the Jesus? Where was he? So I was all like, "Jesus, what the fuck? You fucking promised me, dude, that if I followed you even though I don't believe in you, that you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. MY FOOTPRINTS! So when I fucking needed you most, where the fuck was Jesus?" Jesus was like, "Uh, I was carrying you, when there's only the one footprints, I was, like, totally carrying you." Okay, well, I know when I am being fucked with, so I'm all "Jesus, come on, don't piss in my mouth and tell me it's candy," and he's like "that was when I abandoned you to go dancing at Barnstormers II." And then I woke up.

Friday, April 09, 2004

I'm a College Gagagala

I did a google search for Fred Stoller who is this comedian I used to like a lot, just wanted to see what he was up to, I guess, and I found this famous quotations page that had a Fred Stoller quote on it:

"Why pay a dollar for a bookmark? Why not use the dollar for a bookmark?"

Okay, that's pretty funny. I like Fred Stoller, that's why I google searched him. But then, just above his quote, it says this in big bold letters:

Great quotes to inspire, empower and motivate you to live the life of your dreams and become the person you've always wanted to be!

Hey, quotations website, don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.

i have nothing but the utmost self-confidence in my confidence

When I begin my backyard wrestling tournament, I recommend you pick out a sweet character with a bad ass back-story. My character is Father Time, and when I enter the ring I point my finger at you and shout "YOUR TIME IS UP!"

The ten circles of Hell City in which you will be fighting (NOTE: Hell City is my parents' backyard, so you MUST have a costume. If you try to wrestle naked the neighbors will call the cops):

1) Critter Canyon: battle your opponent through a pitch black underground tunnel filled with diseased vermin. Will you come out alive? It doesn't matter, you will be diseased.

2) Razor Blade Place: this is where there are a bunch of razor blades and cut you and you bleed a lot.

3) Ladder Land: This is where you and/or your opponent climb up on ladders and flip off onto each other, and/or get your head punched through the steps of ladders which looks very dramatic and hurts you very much.

4) Glass Grove: Do you like glass in your face? Learn to like glass in your face!

5) Fire Furnace: Barbed wire has been set on fire, here you will fight!

6) Neon Nightmare: Here you get hit in the head with light bulbs and other kinds of light bulb.

7) Tabletop Tournament: Your back will be split in pieces when your opponent jumps on you while you are lying on a table and the table smashes under you. Why were you lying on the table? How else could it get smashed under you when your opponent jumps on you? Your questions are impertinent!

8) Barbed Wire Bastion: see "Fire Furnace".

9)Mirror Madness: You look ugly, but will look uglier with mirror in your head!

10) Hellish Hell!: The final battle takes place in what looks like a regular wrestling ring, but it is in fact made of knives and AIDS infected needles!


Thursday, April 08, 2004

What Game Am I Playing?

corporate3116: Terminator is very good
corporate3116: even though he is losing
x m elizabeth x: is terminator ben?
x m elizabeth x: did terminator used to be ben?
corporate3116: yes
corporate3116: destroyer is beating me
corporate3116: but i am beating terminator and annihilator

Fat Free Cream Cheese Tastes Like Punishment

I am using Shaft's Cousin's computer because the Louis XIV rosewood casing on my computer needs to be refurbished by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Also, the magical druid who performs the occasional miracle inside has died, because even druids only have a lifespan of one thousand years.

Have you ever driven a really dirty car, say a teal 94 Toyota Corolla for example, and you just drive and drive and then one day you wash the windshield and are amazed, literally amazed at how clear glass can be?! That is what using this computer is like.


Condoleeza Rice? More Like Condoleeza NICE TITS!

I have a feeling that Condi Rice is the type of lady who when she goes to the ladies' room, all the guys she works with--and she only works with all guys--turn to each other and are like "Man, she just needs to get fucked with my giant dick!" Now, you may think that this is exactly the kind of sexually-harassing, discriminatory treatment that women have been fighting against for decades in their efforts to achieve equality in the workplace. But before you get out the charred remnants of your mom's burnt bra, riddle me this: do you honestly think that it wouldn't do Condi Rice a world of good to get fucked with my giant dick?

I Think That I Can Take Coke Whenever I Want, But I Can Only Watch You Open Your Presents Now

Last night I had this dream that my "entertainment center" was collapsing and I had to move all of the "entertainment" off of it before vacuum tubes exploded and video games were crushed under exploding vacuum tubes. In real life, there is something weird going on with my "entertainment center" but it's not as bad as all that, and you can't even tell unless you are working on the inside, rewiring, making "connections", "pumping up the volume", so to speak. Still, you would be surprised how panicked and disoriented a night of moving phantom vcrs and receivers in your brain can make you.

For Christmas a few years ago, H got me the violet bathrobe with coffee mugs on it that Brad Pitt wears in Fight Club, and I was thinking this morning that the guys from I Want a Famous Face should have worn these ugly robes. It would have been cute to see them looking so stupid and ugly and talking about how "now we've got our face lifts, and our head shots, maybe we don't look exactly like Brad Pitt, but with our new styles and threads we are that much closer to realizing our dream of being famous actors!"

Okay, this post is going to end now because I am simultaneously trying to organize my thoughts, maintain a conversation on instant messenger, and listen to Condi Rice's testimony to the Congressional "Tragic Events of 9/11" Commission. I hope she addresses the terrorist threat that is her knuckle-dragging, Australopithecus Robustus face!

Wednesday, April 07, 2004

Outreach #3116

Dear Prisoner #3116,

A friend of mine who is studying social work said that writing letters to prisoners can often be very rehabilitating in that it gives them a normalized relationship with the outside world. I don't know that I'm going to be the best person for the job, but I'd like to try!

What is prison really like? Is it like Oz? Do you even get HBO in prison? What about Emeril Live? BAM! Ha ha. Didn't mean to scare you, buddy! Anyhow, I bet prison is pretty bad, but it seems like it can't be as bad as what you see all the time on movies and TV. It's probably just pretty boring, right, lots of sitting around and stuff except for your one hour in "the yard" and maybe some work in the laundry room or the kitchens or something. Freedom is pretty cool. I can do pretty much whatever I want and I can vote and stuff. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I just thought maybe you'd be happy to hear that there is a world beyond those bars of yours, and that it is alive and kicking! When you get out you can have a barbecue or do anything you want!

Okay, well, I should get going. I hope you have a good day! Do you mark it on the wall using a little stone? Have you ever made a shiv? I've really got to go! No more questions!

Worker #3116

Dear Worker #3116,

Thanks for your letr. The thing that what which I miss most is raping.

Prisoner #3116


Jennifer Lopez's mom won a 2.5 million dollar jackpot in Atlantic City last weekend. She can buy so many press-on nails, it is not even funny.

What a lucky family! I wish I was hispanic! Hispanics have all the luck, and all the dishwashing jobs.

I Was Thinking That Maybe Instead of Dealing with a Shitty Job and Living in a Shitty Town...

I would like to thank Thomas Edison's black assistant for inventing text messaging. How else would my father send me cryptically worded missives at two in the morning?

One day, when I have children of my own, I will use some of the foolproof communication skills that deadbeat dad has perfected in 25 years of fatherhood. For example, when things really get rough with my son and he is not talking to me for no reason that I can discern on my own (although a sneaking suspicion that it was the drunken telephone message left at the beginning of the year in which I told him he had lost my respect, but obviously he should just get over himself as this is a cute little father-son thing that happens with everyone) what I will do is bring in his grandparents as a sly manipulative tool to coerce him into calling me and/or text messaging me past the hours of normal consciousness. What I will do is tell said son that his grandparents are calling me every week and asking how he is doing and remind him that in our current state of silent détente I do not know what to tell them! The only way this wouldn't work is if my son remembers that his grandparents have both his telephone number and email address and if they are so curious about how he is doing they can CONTACT HIM THEIR FUCKING SELVES!

Eventually, this son of mine will have children of his own, whom he will alienate and cause pain at which point I can join in the manipulation by telling my grandson that he should really forgive his father because life is too short.

Dear family, I love you and desperately ask that you go fuck yourselves.

Monday, April 05, 2004

An Open Letter to Kurt Cobain Who Is Dead

Dear Kurt Cobain,

How is heaven? Do you have your old face again in heaven, or is it a big mess from where you shot yourself with that gun? Are you famous in heaven? Is there t.v. in heaven? Are you famous on t.v. in heaven? Have you met Jesus or Einstein or the Micro Machines Guy? I'd like to say that everyone here really misses you, but to be honest people seem pretty satisfied with Jack White and Julian Casablancas. And next time, if you get reincarnated and invent a time machine, go back and make it be Courtney who kills herself, she is just an embarrassment. Remember how when you were in love with her she was all fat and ugly, but then you killed yourself and she used the insurance money to get her face fixed into a better face? Well, it happened. Are you in a band in heaven with Jimi Hendrix and Beethoven? Do they have newspapers in heaven? What kind of car do you drive? Is it like the batman car? I have a Toyota Corolla, but when I die I hope that in heaven I have a better car, because it is not that cool of a car. Sure, it gets me from point A to point B, but so does the bus, and both the bus and my teal 94 Toyota Corolla are equally effective for picking up women. What's God like? Is he cool, or is he a big dick? I mean does he throw his weight around all the time and try to make you do his bidding, or does he pretty much let you do what you want?

Okay dude, peace out.
See you in Hell!
Just kidding man.
Worker #3116


I was just thinking about those scenes in movies when some street urchin is brought to a mansion and fed for the first time in months, and they shovel copious amounts of food into their dirt-streaked mouths all at once and swig milk while there's still food in there and breathe really heavily with all the exertion of rescuing themselves from starvation. But in real life those people aren't hungry at all, and have probably just had a catered lunch in their air conditioned trailer, and so I was thinking how gross it would be to have a full stomach but still shovel so much food in your mouth along with the milk making it all soggy and hyperventilating as the director shouts "faster, remember you were nearly dead with hunger!"

I liken the sensation to soberly fucking an ugly girl you hate in the middle of the afternoon.

This Weekend in a Nutshell

Worker #3116: A zombie could work as a groundskeeper.
McCullen: A zombie could not work as a groundskeeper.
Worker #3116: Sure. You could tie a rake to its back and then as it ran around it would rake up all the leaves.
McCullen: That's not working as a groundskeeper, that's working as a rake.
Worker #3116: Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly.
McCullen: All your life.
Spunk’d: You were only waiting for this moment to arrive.
Neilgene: Why are you guys sitting in the dark?

Friday, April 02, 2004

How Worker #3116 Got His Groove Back, or Brown Sugar #3116

Has anyone seen the MTV show I Want a Famous Face?

In this show, teenagers with low self-esteem are taught that it's normal to feel inferior with the constant media blitz of celebrity glamor, but through simple surgical procedures you can make yourself into a better human being, the way that Britney Spears and Brad Pitt are better.

After finishing an episode in which two pimply ugly twins who both wanted to look like Brad Pitt got face lifts and haircuts, now they are showing an episode in which a plump young peroxide blonde wants to be made to look more like Britney Spears. But her desire, unlike that of the Pitt twins, is not simply physical self improvement, no, her face lift, liposuction, and breast implants will help her to realize her dream: becoming a Britney Spears impersonator.

In an interview segment, the young woman listed all of the things that she had in common with Britney Spears as proof that she should be a fake Britney Spears:

"Britney's favorite color is blue, and I like blue." (It's not her favorite color, but almost!) "Britney has an idol and it's Madonna, and my idol is Madonna." (Not quite true, her idol is Britney, that is why she is not trying to look like Madonna, although no teenager in their right mind would get elective plastic surgery to look like a forty-six year old who hasn't had a hit since 1998.) "Britney likes to go to Starbucks, and I like to go to Starbucks." (So far, this is the only real thing they have in common.)

What celebrity would you make yourself look like because you couldn't stand the peer pressure that comes along with being yourself? I would choose Taye Diggs.

My Favorite Guy

I am at my parents' house for the day because they are getting in new carpeting and also a new couch and they needed someone to hang around waiting for the furniture deliverymen and also to help the carpet guy (whose name is actually Guy) move furniture around.

Anyhow, so carpeting Guy is laying down the carpet and he's complaining because apparently this is a very difficult type of carpeting to install. So I'm making nice-nice and asking him what it is about this type of carpeting that is such a pain to put in. "Just everything about it. It's 100% virgin wool. You know where that comes from?"


"Ugly sheep."

Get it? The sheep are so ugly that no other sheep will fuck them, so they are virgins and then when you take wool from them it is virgin wool. Get it? He told me to tell that one to my dad. I said that I would.

Carpet Guy is my new best friend. At one point, when he was working on looping the carpeting through the banister and I had to pass under him, he said not to hit him in the balls. I did not.

Out of Office Reply

Today I am working from home, i.e. today I am not working.

Last night's "Three Beer Thursday" seemed pretty successful. There is nothing like sitting in a room full of dudes watching a movie about the transformative power of sex without love, how it can alter your life and elicit powerful emotion even when you thought your soul was dead. This brought on numerous toasts to "sex without love" and "racist sex without love," although at that point I was wearing headphones and I do not know what they were talking about, I simply continued to drink my Milwaukee's Best Special Reserve. Also, what would "Three Beer Thursday" be without S.S. complaining all the way through the movie, when he's not taking cell phone calls, and then leaving fifteen minutes before it is over? This man is a good man, but why does he not accept the fact that he hates movies, as I have never heard him respond to a movie with anything other than "that was the worst movie I've ever seen," or "what the fuck was that?" or "I feel like I am dead from boredom." Next time I think we should all bite the bullet and rent Bad Boys II because I think that is the one movie he would like.

Anyway, fuck all of you, I'm going to watch cable television.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

La Vita è Bella

Appoggiandosi in su contro la macchina di Xerox mi ha dato un boner.

La Vita è Bella


Deixe-me Fazer-lhe Uma Pergunta:

Imagine-o para ter um trabalho. Às vezes que o trabalho o requer falar aos povos no telefone, mas seu trabalho mantem-no também fora do escritório na maioria das vezes.

a) Dê para fora de seu número de telefone da pilha do trabalho de modo que você possa lhe ser alcançado wherever seja?


b) Dê para fora de seu número de telefone da mesa onde você sabe que você não será, e chama então alguém que será próximo esse telefone e lhe pedirá ao campo todas as chamadas entrantes ao número de telefone da pilha?

Eu estou indo à matança fodendo você, saliências. Então, como seus cérebros, seus corações, demasiado, pararão de trabalhar.

Tag Des April Dummkopfs!

Ich liebe Morgenradio.

Beispiel: Howard Heck ist jetzt vom Unbegrenztheit übertragenden Netz sowie freie ührung annulliert worden, also schätze ich, daß Internet-Radio die einzige Wahl nach links zu ihm und die einzige Wahl, die zu mir an allen nicht geöffnet ist ist, wie Sie versichert sein können, daß ich aufwärts nicht von drei hundre Dollar in der usrüstung und instandzuhalten, um fucking Radio zu hören aufwende, der frei ist, Weibchen.

So mußte ich "zum Mojo Morgen-Erscheinen" auf 95.5 anstatt hören und sie spielten dieses Spiel, das "Krieg der Rosen" genannt wurde in, elchem jemand, das vermutet, daß ihr bedeutendes anderes des Betrügens auf ihnen den Radiostationanruf hat, dem Person und vortäuschen, eine Übersicht auf rose Verbrauch mit der Versprechung zu leiten, die, nachdem sie die Übersicht durchgeführt haben, sie ein Dutzend freien Langstamm Rosen erhalten, keine angebrachten Zeichenketten, sie dem surveiller, wo man einfach erklären müssen besagte Rosen sendet. So benennt diese Frau, weil sie denkt, daß der VATER IHRES KINDES auf ihr betrügt. Niedrig und erblicken Sie, fällt Steve irgendwie für es und bittet um die Rosen, mit einer Karte gesendet zu werden, die sagt, daß "Steve und Jill den gel hinaufgingen,", erklärend, daß es ein innerer Witz ist. Name der mommas seines Babys ist Dianne. Die Spannvorrichtung ist oben! Das Ruse wird ihm erklärt und er wird erklärt, daß Dianne auf der Linie Hören ist. Sie fängt an zu schreien. Der Kerl pissed und nachdem Mojo versucht, zu grillen ihn auf, was er denkt, daß er zu dieser armen Frau, Steve hängt oben tut. Dann spielen sie "giftiges" durch Britney Spears, während Dianne Selbstmord erwägt. Dann kommen sie auf die Luft und den Versuch zurück, um eine Spitze mehr Luftzeit aus der Tragödie heraus auszupressen und fragen Dianne, wie sie fühlt. Zu aber jetzt werden sie mit dieser emotional verwüsteten Frau und mindestens drei Ludacris gehaftet Lieden, um vor dem Ende der Stunde zu spielen, also sie versuchen und Endlosschraube, die etwas Informationen aus ihr über wem heraus sie weg führen können sie, "es ein Freund oder ein Verwandter wir Sie verlangen können, wir erklärt gibt, was los ist, aber Sie benötigen jemand, Ihnen durch diese schwierige Zeit zu helfen."

Möglicherweise tötet sich Dianne und dann kann Mojo ein Programm anfangen, das genannt wird "Krieg der Lilien."