“I was at the kosher section of the market the other day and the prices were unbelievable. Really, what’s with all this Roman oppression? They’re all tax this and tax that. Who do they think they are, the British?
…
Wow, tough crowd tonight.
But seriously, haven’t they ever heard of taxation without representation? What? They haven’t? Oh in that case, just forget I mentioned it. Hey, have I told you guys the one where you’re all sheep?”
“Dude, I got completely wasted last night. What, I called you? Oh, what did I say? HAH HAH HAH! That’s freakin’ hilarious. So last night this chick I didn’t even know was like “I don’t deserve you, Lord. Let me wash your feet.” And I was like “Hells Yeah!” But when I woke up she was a total skank. Yeah. I know! Right!
Oh, crap, I’m in public. Got to go, talk to ya later dude.
Hey, did I tell you guys the one about the prodigal son?”
“Okay, so once upon a time there was a farmer. And the farmer planted seeds everywhere: on the good soil, on the bad soil, on the road, everywhere. And the plants grew up but were very needy so they followed the farmer around everywhere he went. And they kept asking the farmer to heal them, feed them, and practically clothe them even though they can do that all by themselves. And the farmer at first was considerate of their needs but now it’s really pissing him off. But when the farmer tells this to the plants they don’t get it and instead stare at him with their stupid sheep eyes looking for some more handouts. But the farmer’s fucking tired of it okay? I’m going on four hours of sleep right now and you want some more miracles? Give me break! ‘Boo-hoo, I’m paralyzed, I’m blind, I’m dead.’ You know what, I’m tired and I can do much better job at the miraculous when I’m rested up. So I’m going back to bed. Anyone who even thinks about waking me up will eat firebolts. And I know what you’re thinking even when I sleep. Yeah, I’m that badass.”
15 December 2007
So,
We have now run through everything that I wrote during thanksgiving, so I am going to take a break from posting until I accumulate a large enough body of new articles. But don’t worry; this is the perfect opportunity to check out all those old posts. I can’t think of a better activity to do over Christmas. What? You want to spend quality time with your family, friends, and holiday hook-ups?
Fine, don’t mind me, then. I’ll just be here, sulking in the corner like a kicked Chihuahua.
(Also, try pronouncing the word Chee-hoo-ah-hoo-ah to the next person you see. Isn’t that fun?)
Also, always feel free to provide feedback in the comments section. Like what you see? Don’t like what you see? Tell me. And if you have any ideas for any articles you want me to cover, or celebrities you want me to drunk dial, or places I should go for eternal punishment, etc., tell me about them. If you don’t like leaving comments, you can always reach me at: thisis@fakeemailaddr.ess
Fine, don’t mind me, then. I’ll just be here, sulking in the corner like a kicked Chihuahua.
(Also, try pronouncing the word Chee-hoo-ah-hoo-ah to the next person you see. Isn’t that fun?)
Also, always feel free to provide feedback in the comments section. Like what you see? Don’t like what you see? Tell me. And if you have any ideas for any articles you want me to cover, or celebrities you want me to drunk dial, or places I should go for eternal punishment, etc., tell me about them. If you don’t like leaving comments, you can always reach me at: thisis@fakeemailaddr.ess
13 December 2007
WTF
The house just passed a bill in order to protect Christmas. Despite the fact that the celebration of Christmas is entrenched within our culture and will not be going away anytime soon (Even the Japanese celebrate the 25th), the bill has indirectly declared that Christianity is now the state-sponsored religion. I’m including a link to the bill as well as a copy and paste version of the transcript if you don’t want to move your finger.
Link:
http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/D?c110:2:./temp/~c110YklWdC::
Copy and Paste Version:
Recognizing the importance of Christmas and the Christian faith. Whereas Christmas, a holiday of great significance to Americans and many other cultures and nationalities, is celebrated annually by Christians throughout the United States and the world; Whereas there are approximately 225,000,000 Christians in the United States, making Christianity the religion of over three-fourths of the American population;
Whereas there are approximately 2,000,000,000 Christians throughout the world, making Christianity the largest religion in the world and the religion of about one-third of the world population; Whereas Christians identify themselves as those who believe in the salvation from sin offered to them through the sacrifice of their savior, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and who, out of gratitude for the gift of salvation, commit themselves to living their lives in accordance with the teachings of the Holy Bible; Whereas Christians and Christianity have contributed greatly to the development of western civilization; Whereas the United States, being founded as a constitutional republic in the traditions of western civilization, finds much in its history that points observers back to its roots in Christianity; Whereas on December 25 of each calendar year, American Christians observe Christmas, the holiday celebrating the birth of their savior, Jesus Christ; Whereas for Christians, Christmas is celebrated as a recognition of God's redemption, mercy, and Grace; and Whereas many Christians and non-Christians throughout the United States and the rest of the world, celebrate Christmas as a time to serve others: Now, therefore be it Resolved, That the House of Representatives-- (1) recognizes the Christian faith as one of the great religions of the world; (2) expresses continued support for Christians in the United States and worldwide; (3) acknowledges the international religious and historical importance of Christmas and the Christian faith; (4) acknowledges and supports the role played by Christians and Christianity in the founding of the United States and in the formation of the western civilization; (5) rejects bigotry and persecution directed against Christians, both in the United States and worldwide; and (6) expresses its deepest respect to American Christians and Christians throughout the world.
End Copy and Paste
Why is Christmas being supported and not Hanukah?
Why does Christianity, the religion of “over three-fourths of the American population” needs the government to reject “bigotry and persecution directed against Christians.”
Why did only 9 congressmen vote nay?
Why did all Republicans vote yea, yet as a Republic we have an obligation to look out for the little guy?
Why do "American Christians and Christians throughout the world" have the deepest respect from Congress, but American Muslims, Buddhists, Wiccans, Jews, Atheists, and Agnostics do not?
Why does my grammer check find more mistakes than the congressional aides?
Link:
http://thomas.loc.gov/cgi-bin/query/D?c110:2:./temp/~c110YklWdC::
Copy and Paste Version:
Recognizing the importance of Christmas and the Christian faith. Whereas Christmas, a holiday of great significance to Americans and many other cultures and nationalities, is celebrated annually by Christians throughout the United States and the world; Whereas there are approximately 225,000,000 Christians in the United States, making Christianity the religion of over three-fourths of the American population;
Whereas there are approximately 2,000,000,000 Christians throughout the world, making Christianity the largest religion in the world and the religion of about one-third of the world population; Whereas Christians identify themselves as those who believe in the salvation from sin offered to them through the sacrifice of their savior, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and who, out of gratitude for the gift of salvation, commit themselves to living their lives in accordance with the teachings of the Holy Bible; Whereas Christians and Christianity have contributed greatly to the development of western civilization; Whereas the United States, being founded as a constitutional republic in the traditions of western civilization, finds much in its history that points observers back to its roots in Christianity; Whereas on December 25 of each calendar year, American Christians observe Christmas, the holiday celebrating the birth of their savior, Jesus Christ; Whereas for Christians, Christmas is celebrated as a recognition of God's redemption, mercy, and Grace; and Whereas many Christians and non-Christians throughout the United States and the rest of the world, celebrate Christmas as a time to serve others: Now, therefore be it Resolved, That the House of Representatives-- (1) recognizes the Christian faith as one of the great religions of the world; (2) expresses continued support for Christians in the United States and worldwide; (3) acknowledges the international religious and historical importance of Christmas and the Christian faith; (4) acknowledges and supports the role played by Christians and Christianity in the founding of the United States and in the formation of the western civilization; (5) rejects bigotry and persecution directed against Christians, both in the United States and worldwide; and (6) expresses its deepest respect to American Christians and Christians throughout the world.
End Copy and Paste
Why is Christmas being supported and not Hanukah?
Why does Christianity, the religion of “over three-fourths of the American population” needs the government to reject “bigotry and persecution directed against Christians.”
Why did only 9 congressmen vote nay?
Why did all Republicans vote yea, yet as a Republic we have an obligation to look out for the little guy?
Why do "American Christians and Christians throughout the world" have the deepest respect from Congress, but American Muslims, Buddhists, Wiccans, Jews, Atheists, and Agnostics do not?
Why does my grammer check find more mistakes than the congressional aides?
Unsolicited Sex Advice from Neighborhood Senior Citizen Women: Part 2
“I know my kinks would scare any sane person. But if I continue with my boyfriend’s vanilla tendencies then I’ll have to cheat! How can I possibly scratch my itch and still stay committed?”
1. Esther, who owns six bibles: Don’t worry about being subtle. You already know he’s attracted to you, so make sure he knows what turns you on. And don’t forget the power of Christian music! If you play “I get on my knees” when you two go into the bedroom, then he’ll know what to do.
FYI: Don’t use “Washed by the Blood of the Lamb.” Let me tell you from experience, lamb’s blood is plain unsanitary. There’s a difference between dirty sexy and just dirty.
2. Lila, who owns six cats: If he isn’t fulfilling your needs, then why do you want to stay with him? If he doesn’t love you for whom you are, then move on to the next one. Or buy a cat!
3. Mona, who owns six men: Introduce your kink gradually into a sexy conversation, while making sure to ask your partner what he would like to do to spice up your sex life as well. If you turn the conversation into foreplay, then you have just associated your kink with sex in your partner’s mind. And after you’ve opened that door, make sure to incorporate your kink gradually. If he lets you do it with your bat mask, it won’t be long before you wear the matching outfits you just spent 200 dollars on. By the way, you shouldn’t leave your receipts on the counter when company comes over.
12 December 2007
Detox Journal
With a five-day weekend for thanksgiving, I decided it would be an opportune time to get over my addiction to caffeine. I stopped being a binge drinking idiot earlier this year, so I figure getting over caffeine will be relatively painless. So from here on out it will be pure H2O, no coffee, soda, or tea. And this journal will mark my progress towards a better, shiny, stimulant-free life.
Day 1- It has been twenty-four hours since I last ingested a caffeinated beverage. I don’t feel that different… and that is a complete lie. I am perpetually tired and it takes three times as long to carry out any routine activity. However, I am worried most about my appearance to others.
Recently I recognized that if I go to class without my morning caffeine, two things will inevitably occur. First, I will not comprehend any bit of the lecture or any item said to me (such as “Good Morning, Justin”). Second, if I temporarily believe that I do comprehend, I am still unable to communicate back. Typically I add extra nouns and misplace verbs. For example, once a classmate said hello and I responded with, “Morning Lion caffeine am.” Despite the fact that this appears to be a recent condition, I have a feeling that this has gone on every morning for several years, because the lack of caffeine induces temporary amnesia.
While I was editing the last two paragraphs, I noticed one mistake for every sentence. That’s not too bad. I can live like this. And I’m just going to get better tomorrow!
Day 2- Ugh, today left great big hurtness. Life like morning ever. Tired, tired, everything. Why did I do this to me? No, everywhere. I’m afraid to read what is typing. Need my favorite stimulant. Life sucks without caffeine. I want to sleep. Need.
Moreover, Monty Python has suddenly become hilarious. God help me.
Day 3- When I woke up, my eyes looked like firetrucks, even though I have been getting at least twelve hours of sleep a night to compensate for the lack of caffeine. So I doused my eyes in visine and headed out to the world.
But when I went downstairs I found my brother and my sister-in-law knocking on my door. Apparently, they had called me a few minutes earlier and that is why I was awake. After they explained to me why they came over, I asked them why they came over.
Yes, you read that sentence correctly.
While my lips were forming the words, I knew that it was a mistake; however I did not have enough control over my body to close my mouth in time. My brother and sister-in-law looked at me with the expression of pity/amusement that people give to the mentally deficient. Then they jumped up and down with their starbucks and their energy and their smiles. Bastards. They then took something and left. I was afraid to ask what they were taking, since they explained it to me at least twice.
Also, my tongue, deprived of its favorite taste, has begun to hallucinate. Cereal, soup, bread, and beef all taste like coffee. Am I going insane? I think so.
For leaving me this holiday, my parents gave me some guilt cash. Intending to spread the money out for as long as possible, I decided to go to McDonald’s. For some reason, I drove myself to the one on Green River (30 minutes away) instead of the one on University Drive (only ten minutes away). Sitting in the parking lot, again wondering what the hell was going on, I decided to roll with it and eat wherever I was. But when I inspected my wallet, I found it to be empty. I had left all the cash on my kitchen counter. So I made an hour-long trip for no reason whatsoever.
Screw this. I can’t take it anymore. It’s time to put my coffee maker to work.
And thus ended my non-caffeinated life.
11 December 2007
Unsolicited Sex Advice from Neighborhood Senior Citizen Women: Part 1
It happens. You’re on your cell, talking over your current sexual woes privately to a more experienced confidant and the Bush administration. When you turn the corner though, you find the old woman knitting a sweater with a grin on her face larger than the time your parents sent the “Number 1 Grandma” shirt. To your horror, granny doesn’t take your hints when you ask if her hearing aid was off. Instead, she pictures herself as a regular Sue Johanson and begins to impart advice about how to deal with your current significant other…
“Every time I mention having a threesome, my girlfriend looks disgusted and won’t even discuss it. How can I get her to see my side?”
1. Esther, the deacon’s wife: Oh, honey, have you tried referencing Genesis in conversations? If it was good enough for Abraham then it’s good enough for my little sweetie. Also, ask your girlfriend if she really wants to live biblical lifestyle. That always worked for me.
2. Lila, the cat lady: If she isn’t fulfilling your needs, then why are you dating her? If she doesn’t love you for whom you are, then move on to the next one. Or buy a cat!
3. Mona, former professional divorcee: First, bring it into conversations as hypothetical. “If one would have a threesome, then there should not be any kissing on the mouth. Don’t you agree?” By bouncing ideas around, you will set up the ground rules for the two of you. If that doesn’t work (and even if it does work), stress that no one could replace the love you have for her. The other person that you both decide on is an accessory, not a partner. Plus, you get to bang the other chick without consequences.
The Guaranteed Internet Guide* to How to Not Go to Jail for Murder!
Step 1. Don’t kill people.
Step 2. Repeat
*Guaranteed to be 100% Internet!
10 December 2007
Are You A Reality TV Show Contestant?
Have you ever wondered if you are Reality Television material? Find out now with this simple, multiple-choice questionnaire!
1. You are in close quarters with seven strangers for a few weeks, do you…
A. Try to respect their personal space.
B. Insult the others behind their backs, but in front of the cameras.
C. Spread Syphilis!
2. You use the phrase…
A. “Have a nice day!”
B. “Why do I have to work?”
C. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but…”
3. In your daily life, you try to…
A. Foster humanity in yourself and in others.
B. Keep it “real.”
C. Exemplify a stereotype.
4. You and seven others are in an uncomfortably warm room, do you…
A. Turn on the air-conditioner.
B. Undress.
C. Lick yourself.
5. You just woke up an hour late. Your first thought is…
A. “Crap! I forgot to set the alarm!”
B. “Crap! I forgot to exploit myself!”
C. “Crap! I forgot to hide the bodies!”
For every answer A, give yourself zero (0) points. For every answer B, give yourself five (5) points. For every answer C, give yourself ten (10) points. Add your points together and you have your score!
Your Score: Your Title:
0-10 Normal Person. You are firmly grounded in reality and have an excellent grasp of current social mores. Good Job!
15-35 Reality TV Show Contestant. You belong in front of cameras, so the rest of us can enjoy our shaddenfruede. Good Job!
40-50 Psychotic. Please wear a sign that reads, “Do Not Touch. Crazy/Insane,” so that we may have a fair warning. Good Job!
1. You are in close quarters with seven strangers for a few weeks, do you…
A. Try to respect their personal space.
B. Insult the others behind their backs, but in front of the cameras.
C. Spread Syphilis!
2. You use the phrase…
A. “Have a nice day!”
B. “Why do I have to work?”
C. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but…”
3. In your daily life, you try to…
A. Foster humanity in yourself and in others.
B. Keep it “real.”
C. Exemplify a stereotype.
4. You and seven others are in an uncomfortably warm room, do you…
A. Turn on the air-conditioner.
B. Undress.
C. Lick yourself.
5. You just woke up an hour late. Your first thought is…
A. “Crap! I forgot to set the alarm!”
B. “Crap! I forgot to exploit myself!”
C. “Crap! I forgot to hide the bodies!”
For every answer A, give yourself zero (0) points. For every answer B, give yourself five (5) points. For every answer C, give yourself ten (10) points. Add your points together and you have your score!
Your Score: Your Title:
0-10 Normal Person. You are firmly grounded in reality and have an excellent grasp of current social mores. Good Job!
15-35 Reality TV Show Contestant. You belong in front of cameras, so the rest of us can enjoy our shaddenfruede. Good Job!
40-50 Psychotic. Please wear a sign that reads, “Do Not Touch. Crazy/Insane,” so that we may have a fair warning. Good Job!
08 December 2007
End of the Semester Observations
I. I go to a commuter (read: cheap) school that was no one’s first choice. Everyone’s aware of this fact which leads to an interesting phenomenon:
A. People wear the hoodies of school they wished they were at, not of the school they attend.
1. Again, I go to a commuter (read: cheap) school. Everyone is working either full-time or 34.916667 hours of part-time work to pay our way through. Our parents don’t have trust funds or bank accounts per se that fund our educational endeavors.
i. And yes, my last employer prohibited me from working the last five minutes a week so they wouldn’t have to pay for dental.
ii. No, I am not bitter.
iii. I intentionally use double negatives.
2. However, I pass by at least ten Purdue sweatshirts by the time I arrive fifteen minutes late to my first class.
i. The first Purdue I saw, I slyly stated “Nice shirt” and used it as a window for flirtation.
ii. Turns out we had a lot in common. We were both transfer students working the 34.16667 hours a week on top of 15 credit hours of school that combined form into a monstrous devil that slays social lives.
iii. But now, the shirts are just irritating.
iv. I try to ignore the logos, but there is nothing quite as grating as the people around you not valuing what they do. We are students. We are learning. Be proud of the institution that is enabling you to grow into a better person and receive a salary you don’t deserve in four years.
B. Today was the last day of the semester prior to finals week.
1. In my 200 person Physics course I counted the dozens who enter the class that I didn’t recognize. I lost count as the Herd of Those Who Only Attend on Test Day entered.
i. It’s comforting to know that I could have established a relationship with all of them if we didn’t all work 34.916667 hours a week.
ii. No, I am not bitter.
2. In my 40 person Literature as Art course, the girl who sits next to me has her entire school paid for by financial aid because she got knocked up last year. I would be jealous but…
i. I pretty sure she’s not going to graduate
ii. And I have a feeling that her kid won’t, either.
3. I took my Humanities final today, because I am being taught by a grad student and he is the second coming of Buddha.
i. Reason why he is the second coming of Buddha #1: He let us write open ended research papers, which allowed us to relate the works to our lives.
ii. Reason why he is the second coming of Buddha #2: He let us write as much as we wanted, and determined the total worth of the paper by the page count which the students had complete creative control over.
iii. Consequently I wrote a mountain of moderately above average papers with ridiculously long page counts.
iv. Therefore, I only needed to get 16 points out of the 60 point final to get an A.
C. Life is good.
D. I probably should be paying attention to the lecture right now.
A. People wear the hoodies of school they wished they were at, not of the school they attend.
1. Again, I go to a commuter (read: cheap) school. Everyone is working either full-time or 34.916667 hours of part-time work to pay our way through. Our parents don’t have trust funds or bank accounts per se that fund our educational endeavors.
i. And yes, my last employer prohibited me from working the last five minutes a week so they wouldn’t have to pay for dental.
ii. No, I am not bitter.
iii. I intentionally use double negatives.
2. However, I pass by at least ten Purdue sweatshirts by the time I arrive fifteen minutes late to my first class.
i. The first Purdue I saw, I slyly stated “Nice shirt” and used it as a window for flirtation.
ii. Turns out we had a lot in common. We were both transfer students working the 34.16667 hours a week on top of 15 credit hours of school that combined form into a monstrous devil that slays social lives.
iii. But now, the shirts are just irritating.
iv. I try to ignore the logos, but there is nothing quite as grating as the people around you not valuing what they do. We are students. We are learning. Be proud of the institution that is enabling you to grow into a better person and receive a salary you don’t deserve in four years.
B. Today was the last day of the semester prior to finals week.
1. In my 200 person Physics course I counted the dozens who enter the class that I didn’t recognize. I lost count as the Herd of Those Who Only Attend on Test Day entered.
i. It’s comforting to know that I could have established a relationship with all of them if we didn’t all work 34.916667 hours a week.
ii. No, I am not bitter.
2. In my 40 person Literature as Art course, the girl who sits next to me has her entire school paid for by financial aid because she got knocked up last year. I would be jealous but…
i. I pretty sure she’s not going to graduate
ii. And I have a feeling that her kid won’t, either.
3. I took my Humanities final today, because I am being taught by a grad student and he is the second coming of Buddha.
i. Reason why he is the second coming of Buddha #1: He let us write open ended research papers, which allowed us to relate the works to our lives.
ii. Reason why he is the second coming of Buddha #2: He let us write as much as we wanted, and determined the total worth of the paper by the page count which the students had complete creative control over.
iii. Consequently I wrote a mountain of moderately above average papers with ridiculously long page counts.
iv. Therefore, I only needed to get 16 points out of the 60 point final to get an A.
C. Life is good.
D. I probably should be paying attention to the lecture right now.
07 December 2007
The Top Five Ways to Get on the Six O'clock News
5. Host a charity bake sale.
4. Run for office on the Green Party ticket.
3. Streak at a local ballgame.
2. Murder someone. Then confess.
1. Murder someone at a charity bake sale. Later while streaking at a local ballgame, confess the crime and announce your campaign for office on the Green Party ticket simultaneously.
Drunk Dialer: Miss Piggy
Justin: Piggy! Piggy!
Miss Piggy: Yes, this is moi. To whom am I speaking?
Justin: Piggy! It’s me! Justin!
Miss Piggy: Oh, brother. You wouldn’t happen to be completely wasted, would you?
J: Yes!! How’d you guess?
MP: What other times do you call me?
J: Uhh… umm… When I want money?
MP: True. Is that why you called?
J: No! I called because I’m lonely!
MP: Look fellah, I don’t have time for this. I’m a busy pig.
J: Hey, Piggy! Remember the old times!
MP: Unfortunately.
J: Remember the times when I was lonely, and you were lonely, and we were drunk?
MP: Justin! I certainly do not!
J: Oh. Remember the times when I was lonely, and you were lonely, and you were drunk?
MP: I don’t deserve this kind of treatment! Hii-yaah!
J: Oww!! Did you just hit me over the phone?
MP: I’m that good, baby.
[Hangs up]
06 December 2007
The Planning Committee for THE PRICE IS RIGHT
“Soon the proletariat will rise up against our regime.”
“This is true, does anyone have any ideas?”
“We can train Paris to divert their attention.”
“No. They’ll never fall for her parlor tricks.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“…”
“I’ve got one! We can produce a television show where we hand out our products to the illiterate. It will quell the masses much like the lottery and broadcast sports. Plus, we can use the program for advertising.”
“That is a good start, but we should try to think outside the box. Right now we are on the edge of the box. Let’s take that idea and give it 105 percent.”
“How about we force the insignificants to guess at our arbitrary pricing? That way we trick the masses into valuing meaningless items while we laugh at their vapid, consumerist culture.”
“That is perversely malicious. Good job! I’ll call Barker.”
05 December 2007
CBS Cares... Sorta
Actual Slogan:
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from Aids.
Unused Slogans from the Brainstorming Session:
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, then you’re probably gay.
If you’re on drugs or haven taken a lot of alcohol, don’t dial your ex. They will only have rebound sex with you while they are on drugs.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from your HIV positive coke addict sex buddy.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, don’t give your designated driver a few hundred dollars for gas. Trust us; gas prices didn’t get as high as you did.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t fully protect yourself from crazy drugged-out transsexuals with machetes.
If you snort more than one line of cocaine, take a sick day from work. It will be our little secret.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from creepy, paternalistic, abstinence-only television professionals who don’t know how to live a little.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, we are better than you.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from Aids.
Unused Slogans from the Brainstorming Session:
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, then you’re probably gay.
If you’re on drugs or haven taken a lot of alcohol, don’t dial your ex. They will only have rebound sex with you while they are on drugs.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from your HIV positive coke addict sex buddy.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, don’t give your designated driver a few hundred dollars for gas. Trust us; gas prices didn’t get as high as you did.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t fully protect yourself from crazy drugged-out transsexuals with machetes.
If you snort more than one line of cocaine, take a sick day from work. It will be our little secret.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, you can’t protect yourself from creepy, paternalistic, abstinence-only television professionals who don’t know how to live a little.
If you’re on drugs or have taken a lot of alcohol, we are better than you.
04 December 2007
Drunk Dialer: Tyra Banks
Justin: Hello?
Tyra Banks: JUSTON! What’s up, buddy?
Justin: Hey, Tyra.
Tyra Banks: I was just talking to myself, “You know who we need to talk to? Justin,” That’s what we said. Justin’s a great talker. Justin’s a good friend.
J: He left you, didn’t he?
TB: No! I just wanted to talk to my friend!
J: Oh, well in that case, an interesting thing happened to me today. I was at the-
TB: HE LEFT ME! He! Left me! This is the worst day of my life! I said to him, “KISS MY FAT ASS!” Who does he think he is? Tyra Banks? ‘Cause only Tyra can break up with Tyra.
J: You wouldn’t happen to be completely wasted, would you?
TB: YES! I’m completely intalksicated! I’m drunk on Tyra! And Jack Daniels!
J: How are you holding up?
TB: I’m good. I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it. You know people on the street mistake me for Beyonce? One time, I performed a sex show as Beyonce! When I was a child! It was the worst day of my life! I was abused as a child! Did you know that?
J: Yes, we’ve discussed it before. I think it’s very brave that-
TB: Yea-huh, I survive! A girl with this kind of bah-donka-donk don’t stay single for long!
J: That’s true. I-
TB: I’m glad we got to glamunicate! If I was white, I’d be Oprah!
J: It is always nice to talk to you too, Tyra. So are you feeling better?
TB: No! There’s a hole in my heartbreak and it hurts. And the hole gets wider and wider every time I think! That’s my problem. Thoughts.
J: So… do you want to have consolation sex?
TB: Err, I’ve got to go! CRRR! Bad cell phone reception! CRRR! That’s a funny sound to say! CRRR!
J: Tyra, I know what you are doing.
TB: No you don’t!
J: You are faking poor reception in order to avoid an awkward conversation.
TB: No I’m not! KISS MY FAT ASS! CRRR!
[Hangs up]
03 December 2007
To the Jackass in the Front Row:
Hey. Hey! Stop talking. No, I don’t care. You need to hear this. So stop talking.
Before I met you I assumed that all jackasses were males. It seemed like a natural extension for stupid/insecure men to butt into conversations when they possessed no relevant information or viewpoints. But you are an exception to the rule. Before you, I had no idea a person with a vagina could also be a dick.
What? How can you be a jackass? I certainly understand your confusion; your vajayjay tricked me too. And we both know you are not the brightest crayon on the stupid train. Did you notice how I mixed metaphors? You didn’t? That’s because you’re not the brightest crayon on the stupid train!
At first, I believed you to be a regular, if less than average in grade point average, college student. I had formulated a schema in which you simply were an unfortunately open extravert. But then you told the class that you remember when gas prices were less than a dollar. Never mind that the professor who is TWICE YOUR AGE doesn’t remember such times. And after the professor called you out on this, did you balk? No. You decided to laugh unironically, bob your head, and tell the lecture hall that you are twenty-five, and therefore are older than anyone else in the room.
Now, common vernacular has a term for a man who once proven wrong, brings up that fact that they are defective and are therefore right. So when you proudly proclaim that it has taken you seven years to achieve a bachelor’s degree, there is only one word for your condition. My lady, you are a Jackass.
Also, I have begun to take bets on whether you log onto Myspace or Facebook when the lecture starts. Have you ever noticed how all those who recreationally use their laptops sit in the last two rows, so that two hundred people aren’t beaming down at their social site stalking/Youtube video watching/transvestite spanking porn addiction? Of course you haven’t, that’s why you sit front row center, as if your close proximity to the professor would guide the information into your brain. It doesn’t, as your failing grade clearly demonstrates. You do know that you eventually have to pay those student loans back, right?
Wait; did you even hear what I just said? This is important so you need to stop talking. No, I don’t care. You need to hear this. Stop talking. Hey. Hey!
Before I met you I assumed that all jackasses were males. It seemed like a natural extension for stupid/insecure men to butt into conversations when they possessed no relevant information or viewpoints. But you are an exception to the rule. Before you, I had no idea a person with a vagina could also be a dick.
What? How can you be a jackass? I certainly understand your confusion; your vajayjay tricked me too. And we both know you are not the brightest crayon on the stupid train. Did you notice how I mixed metaphors? You didn’t? That’s because you’re not the brightest crayon on the stupid train!
At first, I believed you to be a regular, if less than average in grade point average, college student. I had formulated a schema in which you simply were an unfortunately open extravert. But then you told the class that you remember when gas prices were less than a dollar. Never mind that the professor who is TWICE YOUR AGE doesn’t remember such times. And after the professor called you out on this, did you balk? No. You decided to laugh unironically, bob your head, and tell the lecture hall that you are twenty-five, and therefore are older than anyone else in the room.
Now, common vernacular has a term for a man who once proven wrong, brings up that fact that they are defective and are therefore right. So when you proudly proclaim that it has taken you seven years to achieve a bachelor’s degree, there is only one word for your condition. My lady, you are a Jackass.
Also, I have begun to take bets on whether you log onto Myspace or Facebook when the lecture starts. Have you ever noticed how all those who recreationally use their laptops sit in the last two rows, so that two hundred people aren’t beaming down at their social site stalking/Youtube video watching/transvestite spanking porn addiction? Of course you haven’t, that’s why you sit front row center, as if your close proximity to the professor would guide the information into your brain. It doesn’t, as your failing grade clearly demonstrates. You do know that you eventually have to pay those student loans back, right?
Wait; did you even hear what I just said? This is important so you need to stop talking. No, I don’t care. You need to hear this. Stop talking. Hey. Hey!
01 December 2007
New Title
Apparently the purposefully bland "Anonymous College Student Blog" is not working that well since no one reads this. I need a name that will entice people.
Possibilities:
1. Casual Sex
2. I am deep and quirky
3. I am deep and quirky and therefore we should have casual sex
4. I do this for the attention
Here's a nice game for the lurkers: Guess which one(s) is(are) ironic!
Possibilities:
1. Casual Sex
2. I am deep and quirky
3. I am deep and quirky and therefore we should have casual sex
4. I do this for the attention
Here's a nice game for the lurkers: Guess which one(s) is(are) ironic!
Drunk Dialer: God
God: Yo, Daug! What’s up! Haven’t talks to you for awhile!
Justin: Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be completely wasted, would you?
God: Completely!
Justin: Oh.
G: Do you really want to hurt meee! Do you really want to make me cryyy!
J: So how are you these days?
G: You don’t care!
J: True, I guess you really are omniscient.
G: Of course I am! I’m the big guy! I’m the G-man! Everyone prays to me. Wants me to solve all their problems. But what about G-man! Nobody cares! Who gives me respect? Where my tithes, bitches!
J: I’m going to use this opportunity to divulge information from you that wouldn’t normally disclose.
G: Awww, big words are so funny. Heeheehee. Like bunny. Like cats.
J: What is your greatest regret in life so far?
G: Not nailing Helen. Everyone’s like don’t do it G-man! Don’t do it! Wait for Mary! But she totally wasn’t worth it. She didn’t know anything in the bedroom and afterwards she all up in Joseph. Telling me I’m just her babydaddy. Bitch.
J: What one thing do you wish to change about the modern world?
G: Everyone’s all La-la-la-la-la I wish the problems would go away. G-man, feed the poor! Heal the sick! End war while we throw nuclear weapons at each other! And I’m like, where’s my tithes, bitches!
J: What is your greatest regret in life so far?
G: The Holocaust. At first, I was all, where’s my Jews at! I gotta get ‘em up here so we can PARTY! But then they all upset because they had’ve died!
J: What one thing do you wish to change about the modern world?
G: Like it was my fault! Don’t they know what kind of pressure I’m under? Everyone’s all want’s to fix our problems G-man! And I’m all like give me a break, sometimes G-man’s gotta PARTY! Oh no. BLURP.
J: Are you about to throw up?
G: No! BLAUGGRH! GLRUAAAHHKLELIP! BLAUGGRH!
J: That sounds painful.
G: WHERE”S MY FRICKIN’ NACHOS! HAH, HAH, HAH!
J: Very funny.
G: It’s funny cause that’s what you did! That one time!
J: I’m going to hang up now.
G: That’s what you did! That’s what you did!
J: Talk to you later, God.
G: Justin, Justin, JUSTIN! WAIT! Justin! WAIT!
J: …I’m still here.
G: I’m sorry man. I’m sorry for cockblocking you in high school.
J: I am too.
Justin: Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be completely wasted, would you?
God: Completely!
Justin: Oh.
G: Do you really want to hurt meee! Do you really want to make me cryyy!
J: So how are you these days?
G: You don’t care!
J: True, I guess you really are omniscient.
G: Of course I am! I’m the big guy! I’m the G-man! Everyone prays to me. Wants me to solve all their problems. But what about G-man! Nobody cares! Who gives me respect? Where my tithes, bitches!
J: I’m going to use this opportunity to divulge information from you that wouldn’t normally disclose.
G: Awww, big words are so funny. Heeheehee. Like bunny. Like cats.
J: What is your greatest regret in life so far?
G: Not nailing Helen. Everyone’s like don’t do it G-man! Don’t do it! Wait for Mary! But she totally wasn’t worth it. She didn’t know anything in the bedroom and afterwards she all up in Joseph. Telling me I’m just her babydaddy. Bitch.
J: What one thing do you wish to change about the modern world?
G: Everyone’s all La-la-la-la-la I wish the problems would go away. G-man, feed the poor! Heal the sick! End war while we throw nuclear weapons at each other! And I’m like, where’s my tithes, bitches!
J: What is your greatest regret in life so far?
G: The Holocaust. At first, I was all, where’s my Jews at! I gotta get ‘em up here so we can PARTY! But then they all upset because they had’ve died!
J: What one thing do you wish to change about the modern world?
G: Like it was my fault! Don’t they know what kind of pressure I’m under? Everyone’s all want’s to fix our problems G-man! And I’m all like give me a break, sometimes G-man’s gotta PARTY! Oh no. BLURP.
J: Are you about to throw up?
G: No! BLAUGGRH! GLRUAAAHHKLELIP! BLAUGGRH!
J: That sounds painful.
G: WHERE”S MY FRICKIN’ NACHOS! HAH, HAH, HAH!
J: Very funny.
G: It’s funny cause that’s what you did! That one time!
J: I’m going to hang up now.
G: That’s what you did! That’s what you did!
J: Talk to you later, God.
G: Justin, Justin, JUSTIN! WAIT! Justin! WAIT!
J: …I’m still here.
G: I’m sorry man. I’m sorry for cockblocking you in high school.
J: I am too.
30 November 2007
Two Weeks Notice - Part 3
Sunday September 16:
Today was the last Sunday I’ll ever have to work as a telemarketer. As you can probably guess, Sunday’s are the hardest days to get a sale. Sample Sunday conversation:
Me: I can give you free television.
Lead: I worship THE LORD on Sunday!
Me: I apologize. Have a good Sunday.
Lead: Go to HELL, MOTHERFUCKER!
I am not exaggerating. I especially enjoy the folks who tell me that they do not take calls on Sundays, because they evidently forgot that fact when they answered the phone.
It was another excruciatingly slow day. For some reason, every terminal was filled. Usually, there is only a hundred or so working on Sundays. Today however, two hundred people were crammed in; all yelling over each other so the leads can hear them. As a result of the two times the amount of employees, there were half as many calls for everyone. Consequently, boredom and downtime. But that did give me a chance to work on homework.
I wish I could elaborate on the subject, but I’ve got to go. I will write more later, preferably on the last two sections so that this has some sense of symmetry.
Monday September 17:
I don’t remember Monday. Sorry.
Wednesday September 19:
First, before I enlighten you about my Wednesday, I need to get some exposition out of the way. In the previous weeks, I have had just enough free time to barely cover my day-to-day assignments. Since my schedule has been overscheduled and overfilled, this Tuesday evening was the only time I had to start and finish an eight page paper. So at 3 A.M., I finally make it into the land of sleepdom. Five hours later, I turn in the paper.
At 8:50 AM, I promptly leave the lecture hall, travel to the library, go up to the top floor where all the comfortable chairs live, and pass out. After approximately half an hour of bliss, one of the University’s Public Relation Specialists (read: Tour Guides) arrives with 50 thunderous high-schoolers. In the middle of her speal about the new, multi- million dollar facility filled with wonderful arrays of knowledge, I wake up, crankily say a few choice words, roll over, and fall back asleep all before I realize that I am in a public place. Of course five seconds after this I become lucid. I look around and see that while I was unconscious, seven others thought I had a good idea. The eight of us had been lying equidistantly in comatose states when the Tour Guide arrived. “Yes kids, enroll in the school of the homeless.”
At noon, I took the physics test, drove home, slept some more, and then drove to work. I suppose I should have more memories from work, since 6.5 of the 8 total hours I was awake today took place there. Oh well. I’m a student, not a worker, anyway.
Friday September 21:
Back when I started the first entry in this journal, I had the ending all figured out. Flashbacks would explain my supervisor’s reaction when I told her I needed to quit. Then, I would intercut anecdotes of my last night with details of my first few days at this job. It would have been a minor masterpiece since my first night and my last strangely paralleled each other. It would have allowed me to compare the apprehensive beginner with the assured expert I had become. However, the details don’t seem that important anymore. And honestly, most of that first night has faded from my memory. I walked through the employee exit for the last time tonight. I don’t need to go back.
Also, tonight I talked to a Romanian immigrant. After I separated his last name into its syllabic components, he responded by saying, “Yes. It is I, Markovotsky,” with the same inflection and cadence as Bela Lugosi. Luckily, he hung on me before I blurted out that I missed Count VonCount. It is rare that you ever find someone that passionate, especially about addition.
Today was the last Sunday I’ll ever have to work as a telemarketer. As you can probably guess, Sunday’s are the hardest days to get a sale. Sample Sunday conversation:
Me: I can give you free television.
Lead: I worship THE LORD on Sunday!
Me: I apologize. Have a good Sunday.
Lead: Go to HELL, MOTHERFUCKER!
I am not exaggerating. I especially enjoy the folks who tell me that they do not take calls on Sundays, because they evidently forgot that fact when they answered the phone.
It was another excruciatingly slow day. For some reason, every terminal was filled. Usually, there is only a hundred or so working on Sundays. Today however, two hundred people were crammed in; all yelling over each other so the leads can hear them. As a result of the two times the amount of employees, there were half as many calls for everyone. Consequently, boredom and downtime. But that did give me a chance to work on homework.
I wish I could elaborate on the subject, but I’ve got to go. I will write more later, preferably on the last two sections so that this has some sense of symmetry.
Monday September 17:
I don’t remember Monday. Sorry.
Wednesday September 19:
First, before I enlighten you about my Wednesday, I need to get some exposition out of the way. In the previous weeks, I have had just enough free time to barely cover my day-to-day assignments. Since my schedule has been overscheduled and overfilled, this Tuesday evening was the only time I had to start and finish an eight page paper. So at 3 A.M., I finally make it into the land of sleepdom. Five hours later, I turn in the paper.
At 8:50 AM, I promptly leave the lecture hall, travel to the library, go up to the top floor where all the comfortable chairs live, and pass out. After approximately half an hour of bliss, one of the University’s Public Relation Specialists (read: Tour Guides) arrives with 50 thunderous high-schoolers. In the middle of her speal about the new, multi- million dollar facility filled with wonderful arrays of knowledge, I wake up, crankily say a few choice words, roll over, and fall back asleep all before I realize that I am in a public place. Of course five seconds after this I become lucid. I look around and see that while I was unconscious, seven others thought I had a good idea. The eight of us had been lying equidistantly in comatose states when the Tour Guide arrived. “Yes kids, enroll in the school of the homeless.”
At noon, I took the physics test, drove home, slept some more, and then drove to work. I suppose I should have more memories from work, since 6.5 of the 8 total hours I was awake today took place there. Oh well. I’m a student, not a worker, anyway.
Friday September 21:
Back when I started the first entry in this journal, I had the ending all figured out. Flashbacks would explain my supervisor’s reaction when I told her I needed to quit. Then, I would intercut anecdotes of my last night with details of my first few days at this job. It would have been a minor masterpiece since my first night and my last strangely paralleled each other. It would have allowed me to compare the apprehensive beginner with the assured expert I had become. However, the details don’t seem that important anymore. And honestly, most of that first night has faded from my memory. I walked through the employee exit for the last time tonight. I don’t need to go back.
Also, tonight I talked to a Romanian immigrant. After I separated his last name into its syllabic components, he responded by saying, “Yes. It is I, Markovotsky,” with the same inflection and cadence as Bela Lugosi. Luckily, he hung on me before I blurted out that I missed Count VonCount. It is rare that you ever find someone that passionate, especially about addition.
29 November 2007
Two Weeks Notice: Part 2
Monday September 10:
I have fifteen minutes to kill, so off to the library I go. The library is the most useful building on campus. I have yet to check out a book. Last week, I went inside the library to use the reading rooms as napping rooms like normal. But when I left, to my horror, part of the huge field of dirt had been covered by grass. Many universities have scenic views. But we had a huge field of dirt. It made us unique. I miss it.
At 3:15, I leave the library to go to work. At 3:50, I’m clocked in and ready to take calls. For some reason, Karyn, the benign sixty-something woman who occupies the cubicle across from me, didn’t go to work. Is she sick? Or on vacation? Did she quit? I don’t think she would, even though she was as fed up with the campaign change as much as I was. I look around for familiar faces and I don’t see Thin Blonde Bitch as well. Thin Blonde Bitch is aptly named because one night she had an 18 minute (I watched the clock) diatribe concerning every detail of this job. Also, she once attacked a vending machine that wouldn’t take her dollar. I keep my distance.
Since Karyn’s gone, Laura and Tim are the only employees in my campaign that started working here before me. The twenty-two others were all hired within the last three months. Also, there are three new people in the monitoring room tonight, listening in to everyone in a sales campaign. Once this becomes common knowledge, Laura promptly says “Screw this!” and takes off. Tim ditches as well, leaving me as the sole veteran of the campaign.
While we are monitored, we can be written up every time we don’t rebut. Rebuttals usually go like this:
Lead: I’m not interested.
Me: Well, actually you are interested because this is a great deal!
Lead: No!
Me: Yes! Let me sign you up!
Lead: (Sigh) Okay.
If one can fake sincerity while being aggressive, people will immediately cave. One night I made 18 sales (back when the goal was 9) simply because I overdosed on Claritin-D and inadvertently sounded like I cared. Tonight, I’m too tired to exhibit faux-sincerity. The customers misinterpret my lackluster rebuttals as signs of a pushy salesman, when in fact I deliberately speak to them in the least convincing manner. However, since I say a rebuttal, I can’t be written up. This way I don’t have to list ‘terminated’ on any future applications.
In one of my last calls, a guy tells me that he wants to decrease his bill. I was supposed to say to him that the deal would save him five dollars but instead I explained what he was paying for HBO and Starz. Then I gave him the customer service number where he could get rid of them. So instead of making the company another ten dollars a month, I cost them twenty-five. So it goes. My shift ends at 10:40. On my way home, I maintain a steady 70mph and hit my driveway at 11:10. Counterproductively, it then takes my brain over an hour to fall asleep.
Wednesday, September 12:
At school today, I ran into Rachel, a girl I known since Kindergarten. She’s a commuter as well. We’ve gone to the same elementary, junior, and high schools. Now we’ve managed to end up at the same university. All our conversations tend to follow the same pattern. There’s an inevitable reference to our six-year-old selves and the awareness that we have occupied the opposite sides of the same building most of our lives. But it is always nice to catch up.
We ran out of leads tonight. So for about twenty minutes we have nothing to do. I end up talking to another Rachel (This one is in her forties), who is sitting next to me. We exchange office gossip about how we’re supposed to go home at ten, or at least that’s what they told us when we were hired. Apparently, a few employees have alerted corporate about the deception. Exactly two seconds after Rachel informed me of this, we got to go home half an hour early. Sometimes life hands me a present. Sometimes I get to have eight hours of sleep.
Friday September 14:
Next week I have an Ethics essay exam on Tuesday, a Humanities paper due on Wednesday, a Physics exam on Wednesday, and a Psychology exam on Thursday. It is also my last week at work, so Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday I’ll have no time to do the necessary studying. Additionally, I’m using this journal as a means of procrastination. I really should be writing that paper.
At work, Karyn and Thin Blonde Bitch returned, so I guess they didn’t quit. I made a big bad nine sales. I was supposed to make thirteen. At one point, I closed my eyes for an hour, only opening them to glance at the lead’s name and price information. I’m such a hard worker.
I only have four more days left at this job. I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself afterwards, but I also have no idea how I’m going to survive next week. I need to stop procrastinating.
I have fifteen minutes to kill, so off to the library I go. The library is the most useful building on campus. I have yet to check out a book. Last week, I went inside the library to use the reading rooms as napping rooms like normal. But when I left, to my horror, part of the huge field of dirt had been covered by grass. Many universities have scenic views. But we had a huge field of dirt. It made us unique. I miss it.
At 3:15, I leave the library to go to work. At 3:50, I’m clocked in and ready to take calls. For some reason, Karyn, the benign sixty-something woman who occupies the cubicle across from me, didn’t go to work. Is she sick? Or on vacation? Did she quit? I don’t think she would, even though she was as fed up with the campaign change as much as I was. I look around for familiar faces and I don’t see Thin Blonde Bitch as well. Thin Blonde Bitch is aptly named because one night she had an 18 minute (I watched the clock) diatribe concerning every detail of this job. Also, she once attacked a vending machine that wouldn’t take her dollar. I keep my distance.
Since Karyn’s gone, Laura and Tim are the only employees in my campaign that started working here before me. The twenty-two others were all hired within the last three months. Also, there are three new people in the monitoring room tonight, listening in to everyone in a sales campaign. Once this becomes common knowledge, Laura promptly says “Screw this!” and takes off. Tim ditches as well, leaving me as the sole veteran of the campaign.
While we are monitored, we can be written up every time we don’t rebut. Rebuttals usually go like this:
Lead: I’m not interested.
Me: Well, actually you are interested because this is a great deal!
Lead: No!
Me: Yes! Let me sign you up!
Lead: (Sigh) Okay.
If one can fake sincerity while being aggressive, people will immediately cave. One night I made 18 sales (back when the goal was 9) simply because I overdosed on Claritin-D and inadvertently sounded like I cared. Tonight, I’m too tired to exhibit faux-sincerity. The customers misinterpret my lackluster rebuttals as signs of a pushy salesman, when in fact I deliberately speak to them in the least convincing manner. However, since I say a rebuttal, I can’t be written up. This way I don’t have to list ‘terminated’ on any future applications.
In one of my last calls, a guy tells me that he wants to decrease his bill. I was supposed to say to him that the deal would save him five dollars but instead I explained what he was paying for HBO and Starz. Then I gave him the customer service number where he could get rid of them. So instead of making the company another ten dollars a month, I cost them twenty-five. So it goes. My shift ends at 10:40. On my way home, I maintain a steady 70mph and hit my driveway at 11:10. Counterproductively, it then takes my brain over an hour to fall asleep.
Wednesday, September 12:
At school today, I ran into Rachel, a girl I known since Kindergarten. She’s a commuter as well. We’ve gone to the same elementary, junior, and high schools. Now we’ve managed to end up at the same university. All our conversations tend to follow the same pattern. There’s an inevitable reference to our six-year-old selves and the awareness that we have occupied the opposite sides of the same building most of our lives. But it is always nice to catch up.
We ran out of leads tonight. So for about twenty minutes we have nothing to do. I end up talking to another Rachel (This one is in her forties), who is sitting next to me. We exchange office gossip about how we’re supposed to go home at ten, or at least that’s what they told us when we were hired. Apparently, a few employees have alerted corporate about the deception. Exactly two seconds after Rachel informed me of this, we got to go home half an hour early. Sometimes life hands me a present. Sometimes I get to have eight hours of sleep.
Friday September 14:
Next week I have an Ethics essay exam on Tuesday, a Humanities paper due on Wednesday, a Physics exam on Wednesday, and a Psychology exam on Thursday. It is also my last week at work, so Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday I’ll have no time to do the necessary studying. Additionally, I’m using this journal as a means of procrastination. I really should be writing that paper.
At work, Karyn and Thin Blonde Bitch returned, so I guess they didn’t quit. I made a big bad nine sales. I was supposed to make thirteen. At one point, I closed my eyes for an hour, only opening them to glance at the lead’s name and price information. I’m such a hard worker.
I only have four more days left at this job. I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself afterwards, but I also have no idea how I’m going to survive next week. I need to stop procrastinating.
28 November 2007
Two Weeks Notice - Part One
Sunday September 9:
I turned in my two weeks notice on Friday. I should’ve starting writing this then, but good ideas never come to me on time. For breakfast today, I had a piece of toast, one egg, and a bowl of vanilla ice cream, just to make sure the day went down smoothly. It did. I had a great time at work. I made nine sales. I was supposed to make fourteen. A lead asked me if the channels I was offering her had any children’s programming. I told her that “Sexy Suspects,” “Sex on the Run,” and “Thrust from the Hip” were being shown today. I didn’t get the sale.
For the last three weeks I had been monitored, meaning that malicious people listen in to all the calls I make to see if I screw them up. Stress accumulated inside of me like fat. I was always worried about fuckle-ing up and then being fired. “How will I be able to pay for tuition?” was all I could think about. I gained five pounds. Two weeks ago, when the semester started and I had to leave to go to school at 7:30 AM and didn’t get home till my shift was over and my commute commuted at 11:10 PM, I stopped meeting my sales quota. Too much pressure. Not enough sleep. And I was being monitored, so I couldn’t cheat like everyone else. So I decided to quit. I may not be able to pay my bills, but I just might be able to enjoy life. I’m waiting to see if that’s worth it.
“I’m a student, not a worker” I repeat to myself. I hope that my inner voice will eventually sound convincing. Exactly two hours after I turn in my two week’s notice a supervisor comes up to me and tells me I’ve been selected to start the new BBC campaign. That’s why they were monitoring me. They didn’t want to fire me. They wanted to transfer me to a better position. Good things never come to me on time.
I turned in my two weeks notice on Friday. I should’ve starting writing this then, but good ideas never come to me on time. For breakfast today, I had a piece of toast, one egg, and a bowl of vanilla ice cream, just to make sure the day went down smoothly. It did. I had a great time at work. I made nine sales. I was supposed to make fourteen. A lead asked me if the channels I was offering her had any children’s programming. I told her that “Sexy Suspects,” “Sex on the Run,” and “Thrust from the Hip” were being shown today. I didn’t get the sale.
For the last three weeks I had been monitored, meaning that malicious people listen in to all the calls I make to see if I screw them up. Stress accumulated inside of me like fat. I was always worried about fuckle-ing up and then being fired. “How will I be able to pay for tuition?” was all I could think about. I gained five pounds. Two weeks ago, when the semester started and I had to leave to go to school at 7:30 AM and didn’t get home till my shift was over and my commute commuted at 11:10 PM, I stopped meeting my sales quota. Too much pressure. Not enough sleep. And I was being monitored, so I couldn’t cheat like everyone else. So I decided to quit. I may not be able to pay my bills, but I just might be able to enjoy life. I’m waiting to see if that’s worth it.
“I’m a student, not a worker” I repeat to myself. I hope that my inner voice will eventually sound convincing. Exactly two hours after I turn in my two week’s notice a supervisor comes up to me and tells me I’ve been selected to start the new BBC campaign. That’s why they were monitoring me. They didn’t want to fire me. They wanted to transfer me to a better position. Good things never come to me on time.
27 November 2007
A Series of Unrelated Observations
The water from the pump is as yellow as the grass surrounding me. The chicken in the rotisserie hiccups as gas escapes its succulent, lifeless corpse. Life is a collection of unrelated observations. It may appear to have thematic significance, however, that is simply the result of our attempts to attach meaning to meaningless information.
I had a dream last night in which I suffered a case of mistaken identity. The traveling mime troupe explains that it is I who has mistaken my identity. One of the silent performers turns out to be Justin, and I am a nameless stand-in. I apologize for any inconvenience and sit down, attempting to remember my correct identity. Eventually I give up and create a new one, but it turns out that the new identity is also taken by a mime.
Confused, I glance at the world surrounding me and observe that I am in a warehouse as large as a major metropolitan mall. It is crammed with a mixture of gray tubes and stairs, all angles, asymmetry, and alliteration. There is a community on the floor that I am sitting on that is substantial enough to sustain a mime troupe. Also, a village of upside-down people dwells directly under the ceiling, in direct violation of gravitational laws. The hot chick from work resides up there. The mime beside me says that everyone is happier up there, but I don’t believe him. His skewed perception identifies smiles when in fact all they do is frown.
I find myself at Wal-mart in the wee hours of the morning often this week. The consumerism distracts my insomnia. I stare at the daunting aisle of orange juices. Several fruit fusions are available, as well as tangy original. The tangy original is tangier than the original I remember and the fusions are interspecies anomalies that call themselves orange juice. There is also a reduced sugar variety. I grow nostalgic for the mid-nineties. What ever happened to the sugar-fortified Sunny-D I remember from my childhood? I settle on mango.
26 November 2007
Repetition
I talk to more people than I’ve ever spoken to in my entire life these days. From four to ten-thirty I talk to the Vanvalkinburg’s, the Montezuma’s, the Farnkoff’s, the Delarosa’s, the Bones’, and every Johnson family found within the continental United States. I plead, implore, and beg in a precisely inflected tone of voice which insures maximum sales. I tell them of our great new offer available to only the most select, valued customers that we sell to everyone, everywhere, at all times.
“Well, sir, the reason for my call today to thank you for being a valued customer and therefore let you know that you can get a $25 cash rebate just for trying out our late-night pornography programming that your children will watch while you sleep. With this special new deal, sir, your six-year olds will be taught how to masturbate by the television, so you won’t have to have uncomfortable conversations with them when puberty strikes and wet dreams commence. Also, sir, the $25 rebate will cover the first two months, but you are going to forget to cancel the service when this trial period is over since these channels are identical to the 250 channels you already have. They’ll get lost in the mountain of trash and smut that you already receive, sir, only for the low cost of a hundred dollars a month more than cable.”
Surrounding me are 169 other employees speaking the same words as I am. While there are multiple bodies, only two other people are found in this place. It’s the same two people repeated over and over in varying genders and ethnicities. They may look distinct or sound atypical, yet their personality mirrors most others if not all. All can be designated as either a temp or a lifer. Except me, it seems. I fall somewhere in between the common categories. I plan to get out in three to five.
Several women are in the habit of dancing on the weekends when they make a sale. I assume this is the motivation as a white one down the aisle starts to thrust her pelvis. Her beer gut bounces merrily in the air-conditioned breeze. The effect is not unlike the effect of a mural made out of dung or prose composed completely of sentence fragments. There is an internal awareness that if I had feelings or a sense of discrimination, I would be disgusted. Yet I do not, so I am mostly captivated by my easily found compliance.
Soon thereafter, our system crashes. With newfound free time, the boy in the mini-cubicle next to me begins to list mediocre garage band names he has been generating this afternoon. He is of the goth/emo rocker variety. As he names thousands of reasons why such and such band name won’t do because it is too similar to such and such established band, I realize that he has had very minimal customization. I have talked to hundreds of the same model in my short life-span. He is not unlike an action figure that is in the same condition as it was in the box, twenty years ago. I smile at my realization and visualize everyone in the room on the shelf in Wal-mart’s toy department. Goth/emo rocker boy misinterprets this as a sign that I was listening to him and continues on with the list of creative conformity. I don’t correct him because my nominal sense of politeness tells me not to spoil his fun. He asks me to be in his band. I tell him a flat “no” but this is interpreted as “please continue the monologue.” Eventually, I am released from the one-way conversation as the system restarts. The store manager leaves the computer room to hover the aisles, an apparition with gardener’s eyes, searching for weeds. I try to look busy.
I realize three hours after the fact that the high school kid two seats over was fired. The official reason for his termination was a low sales rate, but everyone knows it was because he is a city kid with a history of vandalism and a habit of talking trash. I didn’t notice his departure till the end of the night when his fellow city kid/best friend served exposition to everyone. The two of them looked so similar that everyone assumed the other one was still in his seat.
I clock out and I drive home. I drive back and I clock in. I rinse, lather, and repeat the same way repetitively. I say the same words to the same people in different bodies. I say the same answers to the same questions to the same customer found in fort-eight states. The people around me engage in small talk that unremarkably matches the small-talk others are saying at the same time as I sit accompanied by my thoughts. I think that if there was a creator, I assume she/he tried to mix things up, but he/she only had two die to make individuals out of, so everyone ended up as something between two and twelve.
I clock out and I drive home. I drive back and as I walk to my half-cubicle, I pass by another me. He has the same brown hair, same blue eyes, same allergic reaction to wasp stings, same bounce in his steps, and same tilt in his dick. He has the same sense of anomie found in the knowledge of human mass-production. We stare at each other for a few milliseconds and become aware of the awkward moment.
Then we shrug and go opposite directions.
I enter the call center, clock in, and say what I’ve already said several thousand times. “Well, Mr. Johnson, the reason for my call today to thank you for being a valued customer and therefore let you know…”
“Well, sir, the reason for my call today to thank you for being a valued customer and therefore let you know that you can get a $25 cash rebate just for trying out our late-night pornography programming that your children will watch while you sleep. With this special new deal, sir, your six-year olds will be taught how to masturbate by the television, so you won’t have to have uncomfortable conversations with them when puberty strikes and wet dreams commence. Also, sir, the $25 rebate will cover the first two months, but you are going to forget to cancel the service when this trial period is over since these channels are identical to the 250 channels you already have. They’ll get lost in the mountain of trash and smut that you already receive, sir, only for the low cost of a hundred dollars a month more than cable.”
Surrounding me are 169 other employees speaking the same words as I am. While there are multiple bodies, only two other people are found in this place. It’s the same two people repeated over and over in varying genders and ethnicities. They may look distinct or sound atypical, yet their personality mirrors most others if not all. All can be designated as either a temp or a lifer. Except me, it seems. I fall somewhere in between the common categories. I plan to get out in three to five.
Several women are in the habit of dancing on the weekends when they make a sale. I assume this is the motivation as a white one down the aisle starts to thrust her pelvis. Her beer gut bounces merrily in the air-conditioned breeze. The effect is not unlike the effect of a mural made out of dung or prose composed completely of sentence fragments. There is an internal awareness that if I had feelings or a sense of discrimination, I would be disgusted. Yet I do not, so I am mostly captivated by my easily found compliance.
Soon thereafter, our system crashes. With newfound free time, the boy in the mini-cubicle next to me begins to list mediocre garage band names he has been generating this afternoon. He is of the goth/emo rocker variety. As he names thousands of reasons why such and such band name won’t do because it is too similar to such and such established band, I realize that he has had very minimal customization. I have talked to hundreds of the same model in my short life-span. He is not unlike an action figure that is in the same condition as it was in the box, twenty years ago. I smile at my realization and visualize everyone in the room on the shelf in Wal-mart’s toy department. Goth/emo rocker boy misinterprets this as a sign that I was listening to him and continues on with the list of creative conformity. I don’t correct him because my nominal sense of politeness tells me not to spoil his fun. He asks me to be in his band. I tell him a flat “no” but this is interpreted as “please continue the monologue.” Eventually, I am released from the one-way conversation as the system restarts. The store manager leaves the computer room to hover the aisles, an apparition with gardener’s eyes, searching for weeds. I try to look busy.
I realize three hours after the fact that the high school kid two seats over was fired. The official reason for his termination was a low sales rate, but everyone knows it was because he is a city kid with a history of vandalism and a habit of talking trash. I didn’t notice his departure till the end of the night when his fellow city kid/best friend served exposition to everyone. The two of them looked so similar that everyone assumed the other one was still in his seat.
I clock out and I drive home. I drive back and I clock in. I rinse, lather, and repeat the same way repetitively. I say the same words to the same people in different bodies. I say the same answers to the same questions to the same customer found in fort-eight states. The people around me engage in small talk that unremarkably matches the small-talk others are saying at the same time as I sit accompanied by my thoughts. I think that if there was a creator, I assume she/he tried to mix things up, but he/she only had two die to make individuals out of, so everyone ended up as something between two and twelve.
I clock out and I drive home. I drive back and as I walk to my half-cubicle, I pass by another me. He has the same brown hair, same blue eyes, same allergic reaction to wasp stings, same bounce in his steps, and same tilt in his dick. He has the same sense of anomie found in the knowledge of human mass-production. We stare at each other for a few milliseconds and become aware of the awkward moment.
Then we shrug and go opposite directions.
I enter the call center, clock in, and say what I’ve already said several thousand times. “Well, Mr. Johnson, the reason for my call today to thank you for being a valued customer and therefore let you know…”
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