Alright, first off I need to say this. I think I may have just had enough of working. You know what else? It once again has to do with poo gas. When I quit my job before returning to my nemesis I really wasn’t ready to quit and I didn’t want to take the The Pack job because I had been smacked around two previous times and had no Grammys or Oscar nods to show for it. I was talking to a co-worker of mine about whether or not I was going to quit and we got in the elevator and a…well, she was part wildebeest and part Wampa…got into the elevator. As we talked we noticed there was a Grand Funk Railroad coming from this beast-tron that could have warped adamantium. When we got off the elevator and got in cars to get ready to go she asked if I was going to quit. The funk turned me completely around and I swore I would never come back. I came to work the next morning and something else happened (Involving an inbred cousin fucker but that is another story) and I decided that I had just about enough of that shit. LITERALLY.
Fast forward to February 24th, 2009. Since November 17th of last year I have been getting up between the hours of 4:45am and 5:30am to either take a bus for two hours or drive for an hour (Almost at 70,000 miles and I got my car brand new on Independence Day of 2005. That is BULLCRAP! But it is my own fault) to go to a job that barely pays me more than a job in Colorado Springs once you factor in transit, cost of parking (although the $2 lot works wonders if you don’t mind panhandlers and crackheads) and of course the White people but with nary a job in the CSP that makes you feel like getting a college degree makes you uppity and was a waste of time because the pay of the collective is the same for the good of the Borg. Needless to say, I am fricking annoyed by it but it was my choice and I am willing to live with it because all this shit goes away in May so I can put up with this crap for two more months. Or can I?
This morning, after a long ass bus ride next to a woman that smelled of baby powder and baby shit I showed up to work and my pet peeve occurred: White people began talking to me. Now I don’t give a fuck how much you LOVE YOUR COFFEE but I don’t. I drink coffee only when hanging out with Kasey or…that is about fucking it. Coffee is nasty and I don’t care how you dress that shit up, it is still ass brewed by the GOD DAMN CUP. Just because you have five cups before 8am doesn’t mean that I have and it SURE AS FUCK doesn’t mean that you can come to me after a two hour bus ride and four hours of sleep bouncing around like the Ice Age squirrel and asking me questions like “How are you?!” and “How was your weekend, big guy!” The simple answer is that I am at work which means I am not face down in a gutter next to a passed out stripper which means my weekend wasn’t that good and most importantly what I do is not your fucking business. I don’t CARE if you are interested in small talk. I don’t LIKE small talk. My weekend is my business and secondly I don’t care about anyone else’s weekend but because they ask you, in return you MUST listen to them because that’s the rules of workplace bullshit conversation. There is nothing wrong about not giving a shit about your co-workers. I think that it is best because it removes awkward situations later on. Man, irony…thy name is Chachi.
So anyway after sort of doing my own job I went to the bathroom and when I walked in…there was a stank of epic funkportions. I mean the grand scale of this smell was that of a non-consensual raping of the olfactory senses. I thought my ears were going to bleed and that is no lie. IT WAS 8:45 IN THE MORNING! I understand that some people hate pooping at home because they don’t want to mess up their OWN toilet but come the hell on. I really did not need that and now I am on the verge of tipping over a desk, turning on some Quiet Riot and screaming “I’M A LEAD FARMER, MOTHERFUCKER!” which would be…well, awesome. God…I really need to break free:
Aahh, Queen. If you don’t like Queen then you don’t know music.
So on a completely other note, can someone explain to me the phenomenon of women getting those ugly ass boots (Uggs I believe…which is supposed to be ironic but is actually damn stupid) and proceeding to tuck the pants legs in the boots? I mean…what? There was only ONE person that wore their pant legs in their boots that I can even remember and was over the age of nine and that was Napoleon Dynamite:
Yeah…no. Maybe I am out of touch with the times and don’t know what the kids think are the “bee’s knees” but I have been known to do a number on a few cats and know what is “funky fresh.” And ugly shoes aren’t it.
Lastly, this is going to be a separate post at some point once I let a calmer head prevail and write it from an objective point of view but there are three words that I throughally despise. Coming from a male or a female (Mostly female because…well, they aren’t people) these three words, sometimes one word and a contraction, are the most irritating and pointless words in the English language that when combined create the biggest indecisive cop-out since the time that MLB All-Star Game ended in a tie. No phrase garners more anger from me unless you toss in “you go girl” which someone from work used during a meeting and I wanted to beat her with her own ovaries but that is a process that requires a lot more work than I initially thought. The ovaries are kind of tucked away up there, near the duodenum. That phrase is…
IT’S COMPLICATED
This phrase is usually uttered to explain one of a few things:
1. An excuse for a situation you don’t want to accept is either your fault or a bad idea. This usually comes about by telling the lie of “it’s not my fault” when it so is because if you are doing anything that you have to say “it’s not my fault” at any point then there is a 81% chance it IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT…Bitch.
2. A phrase used to explain something you should have explained a long time ago but were too chickenshit to tackle and now it has come to a head and you are now forced to give a reason…and you fall back on it…Bitch.
3. A way to buy time after a really, REALLY bad choice or action when you really just don’t want to say “I am sorry and I fucked up” and you instead say “It’s so hard to explain! You don’t understand how I feel!” which is code for “Maybe I can confuse and lie my way out of this shit” which is just an asshole move all around…Bitch. Oh, and…Dick. Takes two people to lie to lie: one to lie and one to swallow.
4. Math. In everyone’s defense, math is hard and it sucks. It’s why the Jews and the Asians were brought over on the Mayistada Maria Flowertanic, right? Now that was a kick ass boat:
And just like me, it will be making another run. I will try to be back up tomorrow before the Countdown. Until then, peace out ya’ll.
Chachi Out
