It was a sunny, glorious Friday. It was a day meant to be taken as a vacation day, but alas, I had typing tests to conduct, expense reports to do and, you know, just generally be amazing. I was having a good hair day and my spray tan is still hanging in there, so you know, I was making the best out of the day. I packed a healthy lunch and off I went.
It pretty much all went down hill from there. I stopped and got a hot chocolate. I don't know why I do that, my guts hate hot chocolate. Unfortunately, my mind over-rules the gut. Somewhere, Dr. Food Nazi and her assistant the Cheese Whore are getting a cold chill. I just met with them yesterday and we had a plan. Well, they had a plan and I nodded like a bobble-head doll. This is a survivable minor set back. No worries.
Upon arriving at work, I opened my email and instantly went into a fit. Someone was being stupid already. It was only 8:05AM. Stupidity doesn't know time or place, so I threw my little fit and carried on. I can handle this. One of the guys that was supposed to show up for an interview called to say he was under the weather. Right. He sounded fine to me. He was under the weather all right, he was laying in the sun. I got $10 bucks that says he was. Loser. Then I opened an email from the personal trainer guy down at the gym, Mr. Ass Kicker, that I had arranged to start working with. He is a mild mannered guy, overall, but he does know how to make me walk like the Hunchback of Notre Dame after a workout. I told him Dr. Food Nazi wanted him to yell at me to make my work-outs more exciting. He said he was going to start yelling at his wife over the weekend to prepare. This guy is seriously dedicated. I'm in trouble.
In other news, the corn dog backpack saga continued today. The backpack that was abandoned with a ziplock bag full of corn dogs, a bunch of Mountain Dew and a boot-legged copy of Windows 7 was still hanging around, still stinking. We moved it down to the front desk where the daytime security guard, Fortress Enforcer, watched over it and tried to find it's owner. She was too scared to look inside herself. I think the rotting, meat-like substance inside made her nervous. What concerns me is, she is the security guard. She is supposed to be defending me while I work dilligently all day. What if those corn dogs or the Mountain Dew hold some sort of explosives inside? What if that boot-legged CD has some sort of government information? I just watched Ironman last night and I'm telling you, things get out of hand fast. I'm going to have to ask Fortress Enforcer to step up her game if she is going to wear that gray poly-blend uniform with pride. What is more disturbing is that Fortress Enforcer finally decided to throw the backpack away. The janitor dude, which I shall call "Janitor Dude," put it in his trash can and then went on break. When he came back, the backpack was gone. We can't find a friggin home for this thing for DAYS and now someone takes it out of the trash? What the hell? Now I'm really concerned. I think there was something sewn into the liner of the Bobba backpack. I think it had national security in there and now the streets aren't safe. The corn dogs were a distraction. That backpack was a mule. I know it.
The rest of my day progressed normally. Thong Betty came over and we talked about my underwear being knotted and so far up my butt I was about to lose my mind. This was figurative, of course, because I wear hipster briefs and they were fine. I was just trying to really illustrate how crabby I was. That's when Thong Betty told me I should wear a thong like her. I can't wear a thong. Who wants string up their butt? I can't do that. All day I would just be thinking about if that string is going to somehow cut me in half during the day, or if it's going to get stuck up there, or what if I pass gas and it's like when you are a kid and you put a fat piece of grass between your two thumbs and blow on it and it makes that farty-whistle like noise. You ever do that? Well, I have and I think butt floss, excuse me, a thong could have that effect. I mean, I'm not saying I sit at my desk and fart all day. That isn't it at all, but what if? You have to think about these things. People do not think about the ramifications of apparel anymore. This is how wedgies, camel-toe, nip-slips, blown out seams and unsightly panty lines happen. And, you've seen the people of Walmart. This is why people abandon their underwear in public restrooms. I think about these things. Look, I tried to wear a thong once. I wanted to be "sexy." Let me tell you, after 15 minutes, the only thing sexy about me was that I was ripping it off because it was making me angry. Really angry. Will says the pay-off wasn't worth it and he never wanted me to wear it again. Just knowing something was lurking in my butt-crack. It was too much. I don't know how women do it.
Anyway, I guess that's it. I better stop now, the thong thing has me all riled up.
It pretty much all went down hill from there. I stopped and got a hot chocolate. I don't know why I do that, my guts hate hot chocolate. Unfortunately, my mind over-rules the gut. Somewhere, Dr. Food Nazi and her assistant the Cheese Whore are getting a cold chill. I just met with them yesterday and we had a plan. Well, they had a plan and I nodded like a bobble-head doll. This is a survivable minor set back. No worries.
Upon arriving at work, I opened my email and instantly went into a fit. Someone was being stupid already. It was only 8:05AM. Stupidity doesn't know time or place, so I threw my little fit and carried on. I can handle this. One of the guys that was supposed to show up for an interview called to say he was under the weather. Right. He sounded fine to me. He was under the weather all right, he was laying in the sun. I got $10 bucks that says he was. Loser. Then I opened an email from the personal trainer guy down at the gym, Mr. Ass Kicker, that I had arranged to start working with. He is a mild mannered guy, overall, but he does know how to make me walk like the Hunchback of Notre Dame after a workout. I told him Dr. Food Nazi wanted him to yell at me to make my work-outs more exciting. He said he was going to start yelling at his wife over the weekend to prepare. This guy is seriously dedicated. I'm in trouble.
In other news, the corn dog backpack saga continued today. The backpack that was abandoned with a ziplock bag full of corn dogs, a bunch of Mountain Dew and a boot-legged copy of Windows 7 was still hanging around, still stinking. We moved it down to the front desk where the daytime security guard, Fortress Enforcer, watched over it and tried to find it's owner. She was too scared to look inside herself. I think the rotting, meat-like substance inside made her nervous. What concerns me is, she is the security guard. She is supposed to be defending me while I work dilligently all day. What if those corn dogs or the Mountain Dew hold some sort of explosives inside? What if that boot-legged CD has some sort of government information? I just watched Ironman last night and I'm telling you, things get out of hand fast. I'm going to have to ask Fortress Enforcer to step up her game if she is going to wear that gray poly-blend uniform with pride. What is more disturbing is that Fortress Enforcer finally decided to throw the backpack away. The janitor dude, which I shall call "Janitor Dude," put it in his trash can and then went on break. When he came back, the backpack was gone. We can't find a friggin home for this thing for DAYS and now someone takes it out of the trash? What the hell? Now I'm really concerned. I think there was something sewn into the liner of the Bobba backpack. I think it had national security in there and now the streets aren't safe. The corn dogs were a distraction. That backpack was a mule. I know it.
The rest of my day progressed normally. Thong Betty came over and we talked about my underwear being knotted and so far up my butt I was about to lose my mind. This was figurative, of course, because I wear hipster briefs and they were fine. I was just trying to really illustrate how crabby I was. That's when Thong Betty told me I should wear a thong like her. I can't wear a thong. Who wants string up their butt? I can't do that. All day I would just be thinking about if that string is going to somehow cut me in half during the day, or if it's going to get stuck up there, or what if I pass gas and it's like when you are a kid and you put a fat piece of grass between your two thumbs and blow on it and it makes that farty-whistle like noise. You ever do that? Well, I have and I think butt floss, excuse me, a thong could have that effect. I mean, I'm not saying I sit at my desk and fart all day. That isn't it at all, but what if? You have to think about these things. People do not think about the ramifications of apparel anymore. This is how wedgies, camel-toe, nip-slips, blown out seams and unsightly panty lines happen. And, you've seen the people of Walmart. This is why people abandon their underwear in public restrooms. I think about these things. Look, I tried to wear a thong once. I wanted to be "sexy." Let me tell you, after 15 minutes, the only thing sexy about me was that I was ripping it off because it was making me angry. Really angry. Will says the pay-off wasn't worth it and he never wanted me to wear it again. Just knowing something was lurking in my butt-crack. It was too much. I don't know how women do it.
Anyway, I guess that's it. I better stop now, the thong thing has me all riled up.
Fortress enforcer... I think I like that.
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