Monday, August 29, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Sweetie - Nana's uterus fell out, call home.
So can you blame me for not paying more attention to the (contractor) that appeared by his name on these recent e-mails? Of course not. I got an e-mail this morning with just my name in the subject line, and I knew there was trouble:
I felt really bad about it, but I know Nathan, and I know he was secretly loving every second of it. Here's how I imagine it going down. I picture John Houseman as Nathans' boss. For Nathan, let's say Steve Buscemi. Not so much that he looks like him, because he doesn't. And he's way too old. Let's not use Steve Buscemi. Corey Feldman. Everyone can find something to like in that.
friendly reminder: this is a work account so please no
naughty subjectlines, please? You almost got me canned today,
"Mr. H___? Ah yes, ah Mr. H___, may I see you in my office for a moment? Yes, go ahead and bring your bag with you, don't bother setting it down..."
"Oh... what's up?"
"Mr. H___, are you familiar with our institution's code of conduct, specifically the rules and regulations concerning proper use of the equipment and facilities, vis-a-vis, the transmission of pornographic material through company computers?"
"Oh, uh... well, I read it of course. When I was hired. I read it then. What about it?"
"Mr. H___, we intercepted an e-mail this morning addressed to you, containing pornographic content."
"That can't be right. I don't use work e-mail for that."
(Boss gets up, walks around desk, and shoves a piece of paper under
Nathan's nose. Nathan reads it, and stifles a giggle.)
"Really? Then tell me, Mr. H___, in what capacity does your job require you to know that 'sometimes my balls feel like tits'?"
Friday, August 12, 2005
It is He who is the one called I am.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Please forget about that ugly-ass poster.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Sometimes Google News has a good sense of humor...
and sometimes it doesn't know when to take a break.
In other news, I suppose this probably throws a pretty big wrench into the works for theV for Vendetta movie.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
If you lose a fight to a midget, you become one.
So I moved a couple of months ago. My new place isn't too bad. I'm paying about $200 less for about one and a half times the space. It's in worse shape than my other apartment, but I prefer to think of it as having character. I live near the square in Denton now, and it's sort of like, if it wasn't for the people who live here, this place would be a total ghetto shithole. But there seems to be a good mix of students and hipster doofuses. It's like Brooklyn.
There's a girl who lives across from me who must be a music major, since the first week I was here, I was getting ready to leave the house, when I heard the ice cream man driving by. I opened the door,and realized that the music was actually coming from her pad next door, via the Good Time Denton Dixieland band practicing. But it's not so bad. It comes through my bathroom almost crystal clear, and I find it quite relaxing while on the pooper.
From the giant boner with a cheesburger on the end department:
Went to see Batman Begins last week. On IMAX, no less. It was awesome, and I reccommend it heartily. The only thing I didn't care for was something that's bothered me for a while about Christian Bale, though I haven't pinpointed it until now. I think whenever he tries to do an American accent, his mouth makes this weird puckery pout, and it kind of gets on my nerves. Of course, when he's kicking the living bejeezus out of people, it's not so bad. I really couldn't think of a thing that I didn't like about it, but of course, I thought the same thing when I saw the first Spider-Man, and I think I've only watched that once since I first saw it in the theater.
Fantastic Four is probably going to really blow goat.
From the leakage through seven layers department:
I had to go get my food handlers' certification not too long ago. The health department came for their annual inspection, and were a little concerned that none of us working at the store were certified. So we all had to go watch an instructional video, and fill out a pop quiz. The video was a bunch of little instructional videos, covering food handling/safety topics, all produced by one of the worst dinner theater groups I've ever seen. When explaining about fecal-hand-oral transmission (or as the black guy in the video kingfished, "Is dat when you get the boo-boo on yo' hand after you wipe?" Swear to God.), and how there can be leakage through seven layers of toliet paper, the 'doofus' character pipes up, "From now on, I'm going to use EIGHT layers. Ha HA!" The black guy then inexplicably loses the accent and offers, "Why don't you just wash your hands?"
And, here's a real sample question from the test:
Pests and insects need:
A) Warm, dark places to breed
B) Immediate extermination
C) Love and tenderness
D) Both A and B
Don't eat in Denton County.
From the world's sexiest granny department:
A woman in her sixties came into the coffee shop the other day. She clearly had tremendous amounts of work done, as her face was pulled impossibly tight, though still peppered with liver spots. She took care of herself it seemed; her arms were actually pretty cut, and she was very trim and small waisted. Of course, it could have just been an optical illusion created by her MASSIVE FAKE TITS. And when I write MASSIVE FAKE TITS, I do not exaggerate. If I had a child, I would swear upon it's head that each of her breasts were literally the size of a small bowling ball. They were just perfectly round and quite pendulous, due to the fact that she didn't feel like wearing a bra under her tiny tank top that barely contained her MASSIVE FAKE TITS. She was a mee-milf. I'm usually pretty quick on my feet with odd situations, but I was at loss. I'm a boob man, and this was blowing my tiny world apart. I couldn't help but look, but I'd immediately get totally fouled out and look up, but that screaming skull of a face would freak me out too much and I'd go back to the jubblies, starting the cycle all over. Afterwards, I fainted.
From the Doobie Brothers used to be called 'Pud' department:
The last gig went off really well. I wouldn't hesitate to say it was our best yet. People actually showed up, though I'm sure it wasn't specifically for us. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to genuinely dig us. We made eight bucks from the door, which was quite the windfall, seeing as how none of us have ever made money from a band before. The japanese dudes were SO good live, and I didn't even notice that they only played two songs until they were almost done. Those boys PLAY. Plus, they liked us well enough to ask us to play with them again when they come back in the fall. So, we've got that going for us, which is good.
The japanese dudes were funny as hell too. Their english could be described as broken, at best. It couldn't even really qualify as engrish, since some words would come out clear as a bell, while others sounded like some odd collision between esperanto and every other language known on the planet. The bass player talked the most, and told us about what it was like touring in a different country. According to him, it's a major hassle to find any kind of drugs in Japan, so they really like coming to America and just constantly getting wrecked. We asked him about where they were headed to next, and he told us they were playing in Oklahoma the next night. We expressed our sympathies, though he really didn't understand. He finally caught our drift and asked, "Many... red neck?" More than he could imagine.
And finally, the band is changing our name, sort of. Magnets by itself is a little generic, and we never really used the asterisk the way we had intended, so we decided to change the name to Anti-Magnets. I'm okay with it, so long as I don't have to try and explain it. There's not really an impetus behind the name, as far as I know, and I sound like an asshole when I try to concoct some kind of meaning. And I've got enough trouble not sounding like an asshole as it is.