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  • My first day as a soulless corporate shill

    By Christian A. Manson, Esq.


    Or, as I like to call it: selling out. Tell me, are these lobotomy scars REALLY obvious? Big shout out to my boy Hong for calling me Suit this afternoon. Nope, I weren't wearing one, but I was rocking a midnight blue shirt and a yellow fucking tye. Hey, I wear my clothes, my clothes don't wear me. I may not know how to tie me a tye, but I do know how to occasionally match colors. Tomorrow, I'm going with a purple shirt. No idea what sort of tye. I like to play some things as they come.

    Not real keen on the new gig. Spent today doing inventorying. Good Times. At least my new boss is fairly tolerable. And one of the other trainees (discount, so no; although...she's going back to Thunder Bay at the end of the week, so maybe) was flirting with me. Yeah, that happens a lot now. Sadly, the HB 7.5ish secretary that keeps floating around, teasing me with her perky little breastesses, doesn't seem to want to play with me. Yet. Not sure what her story is, although since my new boss (he's married; no it's not her) is friendly with her; I'll go all junior high and ask after her. Yeah, I care how it looks. Dude, whatever it takes to tap premium strange, I shall do. That's how I'm rolling now.

    Speaking of which, haven't heard back from the 20 year old yet after I told her how much I love the way women smell, feel and taste. Will give her another chance soon. I'm just like that sometimes.


    I'm out. Still have to eat 2X, call the 24 year old, and then go play volleyball in about 2 hours. Fuck but I miss working graveyards. And don't even get me started on how very much I hate daylight.

  • The shortest distance between 2 points

    Is an angle. Mull. Discuss amongst yourselves.


    This isn't just goodbye. This is 'I can't stand you'.


    Okay, so here's the thing...a 20 year old (I'm 34) that I'd exchanged e-mails with before the holidays, when she was off the market (hey, that's her BF's crisis, not mine; no pressure, we can just talk like regular folks) e-mails me the other day. Now, if memory serves (for once, instead of always being my master; curse you, eidetic memory!), I encouraged her to resume her musical career and various other refinements. What? It wasn't supplicating. I'd encourage anyfuckingbody that could play an instrument but had ceased doing so to resume same. Something about envy and the wasting of gifts/talent. Anyhoo, she's under the impression (folks will believe anything that you allow them to) that I'm a good conversationalist. So young, so naive, god (or whoever) bless her.

    Now, previously, I was in the dark as to her appearance/frame (again with the online dating dealio, as it's worked out well for me; I've Gone from 0 prospects and pining away for my one-itis to having several womenfolks to choose from), so it was easy to just chat with her; knowing it would never lead anywhere. It's so much easier to converse with those you have no interest in. Add that to the new agenda under which I operate: make a woman smile, make a woman laugh; and it = total relaxation, which only helps in the vibing and playful banter departments. So, as folks are sometimes wont to do, she asked what I do for a living. I'm menial labor, at least until tomorrow, and I don't like to bore folks with it. Nope, not ashamed of getting paid to work out, and I'm good at what I do, but it's the equivalent of asking a woman how much she weighs; as far as I'm concerned. So no.

    I told her that if she sent me a picture of her, I'd tell her what I do (I lied, yeah, I'm like that) for a living. But for now, all she needed to know was that I pleasure women professionally. She complied (and apparently, I had congruence with the 2nd part- yay, me!- as she asked if I was serious), picture-wise. And let's just say that, looks-wise, she's a premium. Which means that I'll likely do something I shouldn't (what? I'm still learning, fucking sue me!), and wouldn't have done wrong with a discount. Did I mention that she approached me initially? Alls I've got so far is asking her to play for me sometime. Fuck yeah, over the phone. How do I know she's not some kind of stalker? Said with a smile, naturellement.

    Fortuitously, I've another number I still have to call. A couple of other womenfolks I'm working. A chick that I Cubed dead on and, were I to but pick up the phone again, could likely nail. I start a new, daytime gig tomorrow morning. Anywhere from 2 to 4 premiums (and a discount for practice) to lay some groundwork with tomorrow night at volleyball. Another volleyball dealio the night after. And the chick I'm banging blows back into town from Banff sometime today. So I should be able to keep from focusing on trying to land the 20 year old. Which would, of course, kill any chances of ever landing said shapely young adorable forever. Ish.

    And I'll likely call the therapist again, just to see where her head's at. She never said not to and, like the man said, 'make the ho say no'; n'est pas?


    But really, all I'm looking for in a prospective partner is a woman that has a subscription to NBA League Pass. And will blow me whilst I watch my favorite teams in action. Then bring me food. Maybe my slippers and a pipe. That, my friends, is what it's all about. And not, rumors to the contrary, the Hokey Pokey. Sorry to burst your bubbles and/or shatter your innocence.


    So, I was watching the tale end of Detroit Rock City on IFC last night, and I'd forgotten how very amusing this movie, in fact, is. I'll likely watch it in its entirety later this a.m. Or, perhaps, buy the fucker. It's that good.


    All right, 4 NBA games on TV today and I have to clean the Manor and learn how to tie the plethora of tyes I actually possess by 6 a.m. MST tomorrow. For a job which I've been given, without actually being informed of any of the particulars. Nope, haven't actually accepted it yet. No matter what everyone else seems to assume. Noone's actually asked me. And, since I still don't know if I've gotten the moneys I asked for...you'd think that somebody would've. Enjoy your Sunday, y'all. LeBron vs. Nash and Marion at 1 p.m. EST on ABC.

  • Today is the worst you will ever be

    Sorry, that's the best I can do for y'all. You'll never be as goodly as I. Deal with it as best you can.


    When I grow up, I want to be Tom Brady. What? Nobody wins every game. Peyton Manning (go Vols!) was due. I think Brian Urlacher and Da Bears will triumph, though.

    Love Peyton's Master Card commercials, though.


    I didn't think it was possible for Kristen Bell to get any hotter. Until I watched last night's long anticipated new episode of Veronica Mars, one of the few shows on TV that's actually worth watching. And not just because of the hot young college snatch on the hoof, either. Well, okay, mostly.


    Watching the NHL All Star game introductions whilst typing. That Ryan Miller's got him some quality mop, don't he? Whatever. Boy can stop a puck, and that's all that matters. It's nice to see Sheldon Souray get voted in as a starter. Even though that can't possibly make up for losing his hot redheaded Playmate (or, perhaps, Penthouse Pet) wife. Angelica Bridges, if memory serves. Even though my beloved New Jersey Devils traded him away once upon a time.

    Nice to see The Wreckers (love me some Michelle Branch; okay, Jessica's pretty fine, too) sing the Star Spangled Banner. Where'd they find the chick what Operamanned the Canadian dealio, though? Okay, her hair was quite pullable. I like long, pullable hair.


    It appears that I've gotten the promotion that I applied and interviewed for. Yay, me! Where the trouble comes into Paradise is that the fella what supposedly hired me and announced same at a managers'-type meeting the very day after he told me that nothing had been decided as of yet is on holidays this week. So, I've no idea as to my salary or my bonus. When I actually begin said gig, although it's apparently sometime next week. Ish. What exactly I'll be doing, although I've actually some inkling on that one. Okay, I caved to peer pressure in taking this one. I'm not sure that I can deal with working days again. And don't even get me started on the cocksuckers what we call customers. Now, don't get me wrong, some of my best friends are cocksuckers, but that's a different story. As is having to train a Chinese guy (my boss told me he was Vietnamese) what can neither speak nor read English to do my menial gig. Yeah, THAT went well. Good Times. Fucking guy don't listen too well, either. All yeah yeah and then do whatever the fuck. Cool goggles, though.

    It'll be nice to not have to go to work after playing sports in the evening, though. That can make for a very long night. And there are nights when I've literally no idea how I make it to work Alive behind the wheel. Nope, not liquored-up, merely half asleep. Or is it half awake? Whatever. I'm sure y'all see where I'm going with this.


    Of late, I've been asking womenfolks for their most vivid Valentine's Day memory. Or, conversely, a time when a man flirted with and/or asked them out in a very charming way. I'm all about anchoring vivid and happy-like memories to thoughts of me. Some folks golf, this is what I do. Use either, both or none at your discretion.


    Sadly, it seems that the therapist no longer wishes to be my friend. Tragic. Her loss. I'll always value her for introducing me to Tolle's The Power of Now and for helping me to develop my new abundance mentality. Someday, perhaps our paths will cross again and I'll fuck her like an animal. Perhaps not. Que sera sera.


    Other than getting ''we need to talk'' from the geophysicist (it was nothing), I have Pimp Game on her. If Only she were a premium. Sigh. Oh well, one must begin somewhere, mustn't one? I still haven't spent dime one (other than gas money I'd have used anyway) on her. She pays for everything, even bought me shiny. I like shiny. Who doesn't, really? Last night I stopped in on my way home from volleyball to use her shower and have some coffee. Of course I fucked her. It was the least I could do. Especially since my turnaround/recovery time between time #1 and time #2 was roughly 10 minutes. Nope, THAT doesn't happen every day. Usually it's about 5. Anyway, other than a reluctance to give me head on demand (which I'll fix, dammit), she's extremely pliable. Agreeable, even.

    Since I was not really about the ''we need to talk'' talk, I went out and got me another chick's digits yesterday. Other than the fact that we both know I'm quite Cool, we don't really have much in common. Yes, there's a lot of that going around. Well, okay, we both enjoy watching One Tree Hill. Watch it yourself, just for Mouth, a perfect object lesson in whyfore one should never be the Nice Guy. Hot snatch abounds in Tree Hill, and my boy is always LJBF. Poor bastard.

    But, as usual, I digress. This woman's 10 years younger than I, was a cheerleader in high school (I also like to ask folks what they were like in high school), and seems comfortable with both her sexuality and the idea of sex with your humble narrator. Eliciting and repeating/rephrasing a woman's values and trance words fucking ROCKS! She keeps inviting me to a country bar so she can teach me to 2-step. Uh, no, such an experience is whyfore I've revamped my entire fucking existence lo these past 6 months and change. I hit rock bottom, AFC-wise, in such an environment after being there only to pursue one particular woman. Whom I never even spoke to that night. So no, not overly likely. At least not yet. Especially for a first outing. I'll simply have to offer a more creative alternative. I do that now. I kinda rock, actually. Hell, I'm even speaking with my one-itis like as though I were a real boy and everything. And yes, I bust on her, too. Next, once I get rid of these accursed coldsores (my current sticking point; 2 in one night!!!), I'ma do some work on the 3 premiums (possibly a 4th, although I'm not sure of our actual roster) on my new volleyball squad. Or just bang the discount on the squad (I've caught her checking out my ink a time or several) for something to do. The only thing better than pussy is strange pussy. Well, okay, oxygen and water ain't bad, either. And there are likely to be all sorts of hot college womenfolks on the teams we play (I've already seen several), since it's a league for and run by the University of Calgary's graduate students and all. Hopes remain high.


    All right, this has run longish and my train of blank's run its course. Catch y'all on the flipside.