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  • I Remember...

    I think. I forget.


    What the fuck is a Jonas Brother? I think that's their name, I was kinda listening to the American Music Awards last night, whilst checking my pools and doing me some homework (any time spent at home should be devoted to improving oneself in some small way; daily); when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a gaggle (you'll see why soon, wait for it) of hot teenage groupies (see, I told you it'd be worth it...back up, reread and use your imagination, I am) burst out of nowhere, storming the stage.

    Now, being an afficionado (it's called a vocabulary; I ain't a Criminal, I can read, bitch) of hot teenage snatch on the hoof, I was intrigued by all the hubbub. What or whoever could all this fuss be about? Alas, like a child on xmas, disappointment ruled the day: it was just 3 chumps. Although, I must say that the Jack White wannabe guy likely gets all the pussy (he's got that vibe), with the other 2 merely pulling his leftovers. This will inevitably lead to dissension in the ranks and their can't be too soon dissolution. Hopefully with a murder/suicide dealio thrown in for good measure.

    What can I say? 'Tis the season to be jolly. Fa la la and all the rest of it.

    And yes, the Beyonce partial duet with them other folks did kind of frighten me a little.


    I ran into The One in my parking lot yesterday, as I attempted to park, upon returning home from my dreary career (and yes, I have managed to convince some of my coworkers that I moonlight as a gigolo; god (or whoever) bless you ''back off honey, that shit ain't free''). Now I haven't seen her (for those of y'all what haven't been following my misadventures- shame on you- I wasted 2 years pining away for her once upon a time) since the summer, so I was surprised, to say the least. Caught off guard, even. She approached me (nope, I don't bother women in darkened parking lots, that's simply how I roll) and I was able to fluff talk with her just like a real boy. She and her fella will be in LV, staying at the Luxor (as I am next week), on New Year's Eve, should anyone wish to see what could make an alpha like I go totally beta.

    And yes, she still looks fine. Still needs bigger tits, though.

    Did I mention that the theory of forgetting one's one-itis by going out and banging half the phonebook TOTALLY works?


    I was dismayed to discover that the ''that's it, we're breaking up'' gambit doesn't really work on foreign chicks all that well. I'm trying to pull a shapely East Indian (I think, which may be part of the problem, I should fucking KNOW) coworker, and drawing a complete blank. Nope, I won't dip my pen in the company ink. BANGING coworkers, however, is an entirely different fable. Anyway, my new fave approach (which has gotten me quite good results since it's adoption; yeah, like I ever come up with anything on my own, y'all know me better than that) seems to have lost something in the translation. However, IOI's remain frequent and hopes remain high. Back to the drawing board I go. Especially since I discovered yesterday that she's in the process of learning to become a financial advisor. Always let her babble on and on about what interests HER. She'll think you a great listener.

    Or not. Whatever. Life is all about learning. The journey, not the destination. Maybe I'll just ask if she's on Facebook, my latest twist on the ''do you have e-mail?'' approach (thank you, David D.), which is much less obvious than ''what's your phone number?'' If all else fails, I suspect I can use one of the other supervisors to get me Closer to her. Why, yes, I'm totally a user. Isn't everybody?


    Speaking of Facebook, I've managed to reconnect with an old friend from the old days, the woman I once offered to marry so she could get Canadian citizenship (I really need to dust off that story again, as it totally DHV's me and portrays me as a decent guy who has women friends; especially the part wherefore alls I asked in return was that she be, essentially, my houseboy, with no sexual strings attached whatsoever). Love me some Facebook. Need to use it more effectively. Find friends with hot female friends and get them to hook me up. Again, user. Anyway, I miss (yes, I do have feelings, too; my inner child is such the chick and yes, she likes other chicks) going for lunch and the occasional matinee with her. None of my other friends had similar schedules that permitted such things. 5 (ish) years is a long time to go without speaking with someone.

    Wow, THAT was deep. Well, I'm off to call the pseudo-GF and take full advantage of this unpleasant mood I currently find myself in. Maybe it's just my time of the month. Maybe it was seeing The One again. Maybe it was Only getting to spend 20 minutes with my pops on Saturday afternoon (he drove down to bring my plane ticket and save me a trip home) because I was at work. Maybe it's me not being able to get transferred out of a shitty branch office (morale sucks; unfortunately, the shapeliest supervisor I hang with is the GF of a good friend, and I do have the odd principle, so I merely practice on her, treating her like (and calling her) my bratty little sister) and finding out that the new boss I plan to fuck is married. Which means extra work.

    I hate extra work.

  • The end is the beginning is the end

    Or is it somewhere in between? Whatever. Or, to coin my new favorite phrase, ''don't care''.


    Women all want to blow the quarterback. Or big man on campus, as the case may be. The more powerfully you come across, the better the blowjobs you'll receive. And the better you'll come across.


    You don't seem to see very many Michael Vick-starring commercials anymore, do you?

    Except, of course, those for the SPCA. PETA, maybe.


    What do you call a groupie for the Toronto Maple Leafs?

    A Leafblower.

    Sorry, the grounds crew is using said apparatus out and about on the grounds of Stately Deranged Manor this fine autumn day. Made it damn difficult to partake of my beloved afternoon nap, it did. What with 'inspiration' dealing me that sharp blow to the base of my pretty little skull and all.


    On the good news tip: it seems that the as fine as fine could ever hope to be 90's songstress Toni Braxton is performing at the Flamingo casino and resort (tasty buffet, limited selection) in less than 3 weeks when I, my ownself, will be in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. And, with our pretty colored Canadian moneys being temporarily (likely until I actually AM in the United States; just to, you know, warn y'all) worth more than USD, how could I not go?

    Song of the Day: Babyface featuring Toni Braxton- Give U My Heart. If you've seen the video, you know. Hell, I ain't even seen it myself in years, and I STILL wish I was 'face in this one.


    Yes, I use the ''80% of women masturbate in the shower and 20% sing- do you know what song they sing most?'' opener. Doesn't everybody?


    I'm currently mulling exactly how to go about telling the born again Christian-type once upon a time one-itis I recently tracked down on Facebook that I've since become an officially ordained minister. And I'm still mildly upset that the gay couple that works for me (don't ask) didn't ask me to officiate their betrothal.

    Some folks have financial or relationship worries. I've always strived (striven? strove? don't care) to be just a smidge different. Like. You know.


    Work continues to suck.

    Although I'm doing my bestest to hook one of my staff up with a REAL job. Seems he's some sort of mechanical engineer. Turns out that I know folks from 4 different companies that employ such creatures and may, in fact, be looking for more of these mythical beasts. I'd hate to lose him but I totally need the good Karma of hooking him up.

    The other night, whilst on a 4 a.m. smoke break, another fella and I got to chase some punkass kid away from the cars in our parking lot. Seems this little bastard was lurking around a nondescript sedan (not mine, fortuitously for him), preparing to break in and/or vandalize said automobile. Rather than the expensive, high profile ride parked maybe 20 feet away. Actually, that was the smartest thing he did. There's a lot less chance of attracting unwanted attention in a generic stolen car. Naturally, I claimed the time the 2 of us spent walking the store's perimeter as exception hours under labour management.

    Got a visit from 5-0 one night this past week. We switched alarm companies at work and nobody bothered to acquire new alarm codes. Naturally, I gave the alarm company the only code I had (in another person's name; a fella what was on Vacation). Naturally, they sent the police a-callin' and called the store managers at 0330. My new boss got to spend 45 minutes therein explaining that I did, in fact, belong there. Anyhoo, when the police asked my name (my identification was safely ensconced in my locker upstairs) and ran me, NOTHING came up. Not even my driver's licence.Ah, the simple and timeless beauty and freedom of not actually, you know, existing. Song of the Day Redux- Underworld: Underneath the Radar.

    It seems that I owe my new MILF boss dinner, as I begin working days (ish) on Friday. So I've been off since Tuesday morning until Friday a.m. Good Times. She bet me dinner (her clever yet transparent way of asking me out?) that she'd get me off (do with that as y'all will) nights. She's been gloating of late about how she's new in town and hasn't been to any of Calgary's restaurants yet. Naturally, I've informed her that Taco Bell (love love LOVE me some Taco Bell) is exactly the same everywhere. For some reason, my non-supplicating ways (could it be (gasp!) charm?) have rubbed off on her the right way. And soon, I will be, too. Most of the other supervisors fear and despise her and are seeking transfers (Now, don't get me wrong, I ACHE for a transfer, too, but not because of her.). I, on the other paw, am looking to grudgefuck her, just to see her big titties a bobblin'. Not because I myself hold a grudge against her but because everyfuckingbody else does. Again, good Karma. She even seeks my advice (yeah, me, the voice of reason) about the store and its personnel. And yes, she's asked me about the meaning behind some of my tattoos.

    In its infinite wisdom, my faceless corporation has decided that all department (mine did $735000 in sales last week and, yes, I'm kinda proud of that; and yes, I'm quite unthrilled that the end result was no extra cash moneys for me and less hours for the new staff what got us to that point) supervisors and store managers have to be trained in how to operate the cash registers. Yes, even I. Yeah, like I'M the guy you want handling money and dealing that closely with the the public. Me, the guy what'll cross a busy highway just to kick you when you're down. During our impromptu staff meeting yesterday, I received a round of applause when I inquired if we could claim any time spent training on and/or operating the registers as exception hours. Despite almost always thinking about getting into the box, I am quite capable of thinking outside same. And yes, I'm feeling this little Scenario as being an increase in my personal social proof.

    Recently, as I was completing a 13 hour shift, I happened across a couple of my daytime staff (one was full time and, thus beyond my wrath, although he's apparently asked for a transfer; fucking union!) doing essentially sweet fuck all. Together. Damn near holding hands. In the dairy cooler. Naturally, I put one (heretofore to be referred to as Pussy) on another task, stocking the frozen foods. Naturally, he was half-assing his way in the general direction of the sales floor with the pallet of product I'd selected for him to work. So, enabler what y'all know I kinda am, I assisted him by pushing the pallet he was pretending to attempt to pull at the speed a grown folks would move it. Which was apparently too fast for him and hurt his feelings. At which point he told me to do it myself. At which point I told him if he wasn't past his probationary hours, he was fired. He then told me (manly man doing manly things what he kinda is) he was running off to tattle on me to a store manager. Back up and reread that, should any of y'all think YOUR staff is difficult. Anyway, he took the elevator (!!!!!) the 1 (!!!!!) floor upstairs to find me already informing said store manager that he was done. At which point he got all emotional, threatened to quit and burst into tears. My sensitive ponytail guy-type response was 'fuck 'em, let him go'. Fucking sissy. Sadly, she didn't accommodate him in his desire to leave. But her heart was in the right place.

    Yes, that's right, your humble narrator beta-ed some chump to the point that said chump burst into tears like a little bitch with a skinned knee and shit (the exact phrasing, sans profanity, that I used to describe the incident for my new boss). Some days, it really DOES pay to get out of bed.

    Maybe I'll take my new boss on a Walmart (since we don't have Target here, yet) date. In lieu of the dinner I owe her. Under the pretext of scouting the competition. Dating's (ie. expensive dinners, concerts, et al) for women you're already fucking, after all. A hard lesson, well earned. And it'll give me the op to work on my sticking point of my adversion to kino. What can I say, my family's never been much for the hugging and such.


    I'm off to pine for November 21. When The Mist and Hitman hit the big screens. Somehow, the 15 or 20 minutes I'd intended to devote to this has become damn near 2 hours. You're welcome.