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  • Facebook

    Yes, that's right, kiddies...I'm now on Facebook. Search for Christian Manson (moi) and add me as a friend, should y'all so desire. Or not. Whatever. No. Fuck that. You'll do it anyway.

    And you'll damn well LIKE it. See, and folks say I can't be all sweet and charming. Like. You know.


    Shouldn't I just be myself?

    Nah. That only works in cartoons.


    Am I the only one that thinks Kim Possible is hot? Yeah, like YOU wouldn't bang her tight little cartoon ass.


    Pacman Jones. Don Imus.

    Fuck all y'all, I NEED the traffic. And yes, it's my kid. Any of y'all hoping to suckle from the teat of Anna Nicole's moneys can crawl back under whatever rocks you oozed out from underneath.


    A hearty much obliged to Jordon of http://www.pickuppodcast.com (love the site, love the podcasts; send me some free shit, what with me driving extra traffic to your site and all) for stopping by and for the kind words. If anyone out there in the ether is interested in increasing the knowledge...stop by the site. Download the archived podcasts. Learn. Grow. Be.


    So many folks out there just plain NEED killing and yet, Kurt Vonnegut dies? The world's a little bit more empty than it was yesterday.

    Like, for example, whoever decided to email a department supervisor and have him pull his entire, vast, department for me to inventory (ah, my glamourous new gig) all by my ownself. And folks wonder whyfore I've, like, NO use for my co-workers. Fucking nitwits. And yes, my back is always sore from carrying their monkey asses.

    And no, I've no idea why the stuckup HB keeps speaking to me all friendly-like. Perhaps my friendly demeanor. Uh, no. Not so much. Now that I know she believes in the palmistry, perhaps I'll run my ''you'll soon meet a tall, handsome stranger who will captivate you completely; oh, wait (points at self), that ship has sailed, hasn't it?'' routine on her soonest. Since we're, like, pals (did I miss a memo or something? I don't like her; I do, however, want to make her go ass to mouth...what can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic) and all.


    I'm off to see a man about the horse you rode in on. Enjoy your weekend, y'all.

  • Opening Day

    One of the infamous K's asked for the address to this little crime against humanity, so I thought I'd best perpetrate some new content on y'all.

    Not enough womenfolks look at me like I'm the opposite of civilization. Not even the one I've made Cry 2X. I make her qualify herself to me now by asking for stories. She's told me how she and her boy met. VERY Romeo et al. They were introed by friends and met at a restaurant with a group. I'd have guessed that they met on The Dating Game or some such.


    Somehow it just seems fitting that we've gotten a foot of snow since yesterday morning. As I was driving home from my soulless corporate drone-type gig Saturday p.m., I realized that was, in fact, the first weekend DAY I'd worked this millenium. And I died a little bit on the inside.

    But then I realized (it's not like I'm focused on, you know, driving or anything, so I have muy time for ''thinking'') that I have the good fortune of being home from work on Opening Day, with several games to select from, viewing-wise. And I cheered right up. Sometimes, it really don't take much to shift one's state, does it?

    How long until the next steroids scandal? And whom shall it be?


    Tonight's also the final game of the NCAA Final Four. Nope, not going to give any of y'all the unfair advantage of prognosticating the outcome (always select the team I feel will lose). Well, okay, it's mostly because I've NO idea who's playing. Once UNLV and Tennessee got the axe, I lost all interest in proceedings.


    Why is it that AFC's are always trying to beta me in front of their (I presume, I usually can't be bothered to inquire) chicks? Last week, I arrived home early from work to be greeted with a group of 3 try-hards and 3 chicks, only one of which was even fuckable. I was nattily attired in my usual workday outfit of my big boy clothes, and not bothering anybody; simply looking to return rapidly to the safety of the Fortress of Solitude I like to refer to as Stately Deranged Manor. Anyway, one guy asks me where I work, because I apparently look like I work for Wal Mart. I roll with it, because I give a fuck what this assclown (is that one word or 2? no matter) thinks of me. Nope, close. Maybe Someday I'll work my way up to that. And I went on my merry way.

    Perhaps it was because of this: my discount friend-with, who apparently makes even more $ that I'd suspected, has offered to take me to Las Vegas for my birthday next month. Uh, no. Because a) I still lack a passport and 2) I'll NEVER take another woman to Las Vegas again. A hard lesson, but an invaluable one.

    Or perhaps this: the shapely yet quite angry Cosmetics supervisor at our store, whom everybody else seems to be afraid of and are always referring to as a bitch; always flirts with me and was also quite intrigued by my little tale of marital woe. However, since she won't help her guy friends hook up...she's pretty much useless to me. Other than practice, of course. Frame 8.5-9. Face 5-6. Income way too low. Yeah, that's how I'm rolling now. I refuse to dip my pen in the company ink. Don't get me wrong, I'll bang anything attractive at work that'll spread for me, but I won't use our ink. I kinda doubt we even have an inkwell, anyway.

    Last week, I was assigned a cute, naive 18 year old out-of-town trainee. And folks wonder whyfore I've got Temptation (in one of its forms) tattooed on my shoulder. This girl believed everything I told her. Hell, I think she believes everything ANYONE tells her. Where the trouble came into Paradise on this one was that she was still hung up on the material; she was always whining about not having a BF and never having a guy chase her; and, again, she makes way too little for me to bother with her. So, despite obvious receptivity and the fact that she lives maybe an hour and a half drive away...she emerged relatively unscathed. I did, however, have some fun with her. All that matters is that my goals of make a woman smile, make a woman laugh were more than attained.


    I'm quite excited about the new Tarantino/Rodriguez flick, Grindhouse. I do believe I'ma leave the Manor and check this one. I highly advise all y'all to do likewise. It's been too long.


    Anyway, 15 minutes until the first game, so I'm out. May Monday not treat you like the wrong end of a back alley gang rape. Because I care.