Job applications

I've never actually applied for a "real" job, but I've filled out a ton of applications for retail places and stuff like that. There's always that section that freaks me out. The one where I think they are secretly doing some kind of psychological test on me and I get hired depending on how I answer a single question. Some examples from an application I just filled out:

1. You felt you were always treated fairly in your previous jobs.
I checked "yes," but I wanted to check "no." It kind of sucks that you can't explain. If you ever worked for my first boss at the paper, you'd know why. He was a piece of shit. He made me do all kinds of crap jobs nowhere related to my job title. I was a reporter that often found himself pumping out the rain water from the loading dock hole thingy. See? I don't even know what it's called. Bana can back me up here. I think he made her get him coffee or something. He would also make crude remarks about how huge my wang must be. Ok, not really, but if he had, he'd be fairly accurate, ladies. WUH-HOOOO!

2. You think you deserve more than you get.
This one seemed pretty self-explanatory, but I thought too much about it. I mean sure, I probably deserve a little more, but more out of what? Life? Everybody deserves a little more out of life. A bed, for instance. I hear those are nice. A girlfriend who looks like Amy Lee and enjoys a well-crafted poop joke. A raccoon vaccine so that fluffy little fella with his adorable bandit mask would still be with me today. Everybody deserves more, probably, unless you're Paris Hilton or somebody like that. I didn't want to check yes, though, because I didn't want to make it seem like I have some crazy sense of entitlement or something. I'm sure that's not what they meant, but I didn't want to take any chances.

3. You've done your share of trouble making.
This question was retarded. Who would answer yes to this question? I'm sure they're not talking about good-hearted scampery. I wouldn't even qualify for this one anyway. I'm the most boring person in the world. They only trouble I've ever caused anyone was to the occasional buffet owner.

4. Other people's problems are their problems only.
I didn't know how to answer this one either. I clicked "disagree" or whatever. I like helping people out with their problems. I've always wanted to be a counselor. I think it would be kind of fulfilling to see someone through a bad time. I hope they didn't mean "you always get in other people's shit, you nosy bastard."

5. If you could do one thing in life, what would it be?
I wrote, "My cousin. The one with the big boobs." I know what you're thinking, but it's ok. I'm in Nacogdoches. That shit flies here. Flies like an arrow.

Anyway, I had a dream about this job. It's my destiny to work at this place. More on that if I actually get the job. I think I should. I had all the needed experience. We'll see, though. If I don't get this job, however, anybody in the market for a kidney? Maybe a testicle? They're in mint condition.

(Completely unrelated, but would anybody know where I could get a St. Benedict Medal? I'm not Catholic, but I kinda want one. I don't want to buy a religious symbol-type thing on ebay, though. Also, would a priest think it was weird if I got it blessed seeing as I'm not Catholic? Just curious.)

When one door closes, another nakeder door sometimes opens, Katharine

My love affair with Katharine McPhee is well documented (mostly in the pages of my Strawberry Shortcake diary I keep tucked under my pillow.) According to the superficial, she got dropped by her record label.

That kinda sucks to see someone's dream dashed just as quickly as it began. If you need a shoulder (or other body part) to cry (or do other things) on, I'm your guy, Katharine. But speaking of dreams, here's a dream I have for you. Maybe it's time for you to do other things. And by "other things," I mean me. It's time to do me, Katharine. I think I've earned it. Enough with this whole singing charade. Yeah, I saw you sing the National Anthem the other day at the Patriots game. That was cute and all, but seriously, it's time to move on from the singing thing. Ooh...you could do porn! That's respectable and they make a lot of money probably. I bet you'd be great. Oh, and that whole eating disorder thing you used to have...yeah, maybe you should get back on that. Nobody likes a chubby porn star, Katharine.

A step above homeless

So I moved out of Hardin. I loaded up my truck (or in this case, Cobalt) and moved to the Beverly Hills of Texas: Nacogdoches.

I haven't had a chance to move my bed here yet since I don't know anybody with a truck that's willing to move shit for me out of the kindness of their heart, so I bought an air mattress. A wise investment, I thought at the time of purchase, but that seems to not be the case at all. I can't find an air pump that fits the hole on the mattress. So now the air mattress resides in the corner of my very sparsely furnished room, deflated along with my hopes of getting a good night's sleep in the next few weeks.

My room looks like a homeless man lives there. There's a pile of clothes in the corner. Some folded, most not. I haven't had a chance to move a dresser either and the previous occupant of the room still has a lot of his shit in the closet. No hurry or anything, RICHARD. There's a weight bench that I can't even pretend with a straight face belongs to me 'cause if it did, that's where my clothes would be. Might as well get some use out of it.

There's also a makeshift bed fashioned out of a Steelers' blanket, two pillows and a comforter. That's right. I'm a grown man who is sleeping in what basically amounts to a man-nest. Maybe I don't want to use the word "man-nest." Sounds a little gay. You know, I thought things would go a little something like real bed: inflatable woman, inflatable bed: real woman. So far they aren't working out that way.

I'll fix it, though. Thanks for reading a really boring post. Stay tuned to see what kind of wacky situations I get myself into here in the "oldest town in Texas." Probably none, but I'll make something up. Like the time I kissed a girl. Wooooo......

Thank God for American Gladiators. I was getting pretty tired of masturbating to Little People, Big World

Dear Venom,

I'm pretty sure I love you. I don't know what it is. Maybe it was the way you manhandled that little Filipino woman. Maybe it was that no-handed cartwheel thingy you did right before you smashed that lady in the face. I'm not sure what it was, but I felt something, Venom. I had a funny feeling inside (and also in my pants.) Was it love? Who's to say? I'm pretty sure you felt it too, despite the fact the show was probably taped a long time ago.

I bet some guys are intimidated by you. I'm not, though, my little cupcake. If I discriminated against every woman that could kick my ass, well, I would be dating even less than I am right now, so I would be dating in the negatives. No, I'm not intimidated at all. I can see us walking hand in hand through the mall on our way to watch a movie. I bet a romantic comedy. Something tells me you like those. We'd stop by GNC so you could pick up your supplements. If some jackass was talking during the movie, you could kick his ass for me. It'd be a perfect relationship.

I'm even willing to overlook your flaws. Say we're having sex and your roid rage kicks in and maybe you bloody my nose. That's fine. I'm sure I'll cry and cower in the corner for awhile until your anger subsides, but you know what, Venom? Tears and blood, well...they dry. You know what would ever go dry? Our love, Venom. Our love. Plus, I'd be pretty pumped to finally get non-bribed consent.

So let's make some half-fat, half-super strong babies, Venom. Whattya say? Take a chance. You don't need that American Gladiators show. Our love will see us through. You can move to Texas and we can start a happy home here. And sometimes, when you're in the mood, maybe we can joust a little, if you know what I mean. Just me, though. If you have a jousting stick, well...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there, I guess.

I think this is a solid move for us, Venom. Just give it some though. If you really aren't interested, though, um...could I get Hellga's number?

Thirst Quencher

"Let's see. We've got o.j., cola, purple stuff, and *gasp* Unfortunate Turtle! Thanks, Mom."

"Unfortunate Turtle: the good stuff kids go for."

Some things...

It seems people thought my last post was in some way meant to be mean spirited. That's just not the case. Wishing horrible things on people I barely/don't know at all is just one of my adorable little quirks. It was all in fun. I love each and every one of God's creations. That's mostly the truth.

Also, the picture in my banner is photoshopped. I wish I was that skinny and stylish.

Have a great weekend. My life hangs in the balance. If the Steelers lose to Jacksonville, well, it might just be time to try that mint-flavored draino I've had my eye on.

On an unrelated note, Rhona Mitra...hottest woman in the world? It's a solid maybe. Aside from my good friend Bana, of course.

On yet another unrelated note, this is why the internet was made. It's not really a game, but it's fun for some odd reason. I don't do drugs, but if you do, I highly recommend this.

Awww...she thinks she's shopping. Adorable and not at all a FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO ME.

I'm in wal-mart this morning after staying up all night and then driving to my eventual new home some two plus hours away. I was a bit groggy and I just wanted to get the shit that I needed (mostly Dr. Pepper and toilet paper) and get back to the apartment and take a nap. But I kept getting behind the same, dare I say, cunt of a mother and her idiot daughter. I don't just go throwing the c-word around thoughtlessly. I only use it in extreme cases of pissedoffedness. Today was one of those days.

This stupid lady was letting her daughter walk next to her pushing her own little plastic shopping cart. Cute and all, but they were walking EXTREMELY SLOW and taking up most of the aisles. I got behind them at least three times. I'm a pretty patient person, too, but today I almost lost it. What's the point? Does she drive a little mini car next to her mom when she drives? Maybe eat some plastic food while the adults eat real food? Just push the big cart. I don't care. Just MOVE.

If her mom wants to buy her something fake to prepare her for her future, then maybe she should buy her a little plastic penis that gives her money after she plays with it. That's right. Through my powers of wishing bad shit on people, I'm hoping that her daughter becomes a whore. Not a clean whore, either. Not a discriminate whore. I hope in her later years she has sex with dirty, homeless men with old, musty balls for money, and not much money at that. Mere dollars. Maybe she runs away from home in her teens and a few years later, her father, feeling a little down and possibly drunk decides to pick up a prostitute. Despite the fact that she looks familiar to him he decides to throw caution to the wind and do her anyway. "That'll be $7," she says to him after they're done. "That's really cheap," he says to himself, "and a little odd she didn't take the money up front. Wow. She must really be a dirty whore." Then a cold chill runs over him as he realizes that he may have just had sex with his estranged daughter. No, that couldn't be. She would have recognized him, right? Not with the amount of drugs she was on and the exposure to the elements, you know...being a whore and all. After he gets home, he looks at a picture of his daughter and slowly begins to realize that the super cheap prostitute he just encountered actually was his daughter. He makes love to his wife one last time before hanging himself with his belt from the bathroom door. Facing a life alone and penniless (her husband was the bread winner. She was a homemaker whose sole joy in life was taking her daughter to wal-mart with her fucking plastic shopping cart) she decides that maybe she can hit the dating scene again after she mourns her husband and the fact that her life is ruined. Maybe she can find a nice man to take her away from all this. But what's this strange rash? It's a rare strain of donkey herpes most likely transmitted from her daughter through her husband. She realizes she can't go on anymore and decides to shoot herself. But in another unfortunate series of events, the bullet fails to kill her and only damages the portion of her brain responsible for controlling her bowel. With all the stress she's been under, she develops a nasty case of IBS. She's forced to live out her days in a home, violently and painfully pooping several times a day without warning. Also, she lives to be the oldest woman in history with each day's poopings more violent and painful than the last until she finally passes away from natural causes. On her death bed she wonders what she had done to deserve a life so shitty. "It must have been the shopping cart and that time I annoyed that incredibly handsome man in wal-mart with my daughter's antics," she says to herself.