Oh What a Wonderful Morning...

Now I am not one to write blogs about what goes in my life, mainly because I can not stand to read other peoples daily update on their life. But I’d bet dollars to doughnuts (mmmm doughnuts) that you are wondering what I am doing. Well, seeing as I am just all around awesome guy, I’ll fill you in. Right now, as I type this, I am absolutely miserable. I’d rather be watching Hilary Clinton finish off Newt Gingrich while listening to Ashlee Simpson sing the background music than be where I am right now. That’s how bad this is. I am currently involved in one of the worst things ever invented, a conference call. Conference calls are just awful. Granted, I hate meetings. A lot. But conference calls are 13 times worse; perhaps verging on 14, but as of right now, suggesting 14 times worse would be just plain silly. See, in a meeting, much like being in a class, I have visual stimulation in the form of the female physique. The most sexually stimulating thing I have to look at in my office, is my bobble head of 2004 Golden Glove recipient, Cesar Izturis. On this conference call I have to listen to some dimwit speak about a subject that I couldn’t care less about, while staring at my fucking phone. As interesting as that sounds, let me tell you, it isn’t.

I apologize for the slight tangent; let me get back to how miserable I am right now. It doesn’t help that I absolutely hate conference calls, but this is one that I can’t leave in the middle. My manager is, dutifully, paroling the office to make sure everyone is in on the call. Which bothers me. Cause right now, I really need to poop. Sure, I could have heeded her suggestion of utilizing the little boys room previous to the call, but I didn’t need to poop then. I need to poop now. And I can’t. And I am very upset about this. My buttcheeks are quite taut. If you placed a piece a coal in my butt right now I’d be willing to bet that, once I am relieved from this malediction my company has hexed me with, I will be shitting diamonds. Which, doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, cause I like money almost as much as Kevin Federline likes being a plague to society. As if this wasn’t bad enough, I can only imagine how painful it is going to be to walk to the bathroom. I guarantee I am going to look a college chick the morning following the first time she let a black dude (or me, cause, ya know, I’m fuckin huge) explore numero dos.

So those two facts alone are enough to make me go crazy, but that isn’t it. Ohh no, that couldn’t possibly be all. If you don’t know me very well, let me fill you in on an attribute of my body. I have the highest body temperature of anyone I know. This is a ridiculously double-edged sword. On one hand, shorts and a t-shirt work any hour of the day, any season of the year. On the other hand, I am always hot. I sleep naked with one blanket, more often than not I end up just kicking off that blanket, pretty good use of that 200-thread count, isn’t it. You might be thinking to yourself, “why are you telling me this?” Hey buddy, just fucking relax, I’m getting there. The suite that I work in is divided into eight smaller individual offices. When our manager was divvying up who got which office, I definitely should have purchased some KY before hand because I got fucked pretty hard. I work in the ONLY office that does not have a thermostat. Even the building manager cannot find it. Which means, that my office is hot 100% of the time. Go ahead and guess if I have to wear pants to work. Normally, at work, I have to take time out to just sit and think about not sweating from the heat alone. We have to have our door closed during this call, so my office is hotter than normal. Which means that I have to try to concentrate on not sweating, while keeping my ass as clenched as if I were worried about a homosexual male creeping up behind me.

I feel awful right now…I wish I were drunk right now….So, I hope that all of you have just a fucking wonderful day.

Warning: Do Us a Favor,Do Not Heed Warning

Life…it’s such a precious thing, ‘tis it not? Life and the magic of procreation, to me, is like a quiet forest pool, one that needs a direct hit from a big rock half-buried in the ground. You pull and you pull, but you can't get the rock out of the ground. So you give it a good kick, but you lose your balance and go skidding down the hill toward the pool. Then out comes a big Hawaiian dude who was screwing his wife beside the pool because they thought it was real pretty. He tells you to get out of there, but you start faking it, like you're talking Hawaiian, and then he gets mad and chases you…I think I can safely assume you agree with me.



For those of you who are not from the South Bay area, you may need a little educating before I proceed with this blog. Probably the busiest street in Southern California is called Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). At some points it can reach as large as 9 lanes across. That being said, one of the busiest times, as I’m sure you can guess, is in the morning during rush hour, which lasts from about 4:30AM till 9:00PM…give or take 5 minutes.



This morning I was impatiently stopped dead in traffic when I noticed a very attractive female taking, what looked like, her morning jog. She happened to be jogging down a hill that is perpendicular to PCH. Once she reached the bottom of the hill, I figured she would do what most, normal, of sound mind, humans beings would do, stop. Once she reached PCH, to my amazement, she didn’t even hesitate. She just darted out into the middle of the street without even faking a look in either direction. Fortunately for her, there was no traffic at the time. Unfortunately for the rest of mankind there was no traffic at that time, as, unless she already has, it is very probable that she will, one day, reproduce.



Now don’t get me wrong I’m not a terribly malevolent person, I wish no one ill will, let alone death. Except for that one time last year that little girl stole my cookie and I tried to run her over with my car, but that is neither here nor there. However, there are some people that I believe need’nt plague the gene pool with a donation.



I am a firm believer that companies should remove all warning labels from the products we buy. If you don’t know what it does or where to put it, don’t buy it. If you choose to ingest some of that hemorrhoid cream, perhaps life in a convent wouldn’t be such a bad idea. If you choose to blow dry your hair in the shower, I’ve one word of advice and it rhymes with: schmasectomy.



Most of these people have a ludicrously oblivious outlook on life. Everything is so happy in their world. For example, you might find a message they leave for the their voicemail box that goes something like this “Hi, thanks for calling! Sorry I missed your call but it is a positively gorgeous day and I’m out enjoying it right now! Hopefully you will have the same opportunity. Thought for the day is ‘Share The Love!’. BBBBEEEEPPPP.” When I hear things like that it makes me curse my phone for not being able to switch to ‘restricted’ for the caller ID. “Uhh…hi there. This is Tom from the VD clinic. Speaking of positive, your tests results are back. Stop sharing the love. CLICK.”