In other “news,” my soul has been completely devoured, then vomited up like a hairball, then re-devoured like … a hairball, then I lost track of it and stopped caring. The only thing that keeps me from just wandering off all a-mutter is that all of the little Corkys out in the square state are counting on me. Morons.
And by “morons,” I refer not to the Corkys, but to the band of unemployable idiots with whom I work. Crazy Wheelchair Lady and her cabal of people-dumber-than-fruit-rollups will be the fucking DEATH of me. I can’t do this much longer.
So, it’s BLACK HISTORY MONTH. So. Hmmm. So what does EduMart do to celebrate the contributions of African Americans to like history and stuff? EduMart usually sponsors a speaker – for the last two years it has been a very communist, anti-social, I-hate-white-people professor from the University of Mediocrity. They also invite vendors to the lobby to sell sparkly hats, jungley art, and pictures of Black Jesus, Black Last Supper, and Bruce Lee. That’s precisely what Harriet Tubman intended! Thanks, EduMart! Later in the month, I will be able to buy a daishiki and/or a basketball jersey.
And then, I know that most dudes find Heidi Klum to be booty-licious n shit, but last night on Project Runway, she was wearing something along the lines of an adult diaper topped with an old pillowcase. To top off the “look,” she had combed Ranch dressing through her hair to plaster it to her head, making the normally gorgeous Heidi look all ferrety. Plus, that baby of hers DOES look like some kind of mole-man mutant child.
And then they send Andraeiou (he of many vowels) home because he was so creepy.
There was a bloodletting at EduMart recently. Many doofuses were released back into the wild, but many, many more remain behind. Some excellent people lost their jobs because some other people were protected by assholes. Some other people got sick of the bullshit and quit. I should feel lucky or grateful or something to still have a job, but I’m too fucking tired from all of the 12-hour days. And then, on the weekends, I relax by painting someone else’s house. Someone who has, in the past, helped me when I needed a story that would be entertaining and engaging to small children. He helped by writing a story about the Montauk lighthouse – a story that included an old woman who smelled like fried baloney, and an incident in which the narrator found a lima bean in his poop. We’re not even.