There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


I graduated from Clown College. Can I work at EduMart?

You know that old adage about how you should never drink four white Russians (sadly, noggin season is gone), get on your work email, and send out angry missives about how if someone else would occasionally do something besides complaining and scheduling meetings, we might actually get something done? Well, it turns out that the old adage guys were right! If you do that thing they say you should never do, you will end up having to send another email, rather sheepish in tone.

So we ran into young Herschel and his bubele at our neighborhood hairy-armpit whole-wheat restaurant where we had gone Saturday morning to pick up some muffins. We were standing in line, dressed to paint, puffy, and unwashed, when we were greeted by young Herschel who was in his Saturday togs as well (starched white shirt, tweed sport coat). As we chatted, he revealed that they were out to look for a house to rent. Well, it just so happens that the cute little cottage next to my house is for rent, so, of course, I encouraged them to check it out (oot, if you’re Canadian). Then the greggers scared the shit out of them by saying that I’d immediately abuse our friendship by asking them to dog-sit, which is something only people with acreage and Valium should do. So for the next few days, the For Lease sign remained in the front yard of the cute little cottage while I imagined the following scenario occurring chez Herschel:

[Herschel and Bubele are at home at Herschel’s apartment. Herschel works at home, so the apartment shows some wear and tear: a coffee cup sits on the coffee table, a software manual sits open near the computer, a picture frame is one degree off level, a mote of dust floats lazily in the air.]

Herschel intones (he is ALWAYS intoning! He can’t even help it!):

Are you sure you want to move next door to someone who regularly celebrates White Trash Saturday?

Bubele (perky):

We can just ignore them!

Herschel replies:

Retarded dogs? Pirate cats? Voodoo rituals? Non-stop reality television? What if brain damage is contagious?

Bubele (breaks spontaneously into the Electric Slide)


This is why I continue to work at EduMart (reference the dialog above and infer why I would not be in a more “creative” industry).

So when I got home from work, the For Lease sign was gone, but I don’t know if that means that I have new neighbors. Hey! Can I borrow a cup of booze??

So, I happened to “stumble across” LaZBoy’s resume, which his wife is sending to all of the EduCorps across the nation. In it, he claims to have worked, which is quite a bald-faced lie. The work he claims to have done is all work that I have actually done, but the very bestest part of the resume is that his “college degree” is really from an unaccredited bible study college. Also known as not a real college. And his master’s degree? It’s not exactly from Bob Jones University, but pretty damn close. Not a real university. Five pages long, people. Five pages to say: I haven’t done a damn thing in YEARS, y’all!! Then there was a page of Boy Scout medals and special awards from Jesus.

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