Phillip:

YouÂ’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. More importantly, what the hell have you done in the last twelve months? I think a list of your accomplishments could be written on the back of business card. With a Sharpie. In addition to lackluster performance, you have an extremely limp handshake that creeps people out.

Janet:

You are, without a doubt, the most talked about person in the whole company. Dumb as a stump with a great body. Very attractive. A solid nine. There is no finer sight than that of you bending over in the copy room picking up paperclips. I love you Janet. I love you with all my heart.

Toby:

Please get out of panic mode. Nobody can be that panicked all day long, every day. Considering what you actually do here, itÂ’s uncalled for. Just pick up the phone and say the name of the company. ItÂ’s not like you have stock options at risk.

Arthur:

No one believes you. Every Monday morning we have to hear about your conquests and skills with women, skis, cards, darts, et. al. ad nauseum. You walk from cube to cube with that fucking mug of coffee like youÂ’re the second coming. And you just donÂ’t get it. IÂ’ve told you before to keep your voice down. IÂ’ve told your manager I was going to take it out of his ass if I found you walking the floors again. I have kicked my office door closed in your face and you still donÂ’t get it. You are universally despised.

Martha:

Stop. Fucking. Cooking. This is a workplace, not the goddamned Waffle House. YouÂ’re stinking up the whole floor with that shit. You know what? IÂ’m the guy that had microwave popcorn banned here. Me. And IÂ’m proud of it. Little did I know it would be replaced by you cooking full fucking meals. You put fish in that microwave one more time and I swear IÂ’ll pee in that thing. You go ahead and try me.

Albert:

You are one seriously confused mofo. LetÂ’s forget for a moment the magnitude of your stupidity and talk about whatÂ’s socially acceptable. Asking if you could borrow someoneÂ’s newspaper and then proudly walking into the shitter is justÂ…justÂ…I fucking donÂ’t know what it is. It horrifies me.

To be continuedÂ…

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 07:47 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 402 words, total size 2 kb.

I dislike all of you. Immensely. The lot of you are boorish and mundane, without an original thought amongst you.

Specifics

Theodore:

What the fuck do you do in the bathroom all day? ThereÂ’s a fucking pool going now on how many minutes per day you spend in there.

Deb:

YouÂ’re a serious skank. YouÂ’re stinking up the whole floor with the smell of Benson & Hedges and cheap-ass perfume. You must swim laps in that shit. I suspect youÂ’ve had group sex in a moving car whilst smoking a cigarette. Please refrain from speaking to me.

Leo:

If you say, “Think outside the box,” just one more time, I will personally throw you down the stairs. I’ve warned you numerous times.

Carol:

You are way too heavy to be wearing clothes that tight. YouÂ’re not fat, youÂ’re not unattractive, but youÂ’re going to bust the seams on that shit. Please comply, as you seem to be very nice.

Anthony:

YouÂ’re a real asshole and the guy IÂ’m most likely to attack physically. You need to lower your goddamned voice. ThereÂ’s nothing I dislike more than a loudmouth braggart. And you really need new shoes. I would be totally embarrassed to wear those old ratty dogs to work.

James:

YouÂ’re a special case. You love meetings, and I know why. While the rest of us are trying to escape and do actual work, you love to sit there and think in the abstract. I see the way you light up when the brainstorming starts. You know what? There are bad ideas. LotÂ’s of them. And the next time you defend or advance some retarded idea in that conference room I will personally stand up and give an oral history of your fuckups like a griot reciting the 1,000 year history of a village. You will be able to walk under a closed door by the time I get through.

Sam:

I donÂ’t know how many shirts you own, but IÂ’m guessing three. I see you every day and I only count three shirts. ThatÂ’s either very heavy rotation or you need some kind of help.

To be continuedÂ…

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:58 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 370 words, total size 2 kb.

I have to admit IÂ’m not big on answering the phone. In our house, 95% of all phone calls are for my wife. SheÂ’s on the phone so much the fucking thing gets hot.

Anyway, last night we had an aunt and uncle from out of town come over for dinner. Very conservative and a lot older than us. So weÂ’re sitting there dipping bread into the artichoke pesto when the phone rings. I looked over at my wife and told her to let it ring.

“You know it’s not important,” I said, “You can call them back later.”

She nods in agreement and we go back to chatting in a reserved manner. Just then the answering machine clicks on and a loud voice booms through the kitchen. And at that moment I realized my error.

“Hey asshole!”

It was an old friend of mine. He was hammered. I instantly knew that this would end badly.

“Dude, get your hand off your cock and answer the fucking phone!”

I looked at our guests. They were stunned. Ashen.

“C’mon fuckface, I know you’re there!”

At that point I didnÂ’t know what to do. I realized I was holding my breath. My old lady was looking at me, her eyes pleading. But there was no solution. We were already mortified.

I didnÂ’t know if I should run over and pick up the phone or what. I was about to declare it a wrong number when he addressed me by name, cementing forever the already tarnished reputation I hold in the family.

“That’s Paul’s old college roommate,” my wife offered, “You know how it is…”

But they didnÂ’t know how it is. Or how it was. And we went back to the pesto and I poured more wine and thought about my buddy. And how heÂ’d screwed me royally, and the joy it would bring him when I eventually called back. Somehow, it made me feel better.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 08:09 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 330 words, total size 2 kb.

Phone numbers always used to have the area code in parentheses, like this:

(555) 123-1234

Now, however, I have noticed a trend where all the numbers are separated by the dash and the parentheses have gone the way of the dodo, i.e.:

555-123-1234

There you have it. I am so worth the click.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:09 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 61 words, total size 1 kb.

The bachelor party was a full-on riot. Thursday, I ran out of work early, drove to Raleigh and hung out with one of my old college pals there. We basically had lunch, and then he dropped me off at the airport. Where I commenced to prime myself for the flight by drinking those damn expensive airport beers. I don't really like flying (which is another poast altogether), so tieing on a decent buzz ensures that the time is spend in the air either seems shorter, or is spent sleeping.

more...

Posted by: shank at 01:41 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
Post contains 1774 words, total size 9 kb.

Out of three authors on this blog, nobodyÂ’s had the decency to post anything in a week or so. I was on vacation so IÂ’m exempt from criticism. Is this any way to run a railroad?

Meanwhile, IÂ’ve got nothing of substance. Again.

I am completely barren of ideas, thoughts or observation of any kind.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 59 words, total size 1 kb.

Dude, we got our first actual wedding present today. And as I've said before, I'm a big present-opening kind of guy. So I come home and there's this fucking big ol' box from Bed Bath & Beyond. Mind you, I'm not big on towels and sheets and shit, but I love cooking, and I can tell by the size and weight of the box that this is some cooking-ass shit yo.

Of course, the wife understands that I am a present-o-phile a little better now (since I complain about not being able to open them), and says it's okay with her if I open it. So there I am, super-stoked that I get to open this bad boy. I nicely slice the packing tape, flip the lid open gently, take note of the inspection slip, read it, nod like I know something about it (I'm really into presents), thumb through the accompanying paperwork (packing slip, etc), nod like I know something about that too. Then I pull out what must've been a two and a half foot by twenty foot sheet of paper. I guess they just used it to pack the box tight, but it's just so amazingly huge, I've never seen a peice of paper this big. I pull it all the way out of the box, untwist it, stretch it out to full length across the living room floor and entry way. I marvel at it's dimensions. Where did they get this? Can you imagine how fun it must be to work with sheets of paper this big all day long? Good Lord, imagine the pranks you could get away with if you had access to a single ream of paper from which this peice came! I decide to wear it.

Hey, shove off, I said I like presents!

So there I am, swaddled in the packing material that my new shit came in. My shiny, new, perfectly perfect thing. If it has buttons, dials, selectors, or settings, they probably all click, spin, switch, or turn with that smooth but precise action that only new buttons, dials, selectors, or settings click, spin, switch, or turn. The interior box is probably filled with all that senseless packing that conforms to the shape of my new item - carboard that's cut to size, bubble wrap, directions and warranties folded neatly and laying on top. If it has electrical cords they are, no doubt, tied just so, with the perfectly-sized twistie tie. I mean, how do they do that? When you go to store the damn thing, or have to pack it up to move, it never goes back in the box like that. Never.

Mumified in my new paper duds, I begin gently rifling through the outer packaging. It's got a slip saying who it's from, conveniently, with their address so we can send 'em a thank you note. Nice touch. I pull back a sheet of that foamy papery stuff they usually slip on top of the item and behold...the fucking thing is wrapped. Wrapped in wrapping paper with a card and everything. The blood rushes from my face. I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. No, stabbed. Stabbed in the back, betrayed, made a fool of.

Oh, she knew. She had to've known! She wouldn't let me open the present knowing I would actually get to see it. She knew I'd open it with all the giddiness of a schoolboy, and then be crushed to see it was wrapped. She knew! more...

Posted by: shank at 06:24 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 615 words, total size 3 kb.

So, I used the new Fusion razor tonight by Gillette. I actually didn't cut myself, which is pretty amazing considering the Fusion feels like a weedwacker in my hands compared to teh razors I usually shave with. But it's a nice shave. Don't waste your money on the electric one though. Unless you like being shocked.

I'm working on my thesis this week, going to Vegas this weekend, more thesis work next week, marriage the week after that, then more thesis work. I'll let you know when I get my life back.

Which, given the whole marriage thing, may be never.

Posted by: shank at 06:02 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
Post contains 109 words, total size 1 kb.

Well, after having the new motor in the car for a few weeks now, I figure it's time to put 'er on the dyno and see what kind of power the setup is putting down on the pavement. Have an appointment today at noon with a local shop. I'm hoping to get 170 or so. I'm planning to tune the entire setup in a few weeks or so, but I just don't have the time right now to go spend a couple hundred bucks and half a day. We've got too much other crap to take care of pre-wedding. After tuning though, I'd be interested to see if we can hit 190 or somewhere in that area.

Also, today's a big day for many ACC fans like myself. Duke and Carolina play tonight...at coach K's house. Now, I understand that Duke is a top ranked team this year. However, the Heels came on this season with a bunch of damn 18 year old's and they've mopped the floor with the veteran competition on many occasions. Granted, they're highly inconsistent, but right now they're looking strong. I'm not going to sit here and say Carolina's gonna beat the crap out of Duke - I'd be (happily) lucky to get a win tonight. But if the game is even close, I'd still be proud of the team. They've surprised a lot of people this year, but I don't know if they have what it takes to surprise the Dukie's at home.

Also, Thursday I leave for Vegas. I'll be there that night on my own, as the folks I'm meeting won't arrive until the next afternoon. I'll be staying on the strip, but I've only ever been there once, and I've never been there alone. What should I check out Thursay night and Friday? Are there any cool little dives I should check out on the strip? I won't have a car, but I'm not opposed to walking, especially if the drink specials are good. Any tips are appreciated!

Posted by: shank at 09:34 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 341 words, total size 2 kb.

I set aside some time today to post something of substance; unfortunately, IÂ’ve got nothing and it canÂ’t be forced. So in lieu of that, hereÂ’s whatÂ’s going through my head today.

Mark Twain was an overrated, mean-spirited shitbag. He was a newspaper hack who never really understood the novel, though he talked like he invented the damned thing. Yes, they say he had charisma, but so do many arsonists, motivational speakers and con men, all of which I hold in the same regard.

I never forgave Twain for his idiotic and exaggerated criticism of JF Cooper. He came off looking like the nasty bastard he probably was. Aside from my unexplainable contempt for Twain today, my thoughts have been relatively shallow.

I donÂ’t like Poptarts; they just donÂ’t appeal to me.

I never had a proper lunch today and now IÂ’ve got the urge to stuff big fistfuls of dry cornflakes into my mouth. I do that sometimes, late at night, when IÂ’m lying on the couch alone. I lie there like a bum with the TV volume low, so as not to wake anyone, and stuff big fistfuls of cornflakes into my mouth. IÂ’m careful not let the crumbs get on the couch or fall in between the cushions, because thatÂ’s tantamount to killing kittens in my wifeÂ’s view. That and IÂ’m not a pig. I donÂ’t wish to wallow in filth myself.

And I lie there in my underwear and a wife-beater, flipping through the channels, looking for salvation.

Some days you have it, some days not so much.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 03:02 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 270 words, total size 2 kb.

I donÂ’t know what to say.

I was standing at the counter with bottle of Coke. I reached into my pocket and out came some crumbled up bills and a handful of coins. I look down at the coins and IÂ’ve never fucking seen them before. I thought they were Canadian or some other worthless currency and then realized they were nickels. All different kinds.

I had a regular nickel, a new version of a buffalo nickel and yet another one with half of JeffersonÂ’s head on it. I was dumbfounded.

WhatÂ’s up with all the new nickels? ItÂ’s bad enough theyÂ’re minting new quarters with Newark and Detroit on them once a month, now the US mint is changing the nickels every week. I just donÂ’t get it. I donÂ’t know what the national debt is, but how the hell can we be spending our resources changing the goddamed coins every week? ItÂ’s got to cost money drawing the designs, stamping the plates and all of that crap. Does this make sense? We should be getting rid of the fucking dead wood in these agencies and theyÂ’re hiring by the busload down at the nickel division.

How many nickels do we need? Are they even worth five cents anymore? Are we going to have nickels from every state? WhatÂ’s next, fifty new dimes? This is fucking criminal! I havenÂ’t been this enraged since they canceled The Rockford Files.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:03 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 245 words, total size 1 kb.

IÂ’m inventing a meme. I donÂ’t know why I havenÂ’t thought of this sooner. Why follow when I can lead. And IÂ’ve got nothing anyway.

Here goes:

1. YouÂ’re fucking with your iPod and slam your car into some other poor bastardÂ’s in the parking lot of the liquor store. No one sees you and the owner of the other car is nowhere in sight. What do you do?

a. Leave a note with your contact info
b. Leave a note with your bosses contact info
c. Fucking flee

2. YouÂ’re a guest in someoneÂ’s home for a dinner party. You excuse yourself to the restroom during dinner and have an episode of explosive diarrhea. Before you leave the bathroom you:

a. Spray that can of flowery stuff that doesnÂ’t fool anyone
b. Just leave the room smelling like a chemical fire

3. YouÂ’re sitting at a traffic light thinking about your sad, mundane life. You witness a minor traffic accident where no one is injured but plenty of damage is sustained to both vehicles. You clearly saw who was at fault. When the light turns green, you:

a. Pull over to give a statement when the cops come
b. Report the accident on your cell phone
c. Just drive the fuck away

4. You and several friends stop to pick up another friend on the way to a party. Your friend comes out wearing something that makes them look ridiculous, like a transvestite or you can clearly see a naughty bit sticking out somewhere. Do you:

a. Tell them right away, even though they may be embarrassed
b. Wait to see if someone else says something
c. Point it out to everyone at the party

5. YouÂ’re sitting in the conference room awaiting the start of a meeting. Six people are in attendance. Just as the handouts are coming around you hear audible flatulence, loud enough to be heard by everyone and certainly unmistakable. Do you:

a. Lower your eyes and say nothing
b. Laugh or make a joke
c. Say, “Who the fuck was that?”

6. You are on your way to the store. Your wife/husband/other asks you to get them something. Due to your own inability to either listen or think about anyone but yourself, you forget. When you come home, you:

a. Tell them you forgot
b. Lie and tell them you couldnÂ’t find it/any

6.5 When they ask you, “Did you ask someone who works there?” You:

a. Say, “No, I never thought of that.”
b. Lie and say, “Yeah, they said they were all out.”

IÂ’m not tagging anyone with this, but it would make my day to see it on someone elseÂ’s blog. That and five points to anyone that has the balls.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:23 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 472 words, total size 3 kb.

1 1. Depending on the damage, I could do any of the above. Serious damage and I'd probably sit there and wait for the person to come out. A scratch or ding and they wouldn't even know I existed. 2. At a big party, I'd try to escape leaving the caustic fumes ungarnished by air-fresheners. If it was an intimate gathering, I'd be screwed anyways because they would have heard my screams of agony. So I guess either way I'd just let it ride. 3. a - Give a statement. In most instances, when given the chance to not give a fuck about others, I'll gladly take that opportunity. But auto-wrecks can be such an unbelievable pain in the ass, that I don't think I could live with myself knowing that I could have helped out a bit by acting as a witness. 4. I would laugh, but tell them "Hey, it's just me. What the hell do I know about fashion?" Since that's the truth, they'd probably not change their outfit. I would laugh about it at the party, but if they don't think they look stupid, I guess that's all that matters. 5. If it's my meeting, or a meeting where I'm not low-man, I'd call the person out. If I was the low-man in the meeting, I'd just stare everyone down until I was sure I knew who it was. Then I'd tell all that person's employees that they're a disgusting sonofabitch. 6. a - tell them I forgot. They won't be surprised. I do the same thing to myself all the time. 6.5 b. Lie and say, “Yeah, they said they were all out.” If I had lied in the first place, I would most likely continue to lie. I'm not a big liar, because I'm too lazy to give a shit most of the time about pleasing other people, but when I do lie, it should be important enough to maintain the lie for the rest of my life. In that case, I'd probably come up with much more elaborate, fool proof, well thought out excuses. If you're going to lie in any situation, it should become an airtight strategy. Which is precisely why I try not to lie too often. It can be fucking dispicable.

Posted by: shank at March 01, 2006 10:19 AM (+H1yK)

2 Those are trick questions. The correct answer to all of them is "D: Do what Brian Boitano'd do". Or maybe "E: Continue on your merry way".

Posted by: Jim at March 01, 2006 10:59 AM (oqu5j)

3 I don't have a blog so I'm posting here. 1. C - Flee flee flee...Pay backs are a bitch. Do you know how many effin times people have done that to my car? Why would I be nice and leave a note? So my insurance can go up? 2. A - Use the spray man! (I keep getting the visual from dumb and dumber.) Flower poop smell is way better than just plain ol' raunch. 3. C - Drive the fuck away they'll sort it out. No use sticking your nose in other peoples bidness. (true -story...a year ago I witnessed a minor accident. I saw who was at fault. But I kept going because I didn't want to be late for work) What? I'm a dedicated employee. 4. A - This is clearly an unspoken truce when it comes to girls. I would have to say I'd let them know that their nipple is peakin out and waving hi. 5. C- Even if I knew what the fuck that was. I'd still say "what the fuck was that"? I mean come on.... if the person was brazen enough to fart "loudly" in front of his collegues than there needs to be attention drawn to the tool box who has no regard for the poor sap sitting next to him. 6. B- Lie. 1st lesson...never send Me to do YOUR errands you lazy bastard. 2nd lesson...you want something done right do it yourself. Enough said. 6.5 B - Lie..see above. Never admit a thang

Posted by: Tiffani at March 01, 2006 11:28 AM (KE4Gu)

4 Tracky Backy Delayed: Here ya go.

Posted by: phin at March 01, 2006 11:57 AM (Xvpen)

5 Your blog will have to serve as my blog, will I still get five points? 1. I'm with shank here. Minor dings or less, I'm gone. More serious noticable damage I'd do the honest thing, I hate to be a dickhead like too many people who wouldn't hesitate to run after totally smashing my car. 2. a - If available, I'd spray. I would probably still blame the stench on the next poor sap that decided to go in there and come out gagging (OhmiGOD!! you stunk up the place so bad you made YOURSELF sick? EGADS!). 3. If I wasn't in a rush, I'd pull over and give a statement. Otherwise, I'd just report it on the phone. 4. a - I couldn't wait, the humiliation would start immediately after they got into my car. 5. b - Probably say something semi-smartassed like "Okay, no more Taco Bell for you." 6. a - Tell her I forgot. It wouldn't matter, I'd get blasted no matter what the excuse. 6.5. See above answer.

Posted by: diamond dave at March 01, 2006 05:13 PM (OPflN)

6 Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Used to be, when you had nothing, you'd post about that and the bitching would be pure genius. Now you're reduced to inventing fucking memes. God help us all.

Posted by: Ted at March 02, 2006 07:35 AM (blNMI)

7 this was the funniest shit i have seen in days... i found myself torn on several of them... but damn it was hilarious - thank you again for being so incredibly hilarious!

Posted by: Moodie at March 02, 2006 10:57 AM (8RKIo)

8 It apparently doesn't like my ping, so here's my entry:

Posted by: Oorgo at March 02, 2006 07:24 PM (lM0qs)

9 Okay, I had to update because a "situation" happened in my classroom (I teach 7th grade) and now when I read question #5, I can't help but laugh... In class, last week, a student farted - now they do this all the time so normally it's no big deal - but I reacted... looking up (not knowing who did it) I said, "Who was that?" (not thinking) thereby sending the entire class into a laughing fit. Somehow this escalated into a full-blown discussion about farting (I teach Health, btw) and other sex-related questions. How this happens is beyond me, but... I now know the answer to #5!

Posted by: Moodie at March 06, 2006 10:39 AM (8RKIo)

Hide Comments | Add Comment

MS Passport required.

Go here.

Click on the Valuable Information image in the right column.

Test answers are “2” and “True” for all others.

Posted by: Jim at 09:03 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 34 words, total size 1 kb.

IÂ’ve never eaten bear meat, though for some strange reason, I yearn to try it. IÂ’ve no desire to kill a bear personally, but I would really like to try a bear steak.

Perhaps itÂ’s because I get bored eating the same crap all the time. How many days of your life can you eat beef, pork, chicken, et. al.? Granted some people are vegetarians, but I wonÂ’t get started on that unnatural and misguided practice. Human teeth were meant for eating meat.

I’ve eaten a good share of rabbit in my day, which is a favorite of mine. I like ostrich. Quail, pheasant and squab—all fine alternatives to the mundane chicken, as are goose and duck. I’ve had alligator and rattlesnake, when the opportunity has come up, and I’m a big fan of venison as well.

IÂ’m not sure that IÂ’ve eaten a wild boar or not, but itÂ’s certainly on my list. IÂ’ve had buffalo burgers and enjoyed them. IÂ’d like to try me some goat as well. IÂ’ve hankered for moose on occasion, mainly out of curiosity. But for the most part I yearn for a nice thick bear chop.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:06 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
Post contains 205 words, total size 1 kb.

So, the fiancé had her bridal shower this past weekend. I guess I wasn't super-duper excited or anything, because her sisters were coming to spend the weekend at our place, but I wasn't exactly put out either. It was going to give me a day or so of peace and quiet, not to mention the presents.

Contrary to what one might assume, the haul she pulled in was pretty good too. Some new glassware, a nice skillet, and a handful of various other kitchen implements. I'm a big fan of food and cooking, so I was happy. Of course, there was an ulterior motive. You see, I'm an unabashed fan of throwing things away. The opposite of a pack rat, but I don't know the term. At any rate, receiving new things means I get to divest myself of old things.

Now, lets be clear here. I don't just go around throwing crap away at random. But if it hasn't been used in a year, and I'm not party to some contract to keep it; it's going bye-bye. And, of course, with our current living space being steadily usurped by a pile of wedding paraphernalia that seems to have it's own agenda of Manifest Destiny; I'm primed for some serious purging. So when the old lady shows up with three armloads full of loot, I'm already filling boxes with old shit and setting them by the door.
"What are you doing?" she demands.
"Oh, just putting this stuff aside. Since we got all that new junk, I'm just going to get rid of our old stuff."
"But you can't just throw that away." She begins to gesture towards the pile of old shit. "People could use that."
"Ok, well, we'll take it down to goodwill." Then inspiration hits me; I am a genius. "Hey, didn't your sisters need some of this stuff? They're still in college, we should let them have their pick."
"We have to wait until the wedding though."
"But they're here now. Why don't we just let them take it back home with them?"
"Because dear, we're going to need our old stuff until the wedding."
"Yeah, I know. I'm not getting rid of everything, just the stuff we can replace with the items you received today."
"That doesn't matter, because we're not going to use the stuff we got today until after the wedding."
My head starts to hurt here, so you'll have to forgive me if the dialogue gets blurry.
"But. You already opened the gifts at the bridal shower. They were... bridal shower gifts. They're yours now. People don-"
"No! They're for the wedding, and what happens if we don't get married?"
"People don't give you a gift, let you unwrap it, and assume you won't use it. That why people who mail Christmas gifts put little tags on them that say 'Do not open until Christmas.'"
"That's different."
"No, this would be like someone giving you a birthday gift a few weeks before your birthday, letting you unwrap it, and then demanding that you not use it on your birthday. Bridal showers are different events from weddings, and the gifts received are different."
"No."
At this point I'm beside myself. My house is filling up with shit. It's in the guest bedroom, it's in my bedroom, my kitchen is filled with a bunch of old shit that needs to be gotten rid of, there were people here this weekend who were eagerly volunteering to carry the clutter away, and she still says no. I'm completely vexed. I mean, I've tried logic, I've even had discussions with the old lady and other females in which (might I add that I neither coached, goaded, or signaled to the female third party) the other females actually agreed that said unwrapped presents were now fair game. I just never get to do anything I want anymore. I'm convinced that she hates me, and derives some form of pleasure from my complete consternation. And I say 'form of pleasure' because I'm not quite sure that something so evil ever experiences what mere mortals describe as pleasure.

Posted by: shank at 05:25 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 696 words, total size 4 kb.

“I bought you a new pair of jeans,” she said.

I had just walked in the door from work. When I come through the door after work I generally donÂ’t like to bothered, after a perfunctory hello, for my fifteen minute adjustment period.

“Really? Why did you do that?”

I kept right on walking into the bedroom, knowing sheÂ’d follow, talking all the while. She was too excited not to, and that type of enthusiasm scares me.

“Don’t you want to see them?”

I was still standing at the dresser, emptying my pockets and trying to get out of my clothes.

“Of course.”

I knew at that point that I would not like the jeans. She was terribly excited about them and that could only mean one thing. They were something extraordinary, at least in comparison to my stand by LeviÂ’s.

She opened a NordstromÂ’s bag, a tell in itself, and unveiled the jeans. They were dark with pre-made wear spots on the fronts. They were cut funny, I could see that by the way she was holding them up. IÂ’d seen these kinds of jeans before. Very contemporary. Worn by people much younger than myself. People I instinctively disliked.

“Well, try them on!”

She was waving them at me. Somehow, I was afraid of these jeans. Reluctantly I took them from her and looked at the brand. Lucky. I was pretty sure they only made jeans for chicks. Even if they did make jeans for men, IÂ’m not the kind of guy to wear them. But I was standing there in my underwear holding them and she was giggling like a schoolgirl so I put them on.

I immediately felt ridiculous. They fit strangely around the waist. They fit strangely everywhere. I have a very large chip on my shoulder with anything connected to hip-hop and I had a feeling these things may be baggy enough to qualify. Regardless, they clearly didnÂ’t fit.

“You look great! Wait—turn around…”

I turned. I felt her hands on my ass. She was squeezing.

“These are perfect!”

“They’re not perfect. They don’t fit and I don’t like them.”

“You just think they don’t fit. You should see your ass in these!”

“I like my Levis.”

“You have no shape in your Levis. You’re hiding that ass in the Levis. These jeans cup your ass! She kept grabbing my ass and squeezing, chasing me around the room.”

I took the jeans off.

“Listen, I really don’t think I can wear those. I’m not nineteen anymore. I feel like a dick wearing those things.”

She reluctantly put them back in the bag. I apologized for not being more receptive.

Three days later we’re driving somewhere and out of nowhere she said, “That shirt looks nice on you.”

“But you hate the jeans, right?”

I was wearing my beloved Levis.

“Is that all you got out of that entire episode? That I don’t like Levis?”

“Pretty much.”

“So all you took away from that was the negative? That I don’t like your Levis?”

“Well…”

“I buy you one pair of meterosexual jeans and you freak out. Totally missing the point. You're incredibly thick.”

###

This morning I looked on the Internet. Lucky does indeed make menÂ’s jeans. And the prices are fucking obscene.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:12 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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Okay, I finally found my superpower.

IÂ’ve had it all my life but I took it for granted because I thought everybody had it.

I can take a look at someone or just spend a few seconds near someone and immediately know that theyÂ’re crazy.

My wife confirmed this superpower last night when she mentioned I was right; a recent acquaintance of ours is a little fucked up. She didnÂ’t believe me at first, but it finally panned out, and in just the manner I suspected.

When I was young I could always tell when chicks were nuts. IÂ’m not prejudiced against nutty chicks or crazy people in general. In fact, the best sex in the world is sex with a crazy chick. But I have a built in detector.

ItÂ’s the same with people who are a little slow. A couple of weeks ago I pointed out to a coworker that one of the new employees was an idiot.

“You say that about everybody.”

“But this time I’m not kidding. That dude walks around with his mouth open all day. He’s literally an idiot. I’m sure of it.”

My warning was ignored, and I didnÂ’t care because I didnÂ’t hire him. Several days later the coworker parked his ass on a corner of my desk.

“I think you’re right about Harris. Have you seen him answer the phone? Between the time he puts it to his ear and the time he says, “Hello,” there’s an abnormally long pause. Like five seconds or something. Every time.”

“Told you.”

He demonstrated by using his cell while I walked down to the guys cube and feigned interest in his project. The phone rang, he picked it up, put it to his ear and I started counting. It was, like, four-Mississippi before he fucking said hello. I should have starting counting again because when he got no response it was at least another four seconds before he said, ”Hello,” a second time. And by then I was laughing too hard to hang around.

And IÂ’m not making fun of the mentally challenged. This guy was hired at a fairly high level. IÂ’m always shocked about that. For the most part, anyone with tuition money can manage a four year degree, no matter how fucking stupid they are. Then, as if by magic, they show up at some company and somehow interview their way into a decent job.

I guess theyÂ’ve never come up against Jim.

Anyhow, if youÂ’ve got a suspected nut or a halfwit in the workplace, I can pick them out for you.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 01:29 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Please view this important communique asap.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:42 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Look, you ever just know something? I mean, when you're in the middle of maybe turning a corner and you decide to stop, because you think someone's coming the other way around the corner; and then BAM sure enough, someone comes around the corner? Or maybe you're playing the shell game with that street crook down on 21st and Nun; you pick a cup just because you know, and bam; you beat the house? Surely, there are some things, sometimes, that each of us all know. We just know 'em. The thing that I 'just know', is that I'm going to live a long damn life. I mean, 90+ years. I've always known this, ever since I was a kid. I can't explain it, but since I've got a blog, I'm gonna try. more...

Posted by: shank at 06:02 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Update3: The lost entry from Flikka is up. Also finally awarded the participation points for this bear.
Update2: Second batch is up.
Update: First batch of answers in the extended entry.

I've got nuthin' so I'm stealing this from Tiffany:

Ask me 4 questions. Any 4; no matter how personal, private or random. I have to answer them honestly* and I have to answer them all**.

And just to make things lively I'll toss a point to each participant.

* Caveat: If I see the funny, I'm taking it.
** Caveat: Unless the answer requires breaking a confidence in which case I'll make up an answer in your voice to humorous effect. more...

Posted by: Jim at 02:30 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
Post contains 1595 words, total size 9 kb.