Stop Hating,

No more work related posts here anymore. Instead I will keep them here.

I know that you already read both sites, but now I am literally forcing you to read both. I do it because I want you to resent me the same way you resent your mother for not buying you those Jordache Jeans.

Gloria Vanderbilt was so 1982.

They call me Aquaman,

No not that Aquaman or even that Aquadude. It's more like Aquaboy.

It seems in Florida you can expect a sudden flash flood of a rainstorm anytime you are about 3 miles from work wearing an all white uniform and your bike gets a flat.

Thanks to Margo for the nickname.

I am pretty sure it is not appropriate to mention to coworkers that "you will be hearing rumors about me that involve see-through-clothing. And yes all the rumors are true."

Thank god I always stuff.

To those who are 'spiritual' without being religious- Seriously, Fuck You.

I sure hope I didn't piss off all those hot hippie chicks who read this blog, but you can't be "spiritual" with out being religious.

I feel terrible about pissing off a bunch of girls who weren't gonna fuck me anyways, but I won't offer any 'props' to bitches too lazy to go to church on Sunday.

Just like I can't offer up anything good for your affection for Pier 1 furniture. This won't be the last time you hear it, but wicker furniture is so post-tacky and your preference for it brings you just a step closer to fulfilling that ultimate nightmare of yours... becoming your mother.

So quit living in denial. And go shave your fucking legs. Because the 'I shouldn't have to... it's winter' thing should be in her bag of tricks, not yours.

Would you rub his belly?

I realize there are some specifically 'spiritual' religions out there like Buddhism. But that doesn't apply to you, because you aren't Buddhist. You wouldn't know what to do if Buddha asked you to rub his belly. You looked at me like I puked on your fica when I asked you to.

And have you seen how Buddhism is practiced overseas? Very ritualistic. I think mostly it involved guardian angels and candle lighting. And only my Mexican ex-wife was into that.

So since you aren't really Big Buddha's Buddy and I am not going to let you make up your own religion, would you care to know what the fuck is going on with you?

Your sick from commodity fetishism.

You're a materialist and not even the cool kind. Your personality is defined not by the internal workings of your mind, but through an external identification with things.

Pretty sure Ghandi wouldn't like that. Pretty sure Ghandi would slit the throat of any chick who could find work as a Trend Spotter.

Ok maybe Ghandi wouldn't slit your throat, but his followers sure would.

This blog is funny. Transexuals are funnier.

Girl power is so cute. There is nothing sexier than a women with a man's sense of humor.

By that I mean a women that is actually funny.

Curious? Go visit my newest Cyber sex Toy. Gosh, I sure hope she isn't a guy.

This post in no way relates to me.

Lost

"In the eighth chapter of The Psychopathology of Everyday Life, on “inadvertent actions”, Freud recalls two occasions on which, visiting a certain building, he climbed a floor too high; the verb he uses is versteigen: “to become lost while mountaineering”.

On both occasions, he deduces, a professional daydream was to blame: the first time, a feeling that he was travelling ever onwards and upwards; the second, a fear that he would be accused of “going too far”. The anecdote functions as an allegory of psychoanalysis itself: like Homer, Augustine and Dante before him, Freud knows that we get lost in order to discover ourselves, but also that sometimes we go looking in order to lose our way.

Both Rebecca Solnit and Jenny Diski ask what it might mean to get lost in a world where those insights have hardened into cultural cliché. Can we still get lost without being forced to find ourselves too soon? Or stay at home and still stray far enough to remain interesting?"

Source: 3quarksdaily

Buster Poindexter must die.

I have been avoiding posting about this because, shit man, I need some fucking dignity.

You must push play to read the rest of this post. Otherwise you will not share with me, the sheer hell that is my life.

Once you hear it, this song refuses to leave your brain. It simply deposits itself, like a certain human auto imune disease, right in your gut-where it waits to strike at you when you are at your weakest.

But as my brother likes to say "at some point you begin to ask yourself, not 'if' but... how many flies in your eye are ok?"

The Shame and Yeast of it all.

"I did not sign up for this."

It was the only thought that ran through my head, following the explanation by my department manager for our new procedures for selling French Bread.

Well, there was also this: "I'd rather eat raw the unwashed placenta from Suri Cruise than do this."

"Some of the stores are even forming conga lines."

We must place a small cd player on the top of a hot rack full of bread, playfully decorated with a Carmen Miranda fruit hat, and blast Poindexter's "hit" while attempting to hock bread to our typically unresponsive customers.

Buster Poindexter should die a painful death. A hot... hot ...hot... death if you will.

I wonder though, maybe Buster doesn't realize his masterpiece of kitsch has been appropriated by corporate miscreants. Maybe I should get somebody from the recording industry to find out if we are paying royalties.

Perhaps, Buster is much of a victim here as I am. Perhaps. But just in case, Buster, I want you to know, if you gave them your permission, I will hunt you down... you dress wearing clown of a fag.

The Butcher, The Baker and the Candlestick maker.

Sorry to interrupt all the alone time you've had lately with my light posting.

I have been thinking about changing the "silent totalitarianism" back over to a job related blog. But doing that would require a lot of work, and lately I haven't had any desire to do that.

I thought I could just bellyache to you guys here.

I am working in a bakery at a local grocery store. My job consists of placing endless rows of tollhouse cookies on baking sheets and then into a giant oven big enough to bake several Jews.

I am gonna let you in on a little secret. Flies. The Flies. Big juicy southern Florida flies. Big enough to put on the grill.

A brief intro to the cast of characters:

Marci de sade-married with 4 kids. Her husband is 'well connected' within the AB. That's the Aryan Brotherhood to you and me. Her father has given her a Walmart card that he pays off. I tease her relentlessly regarding this. She has asked me if "I wanted to go shopping with it."

Key Talents:
Cake decorator and perhaps the finest double barreled fly swatter I have ever seen.

Favorite quote:
"Ever had an abscessed tooth? I have one."

J. - female who worked as a penal officer in a maximum security prison. Her only regret? When she had the chance to kill a prisoner, she only wounded him.

Key talent.
Good with a shotgun.

Favorite Quote:
"Can anyone do with out 10 dollars untill Tuesday?"

Me- secretly rated Mike and the Mechanics "Nobody's Perfect" as a 4 Star song on his Yahoo Radio Player.

Key Talents.
Using both charm and wit, convinces people the purple Pontiac Sunfire he often borrows from his mother doesn't make him gay.

Took it upon himself to "once daily" check the cake freezer display and dump all the frozen flies from the cake lids.

Has yet to be on time.

M&M-The boss.

Likes And Dislikes:
Likes-to throw boxes around and yell.
Dislikes-customers who only buy from the discount rack.

Favorite quote:
"Ignore me."

Fun Facts:

No less than 3 dogs on 4 mile walk route to work must be avoided in order to arrive safely. Two of the dogs are of "Marmadukian proportions."