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| 08.21.2009 - A Day In The Life (Part II) | 1:04 PM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 5/5 (1 Votes) |
| I come to in my bathroom and in between painful bouts of massive diarrhea, I started to question whether stuffing mushrooms and stale orange juice up my rectum in order to get that little extra high was really a good idea. The logic seemed sound at the time but then again, so did sub-prime mortgages and twenty $5 foot longs. Subway sandwiches are recession-proof, I reasoned. The last thing that I remember was ducking inside my house to hide from my neighbor under a pile of clothes and hangers, leaving only a cardboard cutout of myself in the yard as a last line of defense. After that, everything went dark. There was a brief moment where I think that I had both of the Olsen twins in a headlock and then boom! the diarrhea happened.
"A courtesy flush would be nice," I muttered under my breath. I chastised myself immediately for being rude and just before I was about to apologize, I realized that I was in the bathroom alone. Though, to my credit, the place smelled like oatmeal and wet napkins and I was being rather inconsiderate by not flushing. Seriously, the nerve of some people. It makes you wonder where they got their manners from. I bought mine on eBay. The seller got mad at me because I never actually paid for them but in my defense, I didn't have my manners at the time that I did that so I didn't know any better and thus it's not really my fault. I pondered for a while on the reasoning why more people didn't have those paper toilet seat covers in their houses for guests to use and started think that maybe I should institute some kind of ass-check policy whenever guests come over. Who knows what they have going on down there and safety should be everyone's concern.
I briefly wondered how the cardboard me was holding up outside. When I booked it out of there, my neighbor was holding a very menacing looking rake and I am pretty sure that he either knows karate or at least knows of someone named Karate. Something like that. I wasn't really paying attention to him when he was talking because The Golden Girls was on and I was almost positive that this episode wasn't a repeat. I wondered why he never wrote, the cardboard me. We used to be so close. I mean, he said that he would. He said that we would be pen pals. I suppose being on the front lines is a hectic life and perhaps he just didn't have the time. War can be hell, I guess, and it doesn't leave much time for pleasantries. Maybe it's time for someone to start a nice war where instead of guns, people would battle with compliments. I bet a nice war would leave plenty of time for writing letters home.
The latest batch of drugs were starting to wear off and as I stood up, I tried my best to steady myself and remember what happened while I was blacked out and how I got to reside here in my bathroom. I mean, I assume I walked or crawled but you always have to leave the option open that I somehow learned how to fly during my recent brain outage and was simply putting my skills to use. Stranger things have happened, I've heard. Yes, I understand that flying indoors is dangerous but presumably if I can fly, I'm a professional and thus am allowed to attempt things that amateur flying humans should not. I excel at everything I do. Perhaps I should look into a cape if that were the case. Given my current attire, an extra clothing addition could help to improve matters.
I'm wearing a button-down shirt with no pants. It is Friday after all and I really like to put the emphasis on business casual. The last time that I was in the bank asking for a loan, I wondered whether the guy behind the desk denying my application was wearing pants. I tried to look but he got mad at me for crossing into his territory. He said that it wasn't proper bank etiquette and that I wasn't allowed beyond the stapler. Only employees were allowed on the other side of the desk. The Post-It notes were on my side though, so I liberated them from Doucheville. Population: him. If nothing else, I'm a freedom fighter for the rights of office supplies.
I bet he wasn't wearing pants. That would be really cool if he wasn't but not in a gay way. The desk could be his pants. Desk pants are a wonderful idea. They are always fashionable but a little awkward to iron. If you press too much, your pants might become warped. Desk pants have a lot more storage room than regular pants but it's pretty easy to lose your keys in there. You'd be in a lot of trouble if your keyring contained the key that opened up that special locked drawer in your pants where you keep all of your pens and that business card from that one sales chick that you like but are too afraid to ask out. I don't know why -- I bet she is totally into beer guts and premature ejaculation. Some day, I hope to own a pair of desk pants but for now, I can only dream.
I have no idea how long I was out for but I was expecting a call from Aaron any minute now and I was starting to wonder if I had missed his call. I checked the answering machine that was hooked up to my cell phone but since it hadn't worked in years, I doubted that it would tell me much of anything. It didn't, other than the fact that it was still broken. I was hoping that maybe I fixed it during my blackout and just didn't remember. In between all of that flying I was doing. I had used up all of my drugs while in hiding and I needed the kind of fix that Home Depot couldn't provide. I hope Aaron realizes how lucky he is. Some people were just born to deal drugs.
I'd like to think that I would be a good drug dealer. Everyone likes to say that drugs are serious business but I would take a much more lighthearted approach to things. Maybe like "drugs and hugs" or "drugs and jokes" but that last one doesn't rhyme very well so I don't know if it would catch on. If someone came up to me and said, "Hey man, I just need something to take the edge off" and I would hand them an electric sander or something equally funny. They would probably be really mad at me because a sander is not drugs but then I would tell them that they could probably sell it and use the money to buy more drugs. The people who followed the "drugs and hugs" program would be really upset because hugs aren't worth any money and the last time I checked, you can't get high off of them so I don't think I would get many repeat customers.
Suddenly, there was a quick series of raps on the side window of the house; the window that I reserve solely for Domino's deliveries and visits from my dentist. I racked my brain trying to remember whether I had ordered pizza or a root canal but gave up after I got side-tracked with conjuring up images of Dracula naked. Let's just say that he is a little short in the "third fang" department if you get my drift. With zero brain options left, I figured it best just to wander over to the window and see who it was. It was Aaron, who explained that he was using the side entrance to avoid being seen. I paused briefly and tried to decide whether I was going to inform Aaron that a window is not an entrance but he grew up in a poor neighborhood and didn't posses the educational background that I did. Sometimes it is best just to leave things be.
"Pack your shit," he said bluntly. "We're going to Yermo." |
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I don't think you really understand what is going on right now.
I'm pretty sure that I don't either.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnkW6JJZSgE
80's Burger Rap
Apparently this is some kind of training video that Wendy's used in the 1980's in an effort not only teach about the safe ways to cook and handle foods but to make themselves appear more hip at the same time.
The good stuff starts around 1:30 if you feel like skipping forward.
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