It's The Girls Are Pretty "Drinking Alcohol In Other Cities Doesn't Count!" Weekend!!!
Pretty Girl is leaving town again. Tomorrow morning her hideous little ass will be on a plane. Destination: SIN. Or rather, Destination: Crabs.
No, nobody's going to Maryland. But man is somebody going to get crabs! Anyway, next three posts below. Usual bullshit. Read the bottom one first. Don't read ahead or everyone's going to tell you you look queer in those new pants you bought. Have a safe day. Don't fall in love with nobody.
Sunday, August 4, 2002
Wonder If That Smell Is You Or Just The Dead Guy You Buried Under The Floorboards Until You Remember You Never Buried A Dead Guy Under The Floorboards, But Just To Make Sure Dig Under Your Floor And Check, But It's Probably Just You You Rank Pig Day!
Today's the day to eventually get around to blaming the pasty strip of sweat in your asscrack for that horrifying stench. After exhausting all other fantastic possibilities of course, including the one where you for some reason deposited a corpse underneath the floorboards of your own home. Do you remember having anything to do with a murder? Don't think too hard because you'd have to be pretty high up on the accomplice list to be the one who gets to keep the body. Anything? Okay, dig under your living room if you want. I'll wait as long as it takes to finally see the look on your face when you realize that you stink like cheese.
Saturday, August 3, 2002
Give All Of Your Money To Your Pets Day!
Today's the day you withdraw all of your money from the bank in the form of a cashier's check and hand it over to your pets. Sit them down in the living room. Cats might not want to stay so try to hem them in with couch cushions or put big dictionaries on top of them so they can't move. Then explain at length that you wanted to give them all the chances you never had. They won't listen, or at least they won't understand, because they're pets. Present the check to them. Let them smell it and then walk away from it. Then kill all of your pets. Drown them.
Friday, August 2, 2002
Stop Touching Your Boss Day!
True, you can't quite call it sexual harrassment since you're not even sure if there's anything sexual about it. But regardless, there is something just not right about your boss having asked you to touch him on his arm once a day before 11:30 in the morning. Or, in his words, "Before 11:30 or I'm not sure what might transpire. I dare not imagine!" And then he ran away.
It's just fucked up. Cut it out. By the way, to celebrate Stop Touching Your Boss Day there's a sale at a store. Hurry.