Archive | 9:15 pm

Indie Blogger’s Weekly Challenge

1 Mar

“You get drunk and shave your dog. Under his fur, tattooed on his skin, is some kind of writing. The dog scurries away from you with his tail between his legs and as he passes by your highly reflective flat screen TV you see these words reflected in the glass: follow me. He disappears through the doggy door.”

. . .As you chug the last of your Canadian Mist on the rocks a thought occurs to you, “When did I put that door in for Sir Winston?” How strange that you had never noticed the obscenely large doggy door your St. Bernard has just gone through. You grab the nearest pair of shoes you can find, wish you were wearing something other than a T-shirt adorned with a picture of a can of Spam, and follow after Sir Winston. You’re halfway through the doggy door when you realize that your ass is not going to make it-you’re stuck.

“Shit,” you think to yourself, “Now what?” Your mind races as you begin thinking of how to get out of this one. It very much reminds you of when Winnie the Pooh got stuck in the honey tree-only with 2 distinct differences: none of your little friends are going to come and save you and no one wants to see your exposed fat ass in the too small leopard print ruffle panties you just bought. Okay, well maybe someone does, only you haven’t met him yet and you’re pretty sure he’s not going to come to your rescue anytime soon. You push and pull yourself trying to dislodge yourself from the door. The only thing this causes is for your Spam t-shirt to creep upwards and for you to begin sweating profusely. “This is so hot,” you think to yourself.

Stupid dog, this predicament is his fault. “Sir Winston! Sir Winston!” you call to him. He trots back to you and begins breathing his hot doggy breath in your face. “No!” you say firmly. He takes this as an invitation to begin licking your face. Stupid dog. “No!” you shout at him. This only sounds like encouragement to him and he doubles his efforts. The stank doggy breath and slobbery licks reenergize you and you begin to squirm vigorously to get free. After what seems like an eternity, you manage to pull yourself back in the door and into the house.

Sitting on your ass on the dusty hardwood floor you assess the damage: your midsection is bruised, you’re now covered in sweat and doggy slobber, and your hair now looks like a rat’s nest. The dog pops his head in, barks, and you get the feeling that he’s beckoning you to follow him. “Fuck you, dog.” You crawl back to your chair, pour yourself another glass of Canadian Mist and turn on the TV. The second he comes back, you’re going to introduce him to toothpaste.

As featured on Indie Bloggers.

A Vast Improvement

1 Mar

This is what my ex looks like with his head on Wilford Brimley’s “hot” body. I’ve added a pretty little red bow tie to show how he looks when he dresses up. It’s a wonder that we didn’t work out. Not sure what he’s holding in his hands, though if I had to guess I’d say it’s my dignity and or self respect.

Ladies, I think he’s still available if you’re interested.

My Computer Mouse is a Piece of Shit

1 Mar

What the fuck?!?! Can someone please explain to me how a fucking Fortune 500 Company can get away with giving their employees such crappy computer equipment? Hey, employers, maybe you can hold off on giving the big wigs $3,000,000 bonuses and spend a little on technology upgrades.

Last time I checked, we needed to scroll through files/computer applications in order to do the job that they “pay” us to do. Somewhat hard to do when this stinking mouse doesn’t work. I’ve found myself on my knees under my desk unplugging and then replugging the damned thing THREE fucking times today!! Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being on my knees at work-but at least give me a good reason to be in that position (like some hotty hot intern).

Perhaps this is their way of forcing me out the door. In their minds, they think that a fussy computer mouse is the straw that will break the camel’s back. These people are clever, but it’s not going to work. Maybe I’ll spend the next 5 months fooling around with this little bastard mouse, but it’s not going to be the reason I quit. Sorry, Charlie. Not going to happen. You’re going to have to deal with my eye rolling, heavy sighing, and general bad attitude for quite sometime to come.