The Money Is So Irrelevant

My wife is busy working away in the kitchen.

She’s making dinner (Oh, God…roast chicken. My favorite) AND she’s doing actual work…work.

Yes, she’s working on her own time. I think she’s doing something on Excel or something (I only use Word… if I attempt to use any other MS product I spontaneously combust and/or just don’t do whatever it is somebody has supposedly asked me to do. I work in WORDS people. Not some shitty mathematical universe that let’s people know their work schedules. That’s just stupid.

Anyway, my beautiful wife is working away and it just struck me: I make a LOT more than she does. Oh, I’ve worked the very occasional weekend and late night but what I physically output is NOTHING compared the shit she has to put up with.

I sort of feel guilty.

And…

I sort of don’t care.

After all, I gotta put up with Fat Boy and the advertising ilk that makes my skin crawl.

I’m probably underpaid.

(But not as much as my wife. God help her…)

Let Us See… Shall We???

Even though I am want to use totally too much of those thingys that come after sentences (you know! Like exclamation marks and question marks and that kind of shit. What, for the love of God, are they called??? Oh yeah!!!! PUNCTUATION MARKS!!!! (gotta get more sleep this weekend)) I will say that I’m trying something tonight that, judging by the look on my wife’s face when I bought it, might just send me to an early grave.

The culprit?

A canned (“tinned” for my UK readers) steak pie.

Oh yeah, baby.

This thing comes packaged in a tin can type gizmo. All I have to do is “cook” it in the oven for like 30 minutes. It even has OXO gravy!! (Look it up if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

So far, it smells pretty good.

I’ll give you a full report later.

If I survive.

I’m Reeeeeeeling….

Today I savored, licked, smiled smugly, shit confidently, walked oh-so-goddamn-proudly out of a fucking stupid-as-shit ‘informational’ meeting with an “Oh-yeah, asshole?” smile on my face.

It practically sent me to the emergency room. (These kind o’ smiles don’t come easy, Skippy!)

My smile was so goddamn well deserved.

Oh, I can’t divulge the details.

Let’s just say that my work… well it WORKED.

And it was a great moment. Especially since my boss wanted rid of me.

Maybe I’ll go pro after all this.

Maybe there’s a world where I freelance, make assloads of cash, and live a pretty fucking happy life.

Maybe…

But for now…

Oh Jebus, today was a fine fucking slap up the assboss face.

It’ feels pretty good.

It proves I’m good.

That’s all I ever wanted.

And, now that I’ve jinxed myself for the rest of my natural born life, I shall go to bed.

Nature vs. All Those Other Assholes…

I have two VERY strong views on the subject of picking up dog shit in a grocery bag just because it’s the so-called “law”:

1. It’s gross.

2. I won’t pick it up.

Let’s look at it subjectively: Dog shit is natural.

And completely fucking disgusting… but whatever.

Unfortunately, it (the dog shit) (eventually) dissolves into a brown smudge that our so-called “lawnmower” (it’s an electric ‘hover-type-bullshit (well, I guess I mean ‘dog shit’)-crappy-lawn mowing-type-whatever’) will never in a million years scatter and/or chop up to my ultimate satifaction. My thinking is that, unattended, it (the dog shit) will still melt into the grass after a good solid rain storm (that’s how it works…right?).

Also, I had many other humorous points but I can’t remember what they were or, if in fact, they were humorous.

Goodnight.

Dog shit rules!!!

A Little Insight

Anybody whose anybody who reads this shit blog won’t be surprised when I say this:

I’m either Obsessive-Compulsive, Manic-Depressive, or simply, “full of shit”.

For the sake of argument, I’m gonna go with the Manic-Depressive diagnosis because I’ve been on the dopey drugs under Doctor’s ORDERS (who said I was probably MANIC DEPRESSIVE) (and, yes, they do work- if you like feeling like you’re underwater under the influence of a drug that makes the thought of being underwater and drowning an ‘ok-why-the-hell-why-not’ feeling’ ok.)

So this is my statement for today: I’m tired.

But boy howdy did I have a LOT to say… until I forgot it all cuz I’ve got a lot of shit to deal with tomorrow and for the next week.

The point is… stay tuned.

I’m gonna let y’all know why everything’s been weird lately.

It’ll probably bore ya.

Tough shit!

(Oh, and now I’m watching ‘Return of the Jedi’. Talk about editing your legacy….)

I’m Like a Chick with a Dick

I am sooooo multi-tasking today.

Just like a woman.

Oh, they’ll (women) say that men can never match the multi-tasking skills of the slowest woman in the Ozarks. But I am here to prove the world wrong.

Observe:

I am playing Metroid Prime 3 AND blogging AND ripping TOTALLY legal stuff that sounds like music that I stole bought from a legitimate record company but didn’t (AS FAR AS YOU KNOW) cuz I already owned the rights for some reason or the other, all at the same time!!!

It’s like I’m running an international company or something, without the pay!!!

But I’m getting into President Bush territory.

And I can’t comment on that.

Oh! I kid! I KID….

There’s all of 5 people who witnessed my breakdown the other night (now deleted. WHEW!)

Sorry ’bout that!

I’m still a good guy. Got a bit upset. Yelled a little too loudly in public (I’ve got a kinda big mouth some-a-times).

So… still here. Still a jerk. Still hating a lot of things but loving a whole lot more.

Please excuse my venom.

It won’t kill you.

But it might get me fired.

But so what?