The jobby job is the focal point. Not entirely to blame, but is the main transgressor. To bore you with insipid work type details I'll expound further.

It seems that after my month long stint of overnight fester is over I am gonna be working days in September. Thats the only slighty decent part, although I ain't a morning guy and if anyone expects me to even be pleasant much less coherent before noon, they can fuck a pair of pork chops held together with snot. But, my schedule is also changing from Tuesday through Saturday, to Sunday through Thursday. The result of which causes me to come into work Sunday ( or as the schedule so cleverly states Saturday 11:55pm ) for 12:00am to 8:00am and then perk the ass up for working the next day Monday 8:00am to 4:00pm. Double turd twister scheduling result is that I will then be working ten days straight having to basically forgo a weekend. Triple chunder munching dookie log result is that this scheduling brilliance blazes on through a holiday weekend. A holiday weekend that most of the metropolitain area will be basking in work free for three days, including all my homies. Some of which will be enjoying a shroom lovefest forgetting they ever had a job.

Teensy weensy bit livid ovah here. My cock is not happy with the situation either. We can't even look each other in the eye in the morning. Having to bail on flirty chicks to haul my heiny to this place of hardship. Lemme tell ya, when spanky jr. ain't in a pleasant mood, it pretty much determines how the rest of my body feels.

In attempts to not gnaw off someone's trachea, I will funnel the fury here describing what I despise of the individuals I work with. Regardless of this funneling I will be a stern no-frills asshole the entire ten day stretch of jobby job scheduling horse load. Make sure your trays are in the upright position and fasten your seatbelts.

Names will be changed to a silly and demeaning alias to protect me ( these are the type of vermin that would involve slimy lawyers, and I religiously keep lawyers out of my life ), fuck the innocent. No worries, if these individuals actually do happen upon this page they will instantly recognise themselves in this diatribe. If they deny they resemble the following descriptions, an army of mutated cybernetic crustaceans will descend on their families with my brand of justice programmed into their cpu's.

I'll start with the one I'd like to most see drowning in a cavernous vat full of aciduluos junky vomit. Twitchy. He sinks his tongue deep into paranoia's rectum. Nervous and shortcomings covering loudness, he shrieks every fucking noise that belches from his verbal stinkhole. Doubtful he would be balding if any kind soul would suffer in dealing with him, in order to get him laid. I don't even think he can spell pussy much less be able to recall the texture of it. He'd want to spray the intending mouth or vagina with Windex. He's a germaphobe of the highest order, causing joy to take a vacation in his life. Weasily spineless tattletale. Perfect combination for his responsibilities as shift manager. I would recommend electroshock therapy of the gums and ear canals even if it wouldn't resolve his issues. I could not give three fucks if he became a disease ridden hunk of meat.

The Pungent Swashbuckler. If you are feeling like a spanky completist, you can read my 3/21/02 entry - "shake the pram" for a tale of this wanna-be plastic action figure's self importance revolving around a photo collage he arranged and pasted above his desk of his car. Both Twitchy and The Pungent Swashbuckler believe they possess extra coolness cause they can name the type of bolts holding the tires onto their mobile trashheaps. Both lovers of the tit implants, which, if you been studying correctly, means you can deduce what? That's correct, they are both either retarded or stuck mentally at twelve years old. The Pungent Swashbuckler as his name denotes is a stinging odor factory. He splashes on some piquant aftershave that mingles with his natural anchovy grease scent, and culminates into a eye squinting, headache producing chemical warfare stench that permeates all air spaces. He thinks he is king shit. Sticks his chest out and tells these stories of how much of a clever badass he is. If anyone should come to work in a jingly and boldly striped court jester outfit it's him. Mimes wouldn't harass this breathing stink.

Chunk. The main reason I can't stand Chunk is that I can't understand a word he says. He stumbles and mumbles his words. I think he's built up his muscles so much that it clogs his voicebox. Seems as if he built up his neck and back muscles so he could bend over backwards and pick things up with his shoulders. He might not be a bad dude, but I can't decipher his speech enough to determine that one way or the other. So fuck him large.

Hoodrat. Hoodrat is a bully. Now I'm from the street and gots the predatory skills when needed. No reason to utilise those capabilities towards terrorising others just minding their business and trying to earn a living. Hoodrat loves to taunt and swing his dick in your face. He's gotta make sure he comments on what you are wearing and basically comes with the intended demeaning jokes. Bullies are just sad. Don't know exactly what he's covering up by shifting focus on others by attempting to embarass them, but from my experience it's always pitiful. The worst part of his comments is that they are not amusing. If you are gonna be a verbal bully at least be entertaining for onlookers, instead you are just a buzzing gnat needing to be swat.

Rudy Ignatz. This guy was peeled off the funny pages. He is an amalgamation of every bundling animated sidekick projected on movie screens. Rudy Ignatz has an opinion about everything, and always feels compelled to blurt out his delightful mental fluff like a Tourette's patient gobbling diet pills believing them to be Tic-Tacs. He's the guy that everyone went over to his house to play cause he had all the toys, but they avoided him on the playground. Even though I have never hung with Rudy Ignatz in a social setting I am positive he would be pussy repellent. My game could not survive his obnoxious prattlings. He would be most beneficial as a paperweight. Rudy Ignatz the eternal bench warmer.

Zoinks! That was truly cathartic. Deep under the surface I'd like to churn people into tard butter, but I ain't grinding my teeth at the moment. This, plus the weed I smoked before trouncing into work, are making some giggles creep in. Could continue on with some descriptions of more pleebs I work with but slacker spanky wants to surf porn and squirt some semen out while on the clock. Getting paid to blow spunk. Genuine NYC geeky freak signing off.

Peace, love and hair grease.