11.19.2004
a whole week's worth of bloggity goodness, down the muthafuckin' tubes
that's right, i HAD plenty to say. but work's been such a lame piece o' you-know-what (oh yeah, i don't cuss now. since like, eight seconds ago when i said muthafuckin'. okay, i guess i cuss again.), that i haven't had the time to eat, read the news, catch up on my favorite daytime television hits, OR download things illegally. my lazy disposition does not allow for things like this to happen to me very often, and when they do, i tend to TOTALLY stress out and feel as though i've been deprived of my basic human right to relaxation.
but that's just me, whining yet again.
so unfortunately, you miss the story of the boys' first soccer game, in which the other team, we'll just call them "al qaeda" were referred to by the mop-headed kid as "dirty mexicans" and "spics," resulting in total chaos and the future destruction of a small town in kansas or south dakota.
and you miss the story of the fax machine, in which our own favorite superbumpkin karla comes TEARING ASS to the front office, where she proceeds to ask in this frenetic-type voice at the top of her lungs "WHAT IN THE WORLD CAN BE WRONG WITH THE FAX MACHINE THERE ARE NO LIGHTS ON THERE IS NOTHING AT ALL!?!?!?!?!" and i look up from the eighteen stacks of total shit that i'm working on and say to her, "WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW DID I GO TO FUCKING FAX MACHINE SCHOOL OR SOMETHING? CHECK THE PLUG AND MAKE SURE THAT THE THING'S TURNED ON FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" and she still doesn't stop. instead, she proceeds to say (much more quietly this time) "well, i've never had to turn it on before, where's the power button?" and then i just died from the pain and horror and sadness of it all.
and you miss the story of my recent religious epiphany. it's kind of a long, drawn out kind of thing, but in short, i now believe everything ever written in the bible. so much, in fact, that i plan to make it my life's work to talk to young children and do whatever it takes to convince them that MY STORY is the right story, and that they shouldn't listen to people like tom cruise or rodney dangerfield, that they are scientologists and atheists and that god strikes people like them down with lightning bolts and cancer and comas and gay-ism.
so that's what's up with me. i'm working on the last round of tapes here, then it's homeward, where hopefully, a delicious feast awaits me. hahahahahahah, that's so funny cuz i'm the one that cooks. so that'd never happen.
enjoy your weekends, loyal crapfesters. i plan to completely erase my mind this evening. it may take eight bottles of wine, but i'm willing to give it a try.
but that's just me, whining yet again.
so unfortunately, you miss the story of the boys' first soccer game, in which the other team, we'll just call them "al qaeda" were referred to by the mop-headed kid as "dirty mexicans" and "spics," resulting in total chaos and the future destruction of a small town in kansas or south dakota.
and you miss the story of the fax machine, in which our own favorite superbumpkin karla comes TEARING ASS to the front office, where she proceeds to ask in this frenetic-type voice at the top of her lungs "WHAT IN THE WORLD CAN BE WRONG WITH THE FAX MACHINE THERE ARE NO LIGHTS ON THERE IS NOTHING AT ALL!?!?!?!?!" and i look up from the eighteen stacks of total shit that i'm working on and say to her, "WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW DID I GO TO FUCKING FAX MACHINE SCHOOL OR SOMETHING? CHECK THE PLUG AND MAKE SURE THAT THE THING'S TURNED ON FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" and she still doesn't stop. instead, she proceeds to say (much more quietly this time) "well, i've never had to turn it on before, where's the power button?" and then i just died from the pain and horror and sadness of it all.
and you miss the story of my recent religious epiphany. it's kind of a long, drawn out kind of thing, but in short, i now believe everything ever written in the bible. so much, in fact, that i plan to make it my life's work to talk to young children and do whatever it takes to convince them that MY STORY is the right story, and that they shouldn't listen to people like tom cruise or rodney dangerfield, that they are scientologists and atheists and that god strikes people like them down with lightning bolts and cancer and comas and gay-ism.
so that's what's up with me. i'm working on the last round of tapes here, then it's homeward, where hopefully, a delicious feast awaits me. hahahahahahah, that's so funny cuz i'm the one that cooks. so that'd never happen.
enjoy your weekends, loyal crapfesters. i plan to completely erase my mind this evening. it may take eight bottles of wine, but i'm willing to give it a try.
# posted by Nancy Cunningham @ 5:03 PM 
"Gay-ism." Hee!
I feel you on the relaxation stuff — apparently my doctor believes it is because I am bi-polarly depressed, but I think it my be because my job is teh suck & boring. But he gives me medicine so it's ALL GOOD IN THE HOOD.
I don't know how the fax machine works at my job, either, and people are always asking me.
—C.
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I feel you on the relaxation stuff — apparently my doctor believes it is because I am bi-polarly depressed, but I think it my be because my job is teh suck & boring. But he gives me medicine so it's ALL GOOD IN THE HOOD.
I don't know how the fax machine works at my job, either, and people are always asking me.
—C.
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