The Essence of Evil

If you are squeamish – read no further.

I received a mighty shock today in the bathroom when, after a simple ordinary lunchtime Whooper Combo from Burger King, I dropped a turd that was greener than Kermit the Frog.

How fucking gross it that? I’m taking about a bright ghastly neon green that could only resemble that of something that has been exposed to Chernobyl amounts of radioactive waste. I haven’t seen that kind of nasty green shit since The Exorcist.

You want to talk about being freaked out?

What the fuck are in those Whoppers exactly? One regular Whopper sandwich, medium fries and Diet Coke, and three and a half hours later I’m passing the Hell’s Own recipe for spicy guacamole dip

This only serves to me as further evidence that Burger King is the very essence of evil.

Men's Room Morning Massacre

Why is it that the Men’s bathroom at work is so busy first thing in the morning? There’s literally an entire line-up of obstructed men, all shifting foot to foot in anxious anticipation of a stall soon opening up.

Why do they all wait to get to work before they decide to empty their bowels? Why the fuck don’t they do that at home? Isn't that something you normally prefer to do at home anyway as opposed to waiting until you are surrounded by your peers and separated by a thin metal wall? I HATE stepping into the Men’s room at 8:30AM to a wall of stink so thick that you could carve your initials in it.

That’s not exactly the kick-start to a chipper, productive morning, is it?

Either these guys should start dropping their payloads at home, where they belong, or else limit their morning diuretics like double-double coffees and Egg McMuffins until, say, noon.

Or to be totally proactive on the situation, management could provide these smelly bastards with a special designated porto-potty out in the parking lot that they can use when their morning doses of grease and caffeine pulls the plug on their weak, girlish bowels, working their lubed up sphincter like the bellows at a Blacksmith’s shop, and not offend, taint, or blind any unsuspecting co-workers before they make it to their desks first thing in the morning.

Infestation Blues

I have been stricken with the mother of all flu viruses and I am currently home, playing hooky from work. My body has been suddenly transformed into a drippy, mucousy mess. The energy is being sapped from my body like a Maple tree come February. I’ve had other flu bugs and germs before, but this particular bug is Biblical.

Who returns from a sunny weekend’s camping excursion with both a vicious sunburn AND a cold?

To recuperate, I am going to lie on my couch in front of Ellen DeGeneres, make bacon sandwiches, and pass out in a mixed pile of toast crumbs and snot until the Health fairies see fit to return enough sufficient stores of my precious energy and bodily fluids so that I can return to work once again tomarrow.

On the other hand, perhaps I should instead strip down and hop into the freezer and prolong this disease for maybe another day in order to keep me from roasting my through another shift under those flourescent office place lights.

In-Store Stereo Kill Switch

I happened to catch myself singing along with a little ditty that was being played on the in-store music system while I was wandering the aisles at Canadian Tire this past weekend. The tune was instantly recognizable to my subconscious, even after many years, and I just immediately jumped into the lyrics and began singing them softly to myself before my conscious was able to process what I was doing…

…which was singing along to the ever popular loser’s torch song of unrequited love ‘Love Song’ by the original Godfather’s of Goth, the Cure.

"However far away
I will always love you
However long I stay
I will always love you
Whatever words I say
I will always love you
I will always love you"

That’s weird to be hearing that in a hardware store, right?

I should be scratching my chest and having an erection over power drills and circular saws, not getting all misty-eyed and remorseful over the bitchy Melissa Peckermunch back in Grade 10, who continually failed to acknowlegde my fragile and awkward pre-pubescent advances, nor to return any of my passed love notes in Algebra class! Plus, weeping like a gay man at a wedding in the aisle at a hardware store isn’t exactly going to win any female’s affections now either, is it?

I’m not so sure it’s a wise decision to play such depressing, nobody-loves-me, Goth music over the stereo system knowing that there may be impressionable robotic shoppers, like myself, wandering the aisles of potentially deadly tools and appliances.

That's not a 'Play' button on the store stereo, it's a 'Kill' switch!

That’s all the Canadian Tire managers need is to have someone unconsciously triggered into a psychotic episode while browsing ball peen hammers in Aisle 7 and go on a killing spree in the Automotive Department.

I know it wouldn’t be entirely unfathomable for me to suddenly get all depressed and suicidal after subliminally listening to Fat Bob and the boys drone on morosely, luring me into a near coma, as if I had just received a sodium pentathol enema.

Who the fuck would blame me for going all schitzo and trying to dismember a checkout clerk with a retracting Black & Decker rotor saw? Robert Smith could invoke homicidal tendencies in a neutered koala bear!

In an environment that houses so many possible instruments of murder, I just thought it would be more prudent to play something a little more, oh, I don’t know, “chipper” shall we say?

Something like George Thurogood, Steppenwolf, or Rush. Something with a little more positive male energy and testosterone feel to it. Something worthy of singing out loud while shopping for power tools!

"How much for a Norwegian Knob-Job?"

A Norwegian court has sentenced a woman to nine months in jail for raping a man, the first such conviction in the Scandinavian country.

The 31 year old testified he fell asleep on a sofa at a party in January and woke to find that the 23 year old woman was having oral sex with him.

Pardon? Where’s the crime exactly?

Since when did giving head to a passed out party patron become a chargeable offense? Shit, isn’t there a whole line of hardcore fetish videos available on just this very topic? Most of us men would gratefully trade our own mothers for a chance to be woken up after a long night of proper marathon-style partying by some uber-hot Scandinavian chick honking on Bobo like she was trying to suck the jam out of a jelly donut?

That’s practically every mans fantasy!

Just once in my life, I'd love to wake up and find myself on the recieving end of a blowjob and seeing the mystery woman choking and gagging like a goose working a lodged quarter out of it's neck while she takes my beefstick in her mouth making her look like a squirrel with a mouthful of acorns...

*ahem*

Under Norwegian law, all sexual acts with someone who is “unconscious” or for other reasons unable to “oppose the act” are considered rape.

WTF?

If you’re unconscious you’re not completely aware of what’s happening to you – who gives a shit if someone wants to perform oral sex on you? It sure beats some other more common and unpleasant possibilities, doesn’t it? Sex while I’m unconscious – sure, why not! I’m not getting enough in my conscious life as it is, so if my unconscious is going to get a little action, I’m hardly going to object.

Even more miraculous than the man who doesn’t like to wake up to having his knob worked over, is the man who will stand up in front of a nation in court and boldly seek legal justice and reparations for the act of irreprehensible oral atrocity that was perpetrated on his poor victimized ass.

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo!

You just know this lightweight pansy-ass never attended any fraternity hazing parties in University.

Of Moving Desks and Dragons

I have been forced to relinquish my beloved work desk in the distant, quiet, shadowy corner of the work floor where everybody forgot I was even there. It has now been moved to another spot right in the hub of all office place activity so that now I feel like a pimple on a shaved pony’s ass.

Fuck!

Besides now having to overhear everyone’s loud bitches, complaints, worries, distresses, concerns, etc, I am right in the proximity for everyone to disturb as they carry on their business oblivious to my wishes to remain anonymous for 8 ½ hours.

To make matters even worse, there is a girl who works on the opposite side of my own desk that has a statue of a dragon perched on her computer monitor that just stares at her fixatedly for her entire shift.

What a peculiar totem to bring with you every day to work!

How does somebody concentrate with a dragon staring at him or her all day? This isn’t one of them friendly dragons like Puff or Elliot; this is one evil looking, scaley, fire-breathing, child-eating devil’s serpent! Wouldn't that be a little too disconcerting to be of any real inspirational motivation?

Worse yet, is that from where I am sitting at my desk, I have to look at it’s dragons asshole for the duration of my 8 ½ hour work shift - isn't that great?

Talk about a bad moon rising!

The Evil Fauna

I am noticing many more wild animals and wee beasties visiting my back patio in recent weeks: raccoons, possums, squirrels, neighborhood cats, etc.

By the sheer number of little muddy paw prints on the outside pane of my patio window by the time I get home, you’d think there was a whole Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom trying to work its way inside in my absence.

Of course, I suspect this is why my cat has been a bit edgier than normal lately.

I imagine that throughout the day while I’m gone he has to defend the castle by himself against this marauding horde of wild beasties.

More than likely, knowing my cat (who has the same aggressive instincts of a cotton ball), he just hides in fear among the t-shirts in my closet and cowers for dear life from the moans, groans, grunts, and growls emanating from outside the patio window as if an entire army of Evil Dead were trying to get in.

I am going to have to start laying traps just inside the patio gate to catch and prevent all the invading fauna from terrorizing my cat and making him their next meal a la tartar.

Boys In Heat

The guy who worked beside me today has been making goo-goo eyes at some girl working aisles over all afternoon.

I think I may have to drown myself in my Kool-Aid. Coincidently, my Kool-Aid is also the only thing sweeter than the sugary grossness oozing off this love-starved dipshit.

He’s stretching and posing and strutting back and forth on his headset like a horny rooster. By the time his shift is over, there will inevitably be a trench dug into the floor of the Call Center where he paced for 8 ½ hours trying to be noticed.

Now hat I’m older and wiser (not to mention slower and fatter), I can see that when young males get those primal Springtime urges to announce their availability and willingness to the entire female race, they ultimately end up looking about as attractive as Robin Williams after a Brazilian waxing.

To make matters even worse, he's also taken to singing Steve Miller songs to himself. NOBODY should ever sing Steve Miller tunes - including Steve Miller! If he keeps flubbing up the lyrics to 'Fly Like An Eagle' much longer, I'm going to see to it that he does when I throw his annoying ass out through the front window!

If I were a single chick considering her options, I think I would be more inclined to munch carpet than deal with these silly-looking blue-balled K-9’s.

Purple Tears In Heaven

In my recent effort to kick the dreaded Java Devil, I have unleashed an even uglier beast:

KOOLAID!

This sweet, sweet elixir of fruity goodness is probably more hazardous and health (not to mention addictive) than my usual cup of morning coffee.

By noon, I am literally on my knees worshipping this purple sugar bitch with my purple-stained tongue lolling out like I was an exhausted Chinese Chow-Chow laying in wait for my Kool-Aid master to come crashing through the cubicle wall at any moment.

It leaves me literally vibrating in my seat like a vibrator on a china plate.

Fuck, who needs drugs when you have enough ‘Radical Berry Explosion’ crystals coursing through your veins to make even David Crosby attempt to saw off his arms? All I need now is a droning Velvet Underground soundtrack playing in the background and some blonde quaffed dandy handling me a plastic telephone in order to talk to God.

This Kool-Aid is turning me into a junkie; and I may, or may not, be developing diabetes! Even after the first sip, I am instantly carried away to a world of throw pillows and innocence, and banging porno stars on public countertops.

Give it another few weeks my whole work performance will probably lapse and I’ll devolve into some lost, editing scene from the movie ‘Rush’. I’ll take to begging for spare change outside the bathrooms so I can afford my next Kool-Aid fix in order to make it back to my desk and pass out in a glazed post coital junkie’s deliria.

I’ll be like the corporate pussy’s equivalent of Duane Allman!

Got Breast Milk?

Thousands of milky mothers gathered today on Capital Hill this afternoon in order to rally in support of Breastfeeding.

Now I know what you’re thinking already: “Uh-oh, what’s he got against breastfeeding?” Right?

Well, nothing.

Actually, I’m in favor of anything that promotes the exposing of more female breasts in public; whether it be for the sake of art, to breastfeed, or simply just letting them hang loose from a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street during Marti-Gras – whatever!

The only thing that really unnerved me, was that during the interview, the spokeswoman for the whole publicized “Nurse-In” rally was carrying and feeding her own son who must have been at least 3 or 4 years old.

Huh? Pardon my male naivety and all, but how is this possible?

This man-child that she was carrying around with her and feeding while she carried on with her political diatribe regarding lactating women’s rights and healthy public attitudes toward breastfeeding was big enough to be capable of light manual labor!

Now there’s a kid who’s going to have some intimacy issues later in life!

Now, I’m all for the feeding of wee babies in public – It’s natural and it’s beautiful! But have you seen the breasts of a woman who is still breastfeeding a child that is old enough to order his own drink without being carded?

Now THOSE are nipples that I can stand NOT to be confronted with in public, thank you very much!