Office Mind Fuck

It's strange how working at an office 60 hours in a week can fuck with your head so much. I mean, it was only two extra days for me, but I'm about ready to kill the next person who asks me for help... Being a Supervisor, that's probably a bad thing.

Anyway, I joke about drinking all the time, but I generally only have one a night, and every once in a while I'll go on a "binge" and take down three beers. But tonight will be different. I need to unwind before I blow up and freak out on someone who doesn't diserve my wrath.

Tonight seems like a good night to stab a hooker and shove her body down a storm drain.

Fabric Softner (continued)

UPDATE (see previous post for more details):

It worked.

Not only did the sheet of fabric softner wedged between my ass and underwear stop my pants from smelling like butt, but I actually had a few people ask me what type of cologne I was wearing as well as a few "Mm-mmm, somebody smells good!"

Top that off with the clean and refreshing scent my gas was giving off and you have the full story of my success.

Fabric Softener

Today is Saturday. Saturday's blow for me.

Friday night I work until about 1am, much like every other night. But on Saturday I get to wake up at seven so that I can get to work by 8am. What fun!

I may have slept in a little, but not enough to make me late or anything. It was a long enough sleep for me to run around like a fat naked madman after my shower, in search of clean pants.

As I am sorting through the baskets of clean clothes I am reminded of my wife asking me repeatedly to bring the laundry up from the basement so it can be sorted. No time for that this morning though. I checked the clock and realized that I had to walk out the door, naked or in dirty clothes. Given my companies dress code guidelines and my need for continued employment, I chose to dress.

I did the smell test on the pants, and was forced to check twice more as I was uncertain of whether they were safe or not. (Curse my sinuses!)

I really hope I don't start smelling like butt during the day.

Hopefully my plan will work and I won't smell at all like dirty ass. I wedged a sheet of fabric softener in the back of my pants.

It should also make my gas smell like clean laundry.

Pac Man

I am the Pac Man messiah.

Just so you know. No one can take me on a one on one Pac Man competition. Don't believe me? I'm in Youngstown, Ohio, and my Pac Man skills will send you running home to mommy so she can wipe the tears from your eyes.

I went to visit my grandmother in her brief stay at the assisted living old folks home. They had one of the original Pac Man machines there. I was stoked. I defeated my wife in three straight games.

The old people, obviously impressed by my skills, gathered around to watch as I gobbled up the power pellets and destroyed the ghosts like a hungry fatman at a buffet.

Then came the challengers. One by one, the old fools fell to my unequaled Pac Man prowess. When I left the nursing home that day, they knew that donteatpoop was a force to be reckoned with.

They should have known all along. It was prophesized.

One Lucky Bastard

Rabbits feet are said to bring the owners of such feet good luck. I've always wondered where this strange and seemingly barbaric superstition came from. I'm sure there's a real explanation somewhere out there, but laziness prevails research for me. So instead of researching this, I decided to think about what kind of sadistic asshole crawled out of his cave, caught a furry little bunny and started hacking off paws and hanging them about his neck. I also wonder if he started out using the feet, or maybe moved to feet after he found out how hard it was to string rabbit anis around his neck.

Anyway. I figure if a rabbit foot is lucky, a whole fucking rabbit has got to be extra fortunate.

So if you ever see some guy with thick red sideburns and Buddy Holly glasses with a bunny corpse strung from his neck. Be sure to say "You must be donteatpoop. My God, your blog is such a poorly written waste of my fucking time."

And then I'll cry.

A Haiku

Balls stuck to my legs
And they do not smell pleasant
Time for a shower