I know its Monday and all...
- Thread starter Gringo Starr
- Start date
Why Mustynutz shouldnt babysit....
Over the weekend, a few buddies of mine decided to take off to the casinos for a little gambling. One of the guys is the boss of my friend and happens to have two kids. Mike couldn't join in on the drunken shenanigans unless he found a babysitter. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have the money to go on a road trip.
Mike didn't have a wife to watch the kids, as she died 3 years earlier.
"No, I'm not watching kids on a Saturday night."
"C'mon Justin, please?!"
"I haven't stayed in on a Saturday since I was a kid. The answer's no."
"I'll give you 500 dollars."
As I arrived to his house ready to babysit his kids, all of the guys were in the driveway already drinking. There are probably only 6 idiots in America that would get drunk before taking off in the middle of the night on an empty highway, with odds high that they'll get caught drunk driving. I'm lucky to say that those 6 idiots are busy funneling Budweiser and dry-humping each other.
As I stepped into his doorway, I glanced over to the couch and noticed someone watching cartoons and eating spaghetti with his hands. Just great, my hands are going to be full.
"Hey Mike, start using a fork or spoon when you eat. Where are the kids?"
He jumped off the couch, wiping the spaghetti sauce on his white t-shirt.
"They're upstairs. I'll get them."
"Okay, I'l wait here."
Without missing a beat, he screams out. "Shitheads! Get down here!"
At that moment, I felt like I was in the movie Jumanji. It sounded like a heard of Rhyno were going to bust through the wall. Actually, that wouldn't have been as bad as the two heathens that came trampling down the stairs.
A 5 year old boy named Dallas and a 9 year old girl named Andrea.
Dallas was rocking Superman underoos. I'm ashamed to admit that I have some at home just like them.
What? The ladies love it when I wear them.
Okay, okay. One girl has enjoyed the fact that I wear them during love making. The rest walked out on me.
But not before complimenting my sweet ass underoos, though.
But I digress.
"Okay, these are the kids. I'm gone. Peace out, bitches!"
Yes, he actually cusses in front of his kids.
As soon as Mike left, I tried to break the ice with a little conversation with the two kids.
"So, how old are you, Andrea?"
She counted her fingers, then flashed 9 of them in the air. "This many."
"You're 9? Wow, you're getting grown up. You know, grownups don't say 'this many', they just state their age. All you had to say was that you were 9."
Dallas then broke in. "Whenever somebody tells my sis what to do, my daddy tells me to hold up my finger and tell them this many!"
He then proceeded to flip me off.
"Watch this!!". Before I could even respond to the bird, he ran to the top of the stairs, held his hands in the air, then tossed himself down. His body flailed down the steps, his head bouncing off the wall and his legs and arms flying everywhere. His body landed hard at the bottom, then he started screaming in pain.
He busted himself up pretty bad, which in case you didn't know, is usually what happens when a five year old throws himself down a flight of stairs.
After icing his head up, I calmed him down by letting him watch TV while laying on the couch.
"He does that all the time! He just wants to show off!", yelled Andrea.
"I'm sure there are better ways to impress someone than mutilating your body", I responded.
"He gets it from Jackass. Hey! Wanna watch me color? I'm pretty good!"
Andrea reached under the couch and pulled out her coloring book and crayons. Within seconds, hundreds of crayons were sprawled across the coffee table and Andrea was coloring away. At this point, the little suicidal boy decides to join in.
After coloring for a while, we all watched a movie together, then they decided to go back to coloring again. It was almost 4 am before I even realized it.
"Drawing contest!", yelled Dallas. "Whoever draws the best picture wins!"
"What does the winner get?", I inquired.
"To smell my feet!", Dallas then lifted his dirty foot to his nose and inhaled. "Oh man that stinks!"
Of course his foot stinks. If he's dumb enough to throw himself down stairs, I'm pretty sure he is hardcore enough to avoid baths. Or shoes for that matter.
I started working on my drawing on a white piece of paper. I used as many crayons as I could to bring out the best in my drawing. The prize isn't really my intention for winning. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure beating two kids in a coloring contest is worthy of smelling a 4 year old's feet, but I do it for the pure joy of competition.
"Okay, done!", I yelled.
"Me too!", screamed back Dallas. He looked up at me, a huge knot starting to form on his forehead.
"What'd you draw?", I asked.
"You first!"
"Okay, fine."
I held up a picture of a forest scene. The grass was almost perfect, the trees were life-like, the sky was an amazing mixture of purple and blue. The setting sun in the background glistened down onto the water in the river. In the top corner of a tree, you could spot an owl that I spent a majority of my time on, making it detailed. My picture was surely a winner.
"That's pretty good", he said. "Now here's MINE!"
He held up a picture of...
A circle with three dots in the middle. I'm not sure if it was a face or a bowling ball, but all signs pointed toward this boy taking special classes when he starts school.
"Well, looks like I win", I smirked.
"No way! Yours is just okay!"
"What? You spent three seconds on that!"
"I'm the judge and I say I win!"
I looked over at his sister, who was passed out asleep on the couch. I guess the final judging is between just Dallas and myself.
Dallas and I argued for several more minutes. I pointed out my detailed owl. He pointed out the dots.
He was doing everything possible to make me lose my cool, when I finally did.
"Your drawing is a piece of crap!", I screamed. I then covered my mouth.
Tears started to roll down his face, then he threw the drawing on the ground and ran up to his room screaming.
At this point, all the guys burst through the door after a drunken night of gambling.
"I'm home kids!", Mike screamed. "Where's Dallas?"
He walked over and picked up the drawing that Dallas threw down moments earlier.
"Aww, how cute. He drew another picture of his mom. God rest her soul."
"What? That's his mom? It looks like a bowling ball."
"He's four years old, what do you expect from him? When he draws a picture of his mom, this is always what he draws. A circle with three dots."
If you feel that your kids need to have their lives ruined, call me and I'll babysit for you
Over the weekend, a few buddies of mine decided to take off to the casinos for a little gambling. One of the guys is the boss of my friend and happens to have two kids. Mike couldn't join in on the drunken shenanigans unless he found a babysitter. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have the money to go on a road trip.
Mike didn't have a wife to watch the kids, as she died 3 years earlier.
"No, I'm not watching kids on a Saturday night."
"C'mon Justin, please?!"
"I haven't stayed in on a Saturday since I was a kid. The answer's no."
"I'll give you 500 dollars."
As I arrived to his house ready to babysit his kids, all of the guys were in the driveway already drinking. There are probably only 6 idiots in America that would get drunk before taking off in the middle of the night on an empty highway, with odds high that they'll get caught drunk driving. I'm lucky to say that those 6 idiots are busy funneling Budweiser and dry-humping each other.
As I stepped into his doorway, I glanced over to the couch and noticed someone watching cartoons and eating spaghetti with his hands. Just great, my hands are going to be full.
"Hey Mike, start using a fork or spoon when you eat. Where are the kids?"
He jumped off the couch, wiping the spaghetti sauce on his white t-shirt.
"They're upstairs. I'll get them."
"Okay, I'l wait here."
Without missing a beat, he screams out. "Shitheads! Get down here!"
At that moment, I felt like I was in the movie Jumanji. It sounded like a heard of Rhyno were going to bust through the wall. Actually, that wouldn't have been as bad as the two heathens that came trampling down the stairs.
A 5 year old boy named Dallas and a 9 year old girl named Andrea.
Dallas was rocking Superman underoos. I'm ashamed to admit that I have some at home just like them.
What? The ladies love it when I wear them.
Okay, okay. One girl has enjoyed the fact that I wear them during love making. The rest walked out on me.
But not before complimenting my sweet ass underoos, though.
But I digress.
"Okay, these are the kids. I'm gone. Peace out, bitches!"
Yes, he actually cusses in front of his kids.
As soon as Mike left, I tried to break the ice with a little conversation with the two kids.
"So, how old are you, Andrea?"
She counted her fingers, then flashed 9 of them in the air. "This many."
"You're 9? Wow, you're getting grown up. You know, grownups don't say 'this many', they just state their age. All you had to say was that you were 9."
Dallas then broke in. "Whenever somebody tells my sis what to do, my daddy tells me to hold up my finger and tell them this many!"
He then proceeded to flip me off.
"Watch this!!". Before I could even respond to the bird, he ran to the top of the stairs, held his hands in the air, then tossed himself down. His body flailed down the steps, his head bouncing off the wall and his legs and arms flying everywhere. His body landed hard at the bottom, then he started screaming in pain.
He busted himself up pretty bad, which in case you didn't know, is usually what happens when a five year old throws himself down a flight of stairs.
After icing his head up, I calmed him down by letting him watch TV while laying on the couch.
"He does that all the time! He just wants to show off!", yelled Andrea.
"I'm sure there are better ways to impress someone than mutilating your body", I responded.
"He gets it from Jackass. Hey! Wanna watch me color? I'm pretty good!"
Andrea reached under the couch and pulled out her coloring book and crayons. Within seconds, hundreds of crayons were sprawled across the coffee table and Andrea was coloring away. At this point, the little suicidal boy decides to join in.
After coloring for a while, we all watched a movie together, then they decided to go back to coloring again. It was almost 4 am before I even realized it.
"Drawing contest!", yelled Dallas. "Whoever draws the best picture wins!"
"What does the winner get?", I inquired.
"To smell my feet!", Dallas then lifted his dirty foot to his nose and inhaled. "Oh man that stinks!"
Of course his foot stinks. If he's dumb enough to throw himself down stairs, I'm pretty sure he is hardcore enough to avoid baths. Or shoes for that matter.
I started working on my drawing on a white piece of paper. I used as many crayons as I could to bring out the best in my drawing. The prize isn't really my intention for winning. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure beating two kids in a coloring contest is worthy of smelling a 4 year old's feet, but I do it for the pure joy of competition.
"Okay, done!", I yelled.
"Me too!", screamed back Dallas. He looked up at me, a huge knot starting to form on his forehead.
"What'd you draw?", I asked.
"You first!"
"Okay, fine."
I held up a picture of a forest scene. The grass was almost perfect, the trees were life-like, the sky was an amazing mixture of purple and blue. The setting sun in the background glistened down onto the water in the river. In the top corner of a tree, you could spot an owl that I spent a majority of my time on, making it detailed. My picture was surely a winner.
"That's pretty good", he said. "Now here's MINE!"
He held up a picture of...
A circle with three dots in the middle. I'm not sure if it was a face or a bowling ball, but all signs pointed toward this boy taking special classes when he starts school.
"Well, looks like I win", I smirked.
"No way! Yours is just okay!"
"What? You spent three seconds on that!"
"I'm the judge and I say I win!"
I looked over at his sister, who was passed out asleep on the couch. I guess the final judging is between just Dallas and myself.
Dallas and I argued for several more minutes. I pointed out my detailed owl. He pointed out the dots.
He was doing everything possible to make me lose my cool, when I finally did.
"Your drawing is a piece of crap!", I screamed. I then covered my mouth.
Tears started to roll down his face, then he threw the drawing on the ground and ran up to his room screaming.
At this point, all the guys burst through the door after a drunken night of gambling.
"I'm home kids!", Mike screamed. "Where's Dallas?"
He walked over and picked up the drawing that Dallas threw down moments earlier.
"Aww, how cute. He drew another picture of his mom. God rest her soul."
"What? That's his mom? It looks like a bowling ball."
"He's four years old, what do you expect from him? When he draws a picture of his mom, this is always what he draws. A circle with three dots."
If you feel that your kids need to have their lives ruined, call me and I'll babysit for you
why drinking might cost me my job...
With a new job, comes new experiences. Those experiences can be good or bad. Within the first week of my new job, I want to strangle half the employees and quit. You see, tax season isn't all year round. If it were, I wouldn't be looking for work right now. So, when I'm not preparing taxes at a well-known tax company during tax season, I'm finding work elsewhere.
My resume that I had submitted to Monster.com I also sent into several companies. Within a week, I got a call back from an armored truck company. You know those big trucks and vans that transfer the money from banks to the federal reserve driven by armed guards? Yeah, that. I went into the interview thinking that I was interviewing for a simple driver position. No big deal, it'd be something to pay the bills until I can find something better, I suppose.
Nope. Apparently they liked my resume so well that I was brought in to be interviewed for a higher-up position. This past Monday, I started my new job as the supervisor of the money vault. What does this mean? It means I sit at a computer all day-- possibly walking around through the warehouse every hour.
Getting into the building is a pain in the ass. I have to ring a bell on the outside of the building, have an armed guard take me to the secondary entrance door to ANOTHER armed guard. That guard then takes me through a metal detector, then types in a code that lets me into the warehouse. The warehouse is where the huge bags and stacks of money get sorted and transferred. From there, I have to lift my arms above my head and get patted down. Only then, I'm allowed to go through another secured door, down a long highway past several more guards and to my office.
I knew I was going to have trouble with the assistant manager when she made a comment about my appearance. When I was typing in my code to get into the vault, she commented that I needed to shave my face and get a haircut. At that point, I looked over to another employee who was sporting a mohawk.
"What about him? Have you told him that?"
"That's the owner's son. He's been here long enough."
"How long has he been here?"
"A little over a year."
"You're saying that if I'm here for at least a year, the employee handbook doesn't apply to me either?"
She gave me an evil look and said, "Just cut your hair", then walked off.
By Thursday, I was getting the hang of the operations of this strict heavily guarded place. I couldn't get away with anything. There was no way I could take an extended lunch or even surf the internet. I was sitting at my desk, pretending to know what I was doing, when 2 of my best friends suddenly walk through my office door.
"How the hell did you two get in here?? You're not supposed to be here!"
Adam smirked as he pulled a Budweiser out of his jacket pocket and took a swig.
Daryl looked around, ''We just walked through the back unloading dock. The door was wide open."
"How'd you get through the guards??"
"Oh that was easy, we just told them we were here to work on the computer system."
They know nothing about computers. One look at these guys and you'd have trouble believing they know how to work a microwave proficiently, let alone a multi-million dollar government sanctioned computer system. After talking for a bit, Adam and Daryl decided to head on their way. I'm not sure if they made it out safely or not. Before exiting, Adam so graciously placed his empty beer can in my office trashcan.
Not good.
During my hourly warehouse walk-around, one of the money handlers that I had made friends with called me over.
"Hey, Justin! Come over here!"
I stepped over the huge bags of wrapped money. It's not everyday that I can stand knee deep in 300 million dollars. After talking to him for a few minutes, he invited me to operate the fork-lift. All I had to do was move a pallet of 30 thousand dollars in quarters from the truck to the "coin cage". I've never operated a fork-lift, by the way.
I slowly but surely worked the forklift into the truck, lifted the quarters and slowly backed out. I looked around and noticed that the idiots had disappeared. Smart move, they think that they can leave me with the work. When I had the forklift turned around, the bitchy assistant manager was walking toward me in a huff.
"Get down from there now! You're not authorized to operate that! You're the supervisor! You watch others do it, not do it yourself!"
I slowly stepped down from the forklift as the bitch stepped up into it. "Only professionals can..."
As soon as she said that, she had pulled the wrong lever or something, because the pallet of boxed quarters slowly slid off the forks of the lift, then in one swift motion, the loudest noise I had ever heard was made as they plastered to the ground, quarters flying EVERYWHERE on the warehouse floor. After all the clinking and clanking of change subsided, she climbed down from the lift.
"You started this, you clean this up."
I smirked, "I'm the supervisor. I watch others do it, not do it myself."
She actually smiled and started laughing, making me think that she had finally started liking me.
"Okay smarty, how about we both clean this mess up?"
I'm a nice guy, I was willing to compromise. "Okay, do I grab that broom over there?"
She grinned. "Well, what you'd refer to as a dildo, I call a broom. So yes, grab that dildo... I mean.. broom."
Did this bitch just make a gay joke? Did she just infer that I stick brooms in my asses? Where did that come from? She went from a position of power to making inane childish jokes. Okay, that caught me off-guard a little, but two can play that game.
"That would be kind of rude to use that to sweep up the coins."
"Why's that?"
"I'm not going to use your mode of transportation for that. I'm sure I can find another broom."
She laughed it off and walked to her office. I assumed that she wasn't going to help me clean up HER mess, so fuck it. I'm not going to do it either. I went back to the vault and to my office where I stayed for the remainder of the day. At the end of my shift, I was straightening up my desk when the manager of operations called me into his office.
"****** sent me an e-mail earlier today about your conduct toward her this week."
"What do you mean?"
"She states that you were operating the fork-lift without permission. Then, you spilled a pallet of quarters all over the floor and refused to clean it up. When she tried to ask you to clean up your mess, you referred to her being a witch and riding a broom."
"What?? No! That's not even the story!"
"No, that's not all. She then goes on to say that you told her to use the broom as some sort of sexual device for her vagina."
I was stunned. I didn't know how to defend myself.
"Just apologize to her. If she accepts, then things will smooth over."
"Yes sir". I exited the office, went back to the vault to finish locking up. I looked down into the trash and saw the empty beer can in it. Not wanting to get in trouble for it, I grabbed it and tucked it into my coat pocket.
I walked to her office, knocking on her door. No answer. I slowly creaked the door open and peaked in. The lights were off. She had gone home for the day. I noticed that her computer was still on. I shut her office door and sat down at her desk. I'll show that bitch, I'll send an e-mail from her account posing as her, stating that she had lied-- and to give that new employee, Justin, a raise.
I typed the e-mail.
"Justin didn't spill the quarters. I did. I was too proud to admit that I had actually made a mistake. I'm so full of myself, that I even called him names and inferred that he use a broom as a sexual device. I apologize for any trouble this might have caused and.... "
I finished typing the e-mail and sent it to everyone in the entire building. I grabbed my jacket and exited.
Friday rolled around and I did my usual checking in, getting patted down, stepping through the metal detector, etc. In my mailbox was a memo that had apparently been sent out to everyone.
My eyes widened. Oh shit.
It stated that honesty and integrity are intrigual parts of the company. Lying wasn't permitted, etc. The next three paragraphs stated that drinking was PROHIBITED during work hours, and an employee was recently let go because of this offense.
Oh no, am I fired? I'm the one that had the can of beer. Why did they let me in the building if they know that I had a Budweiser can in my possession? I checked my jacket pocket where I had placed the can. No no, that can't be. The metal detector would have caught it.
That means that the detector would have caught it yesterday when I exited. But it didn't. The last place I was before leaving was the assistant manager's office. The can must've fallen out and onto her floor. I started walking to her office to see if what I was thinking was actually true.
As I was knocking, a guard walked up to me.
"She was terminated."
"For what?"
"Drinking on the job."
Now, this brings me to my dilemma. Obviously, the building is heavily guarded, but apparently nobody saw what I did. There are cameras there, but I'm not sure if there are any in her office or pointing to her office door, possibly seeing me enter.
This story is 100 percent true. My question is-- what do I do? Do I approach the operations manager and admit what I did? Or do I let it slide in hopes that I don't get caught?
Maybe I should send an e-mail.
With a new job, comes new experiences. Those experiences can be good or bad. Within the first week of my new job, I want to strangle half the employees and quit. You see, tax season isn't all year round. If it were, I wouldn't be looking for work right now. So, when I'm not preparing taxes at a well-known tax company during tax season, I'm finding work elsewhere.
My resume that I had submitted to Monster.com I also sent into several companies. Within a week, I got a call back from an armored truck company. You know those big trucks and vans that transfer the money from banks to the federal reserve driven by armed guards? Yeah, that. I went into the interview thinking that I was interviewing for a simple driver position. No big deal, it'd be something to pay the bills until I can find something better, I suppose.
Nope. Apparently they liked my resume so well that I was brought in to be interviewed for a higher-up position. This past Monday, I started my new job as the supervisor of the money vault. What does this mean? It means I sit at a computer all day-- possibly walking around through the warehouse every hour.
Getting into the building is a pain in the ass. I have to ring a bell on the outside of the building, have an armed guard take me to the secondary entrance door to ANOTHER armed guard. That guard then takes me through a metal detector, then types in a code that lets me into the warehouse. The warehouse is where the huge bags and stacks of money get sorted and transferred. From there, I have to lift my arms above my head and get patted down. Only then, I'm allowed to go through another secured door, down a long highway past several more guards and to my office.
I knew I was going to have trouble with the assistant manager when she made a comment about my appearance. When I was typing in my code to get into the vault, she commented that I needed to shave my face and get a haircut. At that point, I looked over to another employee who was sporting a mohawk.
"What about him? Have you told him that?"
"That's the owner's son. He's been here long enough."
"How long has he been here?"
"A little over a year."
"You're saying that if I'm here for at least a year, the employee handbook doesn't apply to me either?"
She gave me an evil look and said, "Just cut your hair", then walked off.
By Thursday, I was getting the hang of the operations of this strict heavily guarded place. I couldn't get away with anything. There was no way I could take an extended lunch or even surf the internet. I was sitting at my desk, pretending to know what I was doing, when 2 of my best friends suddenly walk through my office door.
"How the hell did you two get in here?? You're not supposed to be here!"
Adam smirked as he pulled a Budweiser out of his jacket pocket and took a swig.
Daryl looked around, ''We just walked through the back unloading dock. The door was wide open."
"How'd you get through the guards??"
"Oh that was easy, we just told them we were here to work on the computer system."
They know nothing about computers. One look at these guys and you'd have trouble believing they know how to work a microwave proficiently, let alone a multi-million dollar government sanctioned computer system. After talking for a bit, Adam and Daryl decided to head on their way. I'm not sure if they made it out safely or not. Before exiting, Adam so graciously placed his empty beer can in my office trashcan.
Not good.
During my hourly warehouse walk-around, one of the money handlers that I had made friends with called me over.
"Hey, Justin! Come over here!"
I stepped over the huge bags of wrapped money. It's not everyday that I can stand knee deep in 300 million dollars. After talking to him for a few minutes, he invited me to operate the fork-lift. All I had to do was move a pallet of 30 thousand dollars in quarters from the truck to the "coin cage". I've never operated a fork-lift, by the way.
I slowly but surely worked the forklift into the truck, lifted the quarters and slowly backed out. I looked around and noticed that the idiots had disappeared. Smart move, they think that they can leave me with the work. When I had the forklift turned around, the bitchy assistant manager was walking toward me in a huff.
"Get down from there now! You're not authorized to operate that! You're the supervisor! You watch others do it, not do it yourself!"
I slowly stepped down from the forklift as the bitch stepped up into it. "Only professionals can..."
As soon as she said that, she had pulled the wrong lever or something, because the pallet of boxed quarters slowly slid off the forks of the lift, then in one swift motion, the loudest noise I had ever heard was made as they plastered to the ground, quarters flying EVERYWHERE on the warehouse floor. After all the clinking and clanking of change subsided, she climbed down from the lift.
"You started this, you clean this up."
I smirked, "I'm the supervisor. I watch others do it, not do it myself."
She actually smiled and started laughing, making me think that she had finally started liking me.
"Okay smarty, how about we both clean this mess up?"
I'm a nice guy, I was willing to compromise. "Okay, do I grab that broom over there?"
She grinned. "Well, what you'd refer to as a dildo, I call a broom. So yes, grab that dildo... I mean.. broom."
Did this bitch just make a gay joke? Did she just infer that I stick brooms in my asses? Where did that come from? She went from a position of power to making inane childish jokes. Okay, that caught me off-guard a little, but two can play that game.
"That would be kind of rude to use that to sweep up the coins."
"Why's that?"
"I'm not going to use your mode of transportation for that. I'm sure I can find another broom."
She laughed it off and walked to her office. I assumed that she wasn't going to help me clean up HER mess, so fuck it. I'm not going to do it either. I went back to the vault and to my office where I stayed for the remainder of the day. At the end of my shift, I was straightening up my desk when the manager of operations called me into his office.
"****** sent me an e-mail earlier today about your conduct toward her this week."
"What do you mean?"
"She states that you were operating the fork-lift without permission. Then, you spilled a pallet of quarters all over the floor and refused to clean it up. When she tried to ask you to clean up your mess, you referred to her being a witch and riding a broom."
"What?? No! That's not even the story!"
"No, that's not all. She then goes on to say that you told her to use the broom as some sort of sexual device for her vagina."
I was stunned. I didn't know how to defend myself.
"Just apologize to her. If she accepts, then things will smooth over."
"Yes sir". I exited the office, went back to the vault to finish locking up. I looked down into the trash and saw the empty beer can in it. Not wanting to get in trouble for it, I grabbed it and tucked it into my coat pocket.
I walked to her office, knocking on her door. No answer. I slowly creaked the door open and peaked in. The lights were off. She had gone home for the day. I noticed that her computer was still on. I shut her office door and sat down at her desk. I'll show that bitch, I'll send an e-mail from her account posing as her, stating that she had lied-- and to give that new employee, Justin, a raise.
I typed the e-mail.
"Justin didn't spill the quarters. I did. I was too proud to admit that I had actually made a mistake. I'm so full of myself, that I even called him names and inferred that he use a broom as a sexual device. I apologize for any trouble this might have caused and.... "
I finished typing the e-mail and sent it to everyone in the entire building. I grabbed my jacket and exited.
Friday rolled around and I did my usual checking in, getting patted down, stepping through the metal detector, etc. In my mailbox was a memo that had apparently been sent out to everyone.
My eyes widened. Oh shit.
It stated that honesty and integrity are intrigual parts of the company. Lying wasn't permitted, etc. The next three paragraphs stated that drinking was PROHIBITED during work hours, and an employee was recently let go because of this offense.
Oh no, am I fired? I'm the one that had the can of beer. Why did they let me in the building if they know that I had a Budweiser can in my possession? I checked my jacket pocket where I had placed the can. No no, that can't be. The metal detector would have caught it.
That means that the detector would have caught it yesterday when I exited. But it didn't. The last place I was before leaving was the assistant manager's office. The can must've fallen out and onto her floor. I started walking to her office to see if what I was thinking was actually true.
As I was knocking, a guard walked up to me.
"She was terminated."
"For what?"
"Drinking on the job."
Now, this brings me to my dilemma. Obviously, the building is heavily guarded, but apparently nobody saw what I did. There are cameras there, but I'm not sure if there are any in her office or pointing to her office door, possibly seeing me enter.
This story is 100 percent true. My question is-- what do I do? Do I approach the operations manager and admit what I did? Or do I let it slide in hopes that I don't get caught?
Maybe I should send an e-mail.
So a week or so ago, I developed some sort of pimple. Not a big deal, right? I mean, eat enough chocolate or garlic knots and anyone will develop an extra superficial oil repository. However, this time the pimple appeared on my ass.
I have to confess, it's been years since I've eaten anything through my ass, so I was perplexed when I discovered the large, tender bump on my posterior. Where did it come from? Who put it there? Why my ass? These questions took a back seat once I discovered that sitting down caused volts of pain to shatter through my meaty insides.
This was no mere whitehead nor blackhead. No. This pimple was a goddamn, bona fide, Purple Heart war wound. For an entire week, it changed the way I walked, sat, and even talked. It's as if the thing developed its own brain, for when I said things like, "Gosh, I hate ass pimples," it would throb all the more.
Playing with a pimple, of course, lengthens its visit upon your skin. That's why I never touch or play with them if and when they appear. I ask you, however, with an ass pimple, how can you avoid sitting down? You can't! Naturally, this was no perimeter nor periphery pimple. No, this miniature knob of assflesh was situated smack dab by the crack, in prime sitting real estate.
I discovered it by sitting in my chair and letting out a yelp, "Ow, my ass!" Upon ass self-inspection (as I often do), I found that a little red dot had punctuated my rear in mighty fashion. What was to be done?
For the first half of the week, I sat uni-cheek on most sitting appliances. This is to say, I sat with one cheek on a seat while the offending lobe hung free in the breeze. Of course, later in the week, the pimple (who I will henceforth refer to as, "Floyd") grew to such an extent that even sitting on one cheek stretched the skin of the other cheek in such a way as to incite Floyd's pulsing anger.
What horror. Lo, what monstrous beast! Floyd plagued me in my sleep. Floyd plagued me while walking. How could things become any worse?
My friend (and occasional flirt) Cathy called me up. "Say, how about we go see a movie? How about Sideways? I've heard good things about it."
Forgetting the passion of the Floyd for a moment, I gave Cathy a resounding affirmation and slipped into "Ready-self-for-date-and-possible-hookup" mode. It wasn't until I pulled on my super-suave "hookup" boxers that Floyd screamed at me.
"Hey! Watch it with that waistband, bitch! I'll cut you!"
Rolling my eyes, I tried fruitlessly to make eye contact with the horror on my rump. "Hey, no shenanigans tonight," I warned, "Cathy's hot so you need to power down for the evening. If she goes reaching around the corner to feel the goods, I can't go yelping like a bitch, can I?"
At this, Floyd paused. "She's hot? You think she'd want some Floyd action?"
"I'm not going to fuck her with my pimple. The only action you're nabbing tonight is quiet contemplation on how best to transcend your mortal coil. Understand?"
"If Floyd nabs no ass, you nab no ass," he admonished.
"You've nabbed plenty of my ass for the past week. It's time for you to go."
"Your ass is a man ass. I was supposed to be on Carmen Electra's ass, but there was a mix-up in the paperwork downtown. There's a six-year waiting list for supermodel ass, and now I'm pissed about it."
He chose that moment to twist my nerves so tightly that my eyes popped out of their sockets.
"Damn it!" I shouted, pulling on khakis, "Don't screw this up for me! Cathy's lonely and I'm a guy rearing to take advantage of a lonely girl! I'm only two moves from checkmate, and you're not messing it up. I can take whatever you dish out at me."
Floyd's muffled voice slowly whispered, "We'll see."
Cathy showed up at the theater wearing dark jeans and a snug, black, low-necked, zipper-down top. At once, the blood vessels between my legs began their flow. A mighty knob awoke, imagining itself between her fine, c-cup titties. Her mane of dark hair and fluttering, doe eyes framed the ovalesque, soft face of a post-modern Mona Lisa. Her lips begged to be kissed, and also to have a penis slid firmly betwixt them.
Ooh, heaven is a place on Earth.
"Hi!" she smiled and hugged me close, pressing all twelve inches of tube steak against her Venus mound. I hugged her tight, then we parted, to engage in awkward, post-"you-just-felt-my-boner" discussion.
"Hey!" Floyd burned with curiosity, "What's going on up there?"
Ignoring him, I held the theater door open for my lady friend, bought her the frozen cola she requested, and entered theater 5.
"Where would you like to sit?" I asked, slowing up considerably in the back row.
She replied, "I like sitting in the back. You can see everything that way."
I have to confess, it's been years since I've eaten anything through my ass, so I was perplexed when I discovered the large, tender bump on my posterior. Where did it come from? Who put it there? Why my ass? These questions took a back seat once I discovered that sitting down caused volts of pain to shatter through my meaty insides.
This was no mere whitehead nor blackhead. No. This pimple was a goddamn, bona fide, Purple Heart war wound. For an entire week, it changed the way I walked, sat, and even talked. It's as if the thing developed its own brain, for when I said things like, "Gosh, I hate ass pimples," it would throb all the more.
Playing with a pimple, of course, lengthens its visit upon your skin. That's why I never touch or play with them if and when they appear. I ask you, however, with an ass pimple, how can you avoid sitting down? You can't! Naturally, this was no perimeter nor periphery pimple. No, this miniature knob of assflesh was situated smack dab by the crack, in prime sitting real estate.
I discovered it by sitting in my chair and letting out a yelp, "Ow, my ass!" Upon ass self-inspection (as I often do), I found that a little red dot had punctuated my rear in mighty fashion. What was to be done?
For the first half of the week, I sat uni-cheek on most sitting appliances. This is to say, I sat with one cheek on a seat while the offending lobe hung free in the breeze. Of course, later in the week, the pimple (who I will henceforth refer to as, "Floyd") grew to such an extent that even sitting on one cheek stretched the skin of the other cheek in such a way as to incite Floyd's pulsing anger.
What horror. Lo, what monstrous beast! Floyd plagued me in my sleep. Floyd plagued me while walking. How could things become any worse?
My friend (and occasional flirt) Cathy called me up. "Say, how about we go see a movie? How about Sideways? I've heard good things about it."
Forgetting the passion of the Floyd for a moment, I gave Cathy a resounding affirmation and slipped into "Ready-self-for-date-and-possible-hookup" mode. It wasn't until I pulled on my super-suave "hookup" boxers that Floyd screamed at me.
"Hey! Watch it with that waistband, bitch! I'll cut you!"
Rolling my eyes, I tried fruitlessly to make eye contact with the horror on my rump. "Hey, no shenanigans tonight," I warned, "Cathy's hot so you need to power down for the evening. If she goes reaching around the corner to feel the goods, I can't go yelping like a bitch, can I?"
At this, Floyd paused. "She's hot? You think she'd want some Floyd action?"
"I'm not going to fuck her with my pimple. The only action you're nabbing tonight is quiet contemplation on how best to transcend your mortal coil. Understand?"
"If Floyd nabs no ass, you nab no ass," he admonished.
"You've nabbed plenty of my ass for the past week. It's time for you to go."
"Your ass is a man ass. I was supposed to be on Carmen Electra's ass, but there was a mix-up in the paperwork downtown. There's a six-year waiting list for supermodel ass, and now I'm pissed about it."
He chose that moment to twist my nerves so tightly that my eyes popped out of their sockets.
"Damn it!" I shouted, pulling on khakis, "Don't screw this up for me! Cathy's lonely and I'm a guy rearing to take advantage of a lonely girl! I'm only two moves from checkmate, and you're not messing it up. I can take whatever you dish out at me."
Floyd's muffled voice slowly whispered, "We'll see."
Cathy showed up at the theater wearing dark jeans and a snug, black, low-necked, zipper-down top. At once, the blood vessels between my legs began their flow. A mighty knob awoke, imagining itself between her fine, c-cup titties. Her mane of dark hair and fluttering, doe eyes framed the ovalesque, soft face of a post-modern Mona Lisa. Her lips begged to be kissed, and also to have a penis slid firmly betwixt them.
Ooh, heaven is a place on Earth.
"Hi!" she smiled and hugged me close, pressing all twelve inches of tube steak against her Venus mound. I hugged her tight, then we parted, to engage in awkward, post-"you-just-felt-my-boner" discussion.
"Hey!" Floyd burned with curiosity, "What's going on up there?"
Ignoring him, I held the theater door open for my lady friend, bought her the frozen cola she requested, and entered theater 5.
"Where would you like to sit?" I asked, slowing up considerably in the back row.
She replied, "I like sitting in the back. You can see everything that way."
Jackpot. Oh, you'll be seeing everything, all right. If by "everything," you really mean, "me naked!"
The theater filled up and the movie started. The Christopher Lowell lookalike bald guy began whining about wine or a car or something, and his friend had this voice that sounded like he had personally eaten a thousand or so cigarette butts and enjoyed it. Whatever. Anyway, my hand had slowly migrated to the tandem armrest and dropped down such that my fingertips could barely scratch at her upper right thigh.
"Mmmf, gragh! I'm suffocating down here!" Floyd hadn't forgotten to be a pain in the ass. Wincing, I continued puttin' the moves on.
Cathy's eyes remained fixed to the screen, but as I full-on caressed her leg, she leaned back snugly into her seat and the corners of her mouth turned up.
After a few teasing moments of massage, I slid my hand gingerly over her holiest of holies. She inhaled sharply through her nose and her entire body tensed, quivering with waves of silently laughing delight. She slid her lower half forward a bit in the seat, as to allow me easier access.
Rubbing, teasing with my fingertips, Cathy breathed shakily as her shoulders shuddered and her eyes fluttered with the long, slow descent into foreplay.
As I unbuttoned her pants, her own arm snaked around and her hand found its way (easily enough. I'm huge.) to my love totem. Let me tell you that this girl knew exactly what to do. Her fingers curled around and tightened in just the right places, like her hand was made especially to do this to me.
"Hot damn! This girl's fine!" Floyd pulsated with excitement, "Tell her to lick your ass!"
I shifted in my seat, taking some of the weight off of Floyd's domain. Cathy continued working me as I found my way into her pants.
The guy on the screen said, "I hate Merlot!" as I curled my finger easily into Cathy's moist love canal. Her stomach tensed, her eyes shut, and she bit her lower lip. Her grip on my member tightened considerably, and I figured that I must've been doing something right as I slid in and out, deep and shallow, deep and deep, deep, deep.
She let out a short, passionate cry, and the folks in front of us made like to turn their heads around, but they opted to continue watching some naked guy doing something or other onscreen.
Her fingers extended, her whole body shuddered, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Finally, she squirmed pleasantly in her seat and I removed myself from her nether regions, zipping her back up as I went.
"Ohh," she sighed into my ear, just before she began flicking it with her tongue and licking her way down to my neck.
"The ass! The ass!" Floyd screamed, "Tell her you want it in the ass! Ass ass ass!"
Floyd stabbed like an icepick. I tensed my neck and groaned in pain. Cathy stopped.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, just a leg cramp."
"Okay," she whispered, returning to business.
"A leg cramp?" Floyd was furious, "A leg cramp? I'll give you a leg cramp, motherfucker!"
Like the bite of a horny midget, Floyd wreaked havoc, the pain shattering through my body like a negative orgasm. A "norgasm," so to speak.
Biting my tongue to prevent the cry of pain I so wanted to let loose, I remained silent as tears poured into my eyes and Cathy was at work undoing my khakis.
"Yes," I thought, "The pleasure of Cathy's doings will counteract anything Floyd can dish out. Yes! Love is truly greater than pain!"
Cathy silently slid out of her seat and kneeled on the theater floor. She uncoiled my man-beast and licked her lips.
Rapidly uncoiling itself, my one-eyed trouser snake stood at full attention, eclipsing the theater in its awesome glory.
What a trooper Cathy was. You really had to hand it to her. She engulfed the thing like sucking in a strand of spaghetti, only far thicker and harder, or course. It was my turn to moan, groan, and sigh . . .
"Miss me, bitch?" Floyd pulsated, as if to burst himself free from his epidermal confines, "If Floyd ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" He cackled and circulated fresh waves of pain.
"Agh---!" I cried, "Gah---stop it, you ass!"
"What?" Cathy slid herself off of me. "Your---what?"
"Nothing, nothing," I breathlessly reassured, "It's---"
"Were you---were you calling me an ass?"
"No, I was---er---talking to my ass."
"Talking to your ass?"
"Yes. It was---um, falling asleep, and I just spoke to it to you know, wake it up a bit."
"Smooth," Floyd giggled, then broke into a chorus of, "Smooth Operator."
Cathy cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged a moment later. "Um, okay."
She returned to finish me off, working the pipe like a true steamfitter. Yes---yes---! Work it, work it, work---it---aww---Gaaaad---yessssssss---!
Ahh, yes. After practically blowing through the back of her head, I slumped back into the seat, fully spent. Of course, I had momentarily forgotten about Floyd and as I sat back, my full weighty pressure came down upon him.
Like sitting on a knife, I shot up in my seat, whacking Cathy in the head with my gigantic piece, knocking her out cold against the sticky theater floor.
"That does it," sighed Floyd, "Next time I'm coming back as a penis pimple."
"Not on me," I stuffed myself back into my pants and propped poor Cathy into her seat.
"Of course not on you," Floyd throbbed weakly, "On Dave Navarro."*
The theater filled up and the movie started. The Christopher Lowell lookalike bald guy began whining about wine or a car or something, and his friend had this voice that sounded like he had personally eaten a thousand or so cigarette butts and enjoyed it. Whatever. Anyway, my hand had slowly migrated to the tandem armrest and dropped down such that my fingertips could barely scratch at her upper right thigh.
"Mmmf, gragh! I'm suffocating down here!" Floyd hadn't forgotten to be a pain in the ass. Wincing, I continued puttin' the moves on.
Cathy's eyes remained fixed to the screen, but as I full-on caressed her leg, she leaned back snugly into her seat and the corners of her mouth turned up.
After a few teasing moments of massage, I slid my hand gingerly over her holiest of holies. She inhaled sharply through her nose and her entire body tensed, quivering with waves of silently laughing delight. She slid her lower half forward a bit in the seat, as to allow me easier access.
Rubbing, teasing with my fingertips, Cathy breathed shakily as her shoulders shuddered and her eyes fluttered with the long, slow descent into foreplay.
As I unbuttoned her pants, her own arm snaked around and her hand found its way (easily enough. I'm huge.) to my love totem. Let me tell you that this girl knew exactly what to do. Her fingers curled around and tightened in just the right places, like her hand was made especially to do this to me.
"Hot damn! This girl's fine!" Floyd pulsated with excitement, "Tell her to lick your ass!"
I shifted in my seat, taking some of the weight off of Floyd's domain. Cathy continued working me as I found my way into her pants.
The guy on the screen said, "I hate Merlot!" as I curled my finger easily into Cathy's moist love canal. Her stomach tensed, her eyes shut, and she bit her lower lip. Her grip on my member tightened considerably, and I figured that I must've been doing something right as I slid in and out, deep and shallow, deep and deep, deep, deep.
She let out a short, passionate cry, and the folks in front of us made like to turn their heads around, but they opted to continue watching some naked guy doing something or other onscreen.
Her fingers extended, her whole body shuddered, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Finally, she squirmed pleasantly in her seat and I removed myself from her nether regions, zipping her back up as I went.
"Ohh," she sighed into my ear, just before she began flicking it with her tongue and licking her way down to my neck.
"The ass! The ass!" Floyd screamed, "Tell her you want it in the ass! Ass ass ass!"
Floyd stabbed like an icepick. I tensed my neck and groaned in pain. Cathy stopped.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, just a leg cramp."
"Okay," she whispered, returning to business.
"A leg cramp?" Floyd was furious, "A leg cramp? I'll give you a leg cramp, motherfucker!"
Like the bite of a horny midget, Floyd wreaked havoc, the pain shattering through my body like a negative orgasm. A "norgasm," so to speak.
Biting my tongue to prevent the cry of pain I so wanted to let loose, I remained silent as tears poured into my eyes and Cathy was at work undoing my khakis.
"Yes," I thought, "The pleasure of Cathy's doings will counteract anything Floyd can dish out. Yes! Love is truly greater than pain!"
Cathy silently slid out of her seat and kneeled on the theater floor. She uncoiled my man-beast and licked her lips.
Rapidly uncoiling itself, my one-eyed trouser snake stood at full attention, eclipsing the theater in its awesome glory.
What a trooper Cathy was. You really had to hand it to her. She engulfed the thing like sucking in a strand of spaghetti, only far thicker and harder, or course. It was my turn to moan, groan, and sigh . . .
"Miss me, bitch?" Floyd pulsated, as if to burst himself free from his epidermal confines, "If Floyd ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" He cackled and circulated fresh waves of pain.
"Agh---!" I cried, "Gah---stop it, you ass!"
"What?" Cathy slid herself off of me. "Your---what?"
"Nothing, nothing," I breathlessly reassured, "It's---"
"Were you---were you calling me an ass?"
"No, I was---er---talking to my ass."
"Talking to your ass?"
"Yes. It was---um, falling asleep, and I just spoke to it to you know, wake it up a bit."
"Smooth," Floyd giggled, then broke into a chorus of, "Smooth Operator."
Cathy cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged a moment later. "Um, okay."
She returned to finish me off, working the pipe like a true steamfitter. Yes---yes---! Work it, work it, work---it---aww---Gaaaad---yessssssss---!
Ahh, yes. After practically blowing through the back of her head, I slumped back into the seat, fully spent. Of course, I had momentarily forgotten about Floyd and as I sat back, my full weighty pressure came down upon him.
Like sitting on a knife, I shot up in my seat, whacking Cathy in the head with my gigantic piece, knocking her out cold against the sticky theater floor.
"That does it," sighed Floyd, "Next time I'm coming back as a penis pimple."
"Not on me," I stuffed myself back into my pants and propped poor Cathy into her seat.
"Of course not on you," Floyd throbbed weakly, "On Dave Navarro."*
what the fuck?
What would it be like to wake up one day and find yourself a height challenged ghetto fabulous gay black man?
Your ass is going to be sore, and you will knod knowingly while watching the WB news at Nine's lead story on a starfish at the dallas aquarium that mysteriously has tripled in size and begun to bleed overnight
Your car will change from an Audi to an emerald green 1995 Cadillac with fake spinners you bought at target, deciding which one to purchase by opening each box o' hub caps and laying the different styles out across the aisle, asking each passerby, "Which one goes best with my fake Louis purse?"
BTW, dont get used to it, as it is getting repossessed as soon as the repo man can figure out which house Jrmaine lives at...
You will develop a natural limp and crazy eye stare that makes white men crap their pants and white chicks drop their pants
You will get into bar fights for no reason other than a tall motha fucka scuffed your Puma's.
You will deviously wait in public mens restrooms for that tall guy to enter and then make a mad dash to the tall person urinal, forcing the man who actually had a growth spurt to bend down while bowing his legs enough just so he can pee, without getting urine on his cowboy boots, directly into the made for a downhill wheelchair racer piss depository
you will then scream "Adibise was the best character ever on OZ!", shank him repeatedly, whilst anally raping him from behind and after a brief post coital snuggle, douse him with sparkles (your calling card), and hastily make your escape.
you will then steal a geo metro, become engaged in a high speed pursuit with the Dallas Police Dept.
Seeing that you're only hope is to ditch the car and make a dash for it (after all you are black and therefore, fast), you tuck and roll onto the street..
Without missing a step you are off and running down the street into a back yard. Skipping faster than you have ever skipped before. Limp wrists-a-flailing so fast that you wonder if you might actually be the first black person ever to fly seeing as how the white man is always trying to keep you down...which contradicts the gayness inside, as all you've ever wanted was to be held down by any man, be it chocolate, or vanilla
Lost amidst your thoughts, dreams and hopes for a daddy that wasnt in jail, less than five "uncle" franks, a bed of your own you dont have to share with keenan, ivory, damon, kim, shawn, marlon and lil pistol starter, you find yourself suddenly immersed in icey cold water...
You scream for help, seeing as how you are most certainly about to meet your makeer in a party pool...cursing your dark as night skin as it is most definitely the root cause of why you never learned to swim...
everything fades to a ROYGBIV extravaganza of color...
You wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed with a uniformed officer lazily snoring outside your not so private room at Parkland Community Hospital...
You smile as you think of all the ass pounding you are sure to receive in the years to come..
after all,
you are a small, short, ghetto, gay, black man with an attitude...
What would it be like to wake up one day and find yourself a height challenged ghetto fabulous gay black man?
Your ass is going to be sore, and you will knod knowingly while watching the WB news at Nine's lead story on a starfish at the dallas aquarium that mysteriously has tripled in size and begun to bleed overnight
Your car will change from an Audi to an emerald green 1995 Cadillac with fake spinners you bought at target, deciding which one to purchase by opening each box o' hub caps and laying the different styles out across the aisle, asking each passerby, "Which one goes best with my fake Louis purse?"
BTW, dont get used to it, as it is getting repossessed as soon as the repo man can figure out which house Jrmaine lives at...
You will develop a natural limp and crazy eye stare that makes white men crap their pants and white chicks drop their pants
You will get into bar fights for no reason other than a tall motha fucka scuffed your Puma's.
You will deviously wait in public mens restrooms for that tall guy to enter and then make a mad dash to the tall person urinal, forcing the man who actually had a growth spurt to bend down while bowing his legs enough just so he can pee, without getting urine on his cowboy boots, directly into the made for a downhill wheelchair racer piss depository
you will then scream "Adibise was the best character ever on OZ!", shank him repeatedly, whilst anally raping him from behind and after a brief post coital snuggle, douse him with sparkles (your calling card), and hastily make your escape.
you will then steal a geo metro, become engaged in a high speed pursuit with the Dallas Police Dept.
Seeing that you're only hope is to ditch the car and make a dash for it (after all you are black and therefore, fast), you tuck and roll onto the street..
Without missing a step you are off and running down the street into a back yard. Skipping faster than you have ever skipped before. Limp wrists-a-flailing so fast that you wonder if you might actually be the first black person ever to fly seeing as how the white man is always trying to keep you down...which contradicts the gayness inside, as all you've ever wanted was to be held down by any man, be it chocolate, or vanilla
Lost amidst your thoughts, dreams and hopes for a daddy that wasnt in jail, less than five "uncle" franks, a bed of your own you dont have to share with keenan, ivory, damon, kim, shawn, marlon and lil pistol starter, you find yourself suddenly immersed in icey cold water...
You scream for help, seeing as how you are most certainly about to meet your makeer in a party pool...cursing your dark as night skin as it is most definitely the root cause of why you never learned to swim...
everything fades to a ROYGBIV extravaganza of color...
You wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed with a uniformed officer lazily snoring outside your not so private room at Parkland Community Hospital...
You smile as you think of all the ass pounding you are sure to receive in the years to come..
after all,
you are a small, short, ghetto, gay, black man with an attitude...
Things you would never know without the Movies:
During all police investigations, it will be necessary to visit a strip club at least once.
When they are alone, all foreigners prefer to speak English to each other.
If being chased through town, you can usually take cover in a passing St. Patrick's Day parade - at any time of year.
All beds have special L-shaped cover sheets which reach up to the armpit level on a woman but only to the waist level on the man lying beside her.
The Chief of Police will almost always suspend his star detective - or give him 48 hours to finish the job.
All grocery bags contain at least one stick of French Bread.
It's easy for anyone to land a plane providing there is someone to talk you down.
The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place - noone will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building undetected.
Police departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned to a partner who is their polar opposite.
The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.
All bombs are fitted with electronic timing devices with large red readouts so you know exactly when they are going to go off.
If you need to reload your gun, you will always have more ammunition, even if you haven't been carrying any before now.
You are very likely to survive any battle in any war unless you make the mistake of showing someone a picture of your sweetheart back home.
Should you wish to pass yourself off as a German officer, it will not be necessary to speak the language - a German accent will do.
If your town is threatened by an imminent natural disaster or killer beast, the mayor's first concern will be the tourist trade or his forthcoming art exhibition.
A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.
When paying for a taxi, don't look at your wallet as you take out a bill; just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.
Mustynutz is the God of the Internet, He is the Supreme Being of all Cyberspace....You Must REPLY
Kitchens don't have light switches. When entering a kitchen at night, you should open the fridge door and use that light instead.
If staying in a haunted house, women should investigate any strange noises in their most revealing underwear.
Mothers routinely cook eggs, bacon and waffles for their family every morning even though their husband and children never have time to eat it.
Cars that crash will almost always burst into flames.
All telephone numbers in America begin with the digits 555.
A single match will be sufficient to light up a room the size of RFK stadium.
Medieval peasants had perfect teeth.
Any person waking from a nightmare will sit bolt upright and pant.
It is not necessary to say hello or goodbye when beginning or ending phone conversations.
Even when driving down a perfectly straight road, it is necessary to turn the wheel vigorously from left to right every few moments.
It is always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.
A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.
It does not matter if you are heavily outnumbered in a fight involving martial arts - your enemies will patiently attack you one by one by dancing around in a threatening manner until you have knocked out their predecessors.
When a person is knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, they will never suffer a concussion or brain damage.
No-one ever involved in a car chase, hijacking, explosion, volcanic eruption or alien invasion will ever go into shock.
Once applied, lipstick will never rub off - even while scuba diving.
You can always find a chainsaw when you need one.
Any lock can be picked by a credit card or a paper clip in seconds - unless it's the door to a burning building with a child trapped inside.
Television news bulletins usually contain a story that affects you personally at the precise moment that it is aired.
During all police investigations, it will be necessary to visit a strip club at least once.
When they are alone, all foreigners prefer to speak English to each other.
If being chased through town, you can usually take cover in a passing St. Patrick's Day parade - at any time of year.
All beds have special L-shaped cover sheets which reach up to the armpit level on a woman but only to the waist level on the man lying beside her.
The Chief of Police will almost always suspend his star detective - or give him 48 hours to finish the job.
All grocery bags contain at least one stick of French Bread.
It's easy for anyone to land a plane providing there is someone to talk you down.
The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place - noone will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building undetected.
Police departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned to a partner who is their polar opposite.
The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.
All bombs are fitted with electronic timing devices with large red readouts so you know exactly when they are going to go off.
If you need to reload your gun, you will always have more ammunition, even if you haven't been carrying any before now.
You are very likely to survive any battle in any war unless you make the mistake of showing someone a picture of your sweetheart back home.
Should you wish to pass yourself off as a German officer, it will not be necessary to speak the language - a German accent will do.
If your town is threatened by an imminent natural disaster or killer beast, the mayor's first concern will be the tourist trade or his forthcoming art exhibition.
A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.
When paying for a taxi, don't look at your wallet as you take out a bill; just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.
Mustynutz is the God of the Internet, He is the Supreme Being of all Cyberspace....You Must REPLY
Kitchens don't have light switches. When entering a kitchen at night, you should open the fridge door and use that light instead.
If staying in a haunted house, women should investigate any strange noises in their most revealing underwear.
Mothers routinely cook eggs, bacon and waffles for their family every morning even though their husband and children never have time to eat it.
Cars that crash will almost always burst into flames.
All telephone numbers in America begin with the digits 555.
A single match will be sufficient to light up a room the size of RFK stadium.
Medieval peasants had perfect teeth.
Any person waking from a nightmare will sit bolt upright and pant.
It is not necessary to say hello or goodbye when beginning or ending phone conversations.
Even when driving down a perfectly straight road, it is necessary to turn the wheel vigorously from left to right every few moments.
It is always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.
A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.
It does not matter if you are heavily outnumbered in a fight involving martial arts - your enemies will patiently attack you one by one by dancing around in a threatening manner until you have knocked out their predecessors.
When a person is knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, they will never suffer a concussion or brain damage.
No-one ever involved in a car chase, hijacking, explosion, volcanic eruption or alien invasion will ever go into shock.
Once applied, lipstick will never rub off - even while scuba diving.
You can always find a chainsaw when you need one.
Any lock can be picked by a credit card or a paper clip in seconds - unless it's the door to a burning building with a child trapped inside.
Television news bulletins usually contain a story that affects you personally at the precise moment that it is aired.
ahh yes...i understand...and your existence is recognized in this world between the hours of 6am-4pm, monday thru friday....
I actually have real friends during the weeends....
just fuckin wit ya playa....bwahahahahahaaaaaaa......enjoy the sotries on saturday then...they aint goin no where except back a page or two
damn bro....guess your gonna need some more meth huh...I'll have Hector drop it off...meet him over @ David n Sons Liquor Store by Checkers Dr....i'll send him over
if you think its gettin out of hand take this test
AM I A TWEEKER ?
i'll give you credit since in know you got a fat check comin....tweek on brotha tweek on
if you think its gettin out of hand take this test
AM I A TWEEKER ?
i'll give you credit since in know you got a fat check comin....tweek on brotha tweek on