Monthly Archives: October 2006


People who know Worker #3116 know that he is usually very into Halloween. He usually gets his costume shortlist done by February, with a final decision by June, and is ready to go by September. Then it’s just a waiting game. But this year he is just NOT into it. He doesn’t have a costume. He doesn’t have any Halloween plans. He doesn’t WANT any Halloween plans. He doesn’t want to see anyone dressed up in their dumb Borat costume. He wants everyone to just dress like adults and shut up.


If I was into Halloween this year, I would have been one of these three things:

1. Sexy Steve Zisou
2. Sexy Austin Powers
3. Sexy Ghost

Hate This Fridays!

Animalistic behavior. Ew.

You know when you’re at some party or something and two girls are joking around in the kitchen and then maybe one of them smears some cake on the other one’s face or something and you’re like Okay, maybe this is going to start being a sex party, and then the other girl gets kind of mad because the cake got onto her new BCBG top (I don’t know) and then she, like, whatever, throws her drink in the other girl’s face, and now they’re not two girls anymore but two wretched beasts, flopping in the mud? You know that. I hate that.

We have hair gel and socks and fingernail clippers for a reason. We have straight-backed chairs and clothes with buttons and incandescent lighting for a reason. That reason is called calm the fuck down and act like a human being. Nothing ruins an evening worse than when it suddenly gets all “I’m-Fighting-to-the-Death-for-My-Sovereign-Right-to-Exist-as-a-Physical-Entity”.

This is especially about girls. I’m not sure if it’s because of (non Hilary Swank) boxing, or Ultimate Fighting Champion, or my extensive MARTIAL ARTS TRAINING, but I’m not as disgusted by dudes doing this shit, at least not any more disgusted than just my constant base-level disgust, which is Code Black. But seriously, girls, fucking put on some make up, stand up straight, and be a fucking lady. It’s wonderful that you’re allowed into the workplace and to MURDER INNOCENT CHILDREN IN YOUR BODIES and everything, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a monster. You hear me, Jocelyn Wildenstein?

Flatbed and Breakfast

This morning I saw a pick up truck parked on the street, the color of which can only be described as LILAC. This is my favorite truck because it says “I can haul, but I also have an appreciation for potpourri.”

Who buys this truck? It’s not manly, and it’s not butch dykey (which is a kind of manly). It’s probably like the woman I saw on Let’s Make a Deal the other night who was wearing a big football jersey and who cried when she was offered season tickets to the Steelers. You know, the type of woman who is like “the only way to come to psychological terms with the gaping chasm of emotional disconnect I feel with my intellectually stunted husband is to pretend that his interests are my own to such a feverish extent that I actually lose sight of my own selfhood.”

That bitch would totally drive a fucking LILAC PICK UP TRUCK.

As the Snow Flies on a Cold and Gray Chicago Mornin is a big fan of post 98 Degrees, nu-Timberlake. We like having our body rocked, we like senoritas, and we like to make people cry rivers. We also like sexy backs. Who doesn’t? So I was all ready to welcome the new album into my home. But Mr. Timberlake, can you please answer for this:

Okay, Justin Cougar Mellencrap, keep this after church special Mickey Mouse Club 4 Life shit in your Bad Batz Maru notebook and get back to giving all the girls boners. The world doesn’t even need the Akon it already has.