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6:21 a.m. - 2004-10-21

HAVE MY AGENT CALL YOURS. OH THAT'S RIGHT. YOU DON'T HAAAVE AN AGENT!


Just when I was about to give up on society as a whole and move to a ramshackle cabin in the woods in West Virginia where I could eat nothing but Twinkies and tree bark or whatever the hell hermits eat in the hills of West Virginia, I get a phone call yesterday.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver, because lately that's been my greeting of choice when answering the telephone.

"Is this Uncle Bob?" the voice asked, only using my real name and not my internet monicker.

"Why yes. Yes it is," I replied because lately that's been my method of answering people when they ask me if I am who I am, thus retiring my former reply of "Who the shitfuck is this?"

The caller went on to explain to me that she was an agent who represented a slew of bands and she was given my name and number by someone who attended a wedding last weekend.

The Redneck Wedding from Hell.

Bottom line ... she wants to sign me to her agency and start booking my awesome DJ skillz.

Luckily for her, I'm one desperate son of a bitch who will jump at any opportunity to make some dough-re-mi.

So I start with the agency by DJing a sorority gig at the University of Alabama next Saturday night.

Me.

And several dozen sorority girls.

If that's not a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is.

Well ... a hurricane that spawns sporadic tornadoes is probably a recipe for disaster.

Setting up John Hinckley on a blind date with Jodie Foster ... that could be a recipe for disaster.

But I think you get my drift.


Speaking of which ... Mattie Gee ... email me. I tried to email you yesterday, but it wouldn't go through and I need to ask you something about your former agency.

(Mattie Gee, FYI, is a former child model who left the business when his agent couldn't stop molesting him with lubricated toilet plungers. I just want to make sure I don't have to bring my anal dam along with me to the contract signing. And if I do, is it kosher to bring along large wads of gauze to stop the bleeding?)



Here's something stupid ...

Because I have decided to drop completely out of the professional business world and am trying to find a job as a minimum wage imbecile, I have decided that being a courier is the job for me.

Ahhh ... a courier's life. Driving around town to various businesses and dropping off packages with a smile and a gleam in my eye. THAT'S the life for me.

So I saw a Help Wanted ad for a courier position and you had to apply in person for it.

Except it was a blind ad. I had no idea what company it was.

So I hopped in the car yesterday and drove over to the general vicinity of the business.

I could swear the street address was "1701".

I didn't bring the address with me. I was depending on my brain, glorious brain to guide me to the correct business.

I stopped at one place ... a Hoover Vacuum place ... and asked if they were the business needing couriers.

"Oh no," she said, laughing. She must have thought I said "cocksuckers" or something, because whatever it was it cracked her happy little ass up.

She directed me to the business next door.

So I go to the business next door and the address is "1201" not "1701" like my leetle brain had tried to memorize.

"I'm here for the courier job," I said to the lady behind the bulletproof glass.

She looked at me strangely and paused for a second and then told me to fill out an application.

I filled out the application with the usual lies ... I left my last job after I was caught masturbating in the ladies restroom ... I put Bill Gates down as a reference ... I went to school at Harvard and had a 4.5 GPA. That kinda stuff.

After I was somewhat finished, I shoved the half-answered application back at her and stood there waiting patiently for her to tell me I was hired.

She just smiled a rather crooked smile and thanked me for coming by.

That's it??

I'm sorry ... but didn't you notice the Bill Gates/Harvard crap I wrote on there?!?

HIRE ME NOW, DAMMIT!!

I slumped my shoulders to indicate that I was pathetic and walked out the door, got into my car and went home.

Where I looked up the ad one more time.

I was right.

"1701". Not "1201".

I apparently went to the wrong business and filled out an application for a courier job that didn't exist.

So now it all makes sense.

Why would a convenience store need a courier anyway?

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