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1:44 p.m. - 2001-10-24

AND A BLOODY GOOD TIME WAS HAD BY ALL

I blew out my candle in my office and dipped my fingers in the hot wax. Then I blew on my fingers to cool the wax and then slowly removed each wax finger cast from each finger. So now I have ten wax finger casts on my desk. The right pinky one is cracked though and this is causing me great inner turmoil and some slight distress.

Which should tell you what kinda day I'm having.


I thought up a neat little joke to play on one of your co-workers this morning.

When there's a fairly decent sized group of people standing around, pick out one of them and say "Hey! I saw you in traffic the other day!"

They'll say something along the lines of "You did??" Because people are always shocked when they hear this revelation. It's like they think they become invisible in traffic and can't believe someone else can spot them.

Then say "Yeah. You were picking your nose and really giving your nostril a workout! Man, I didn't think you'd ever stop knuckling that bad boy!"

This will make all the other people start giggling and the recipient of your little joke embarrassed. Because more than likely ... they have picked their nose in the car. Apparently everyone does it. Except for me. Which I'll tell you why in a moment.

So then, you know...you've embarrassed someone...everyone got a laugh at their expense ... and you can just walk away, secure in the knowledge that you've pretty much destroyed another person.

I bet it would work.

I just haven't tried it yet.


So ... you're all on the edge of your seats, wondering why I don't pick my nose when I drive, aren't you?

Well, I'll tell ya, pardner...

When I was about 14 or so, my cousin Danny was chauffering me and my cousin David to some shindig out at a country club that we belonged to.

Well...not us exactly. Our parents. You probably didn't need that explained to you though, huh?

So anyway, we're all three in the car with a 16 year-old Danny driving. Danny's talking about something or another and picking his nose while he talked.

Suddenly, blood starting flowing out of his nose.

Okay, you have two choices when your nose starts bleeding as you're driving. You can tilt your head back to help secure the blood flow and possibly stop the flow. And consequently wreck the vehicle and kill everyone in the car at the time. It's not the most desirable option, but it is an option.

Or you can keep driving and let it bleed all over your shirt and pants.

He kept driving. By the time we got to the country club, he looked like an extra from "Night of the Living Dead".

David and I laughed our asses off at him as we got out of the car. He really wanted to jump out and kick our asses, but he knew if he did, everyone would see his blood-stained clothes and when someone asked what happened, it wouldn't look too cool when he said "I was just picking the crap out of my nose and it started bleeding like a slit hog's throat."

Nope.

Not cool at all.

Anyway, that's why I don't pick my nose when I drive.


It has been suggested that I should do a "cast" page where I give a brief description of the regulars in my life.

Yeah.

Maybe someday.


Ewwwww...

This really skanky couple that work somewhere in our building and park right outside my window are sitting in their truck and making out.

The guy looks like a young Uncle Fester Addams. Sometimes I'll just be looking out my window for no reason, and he lumbers past my window smoking and talking on a cell phone. I call him "Curly" in my mind. When I see him, I think to myself "Here comes Curly!" Well, guess what? I'm thinking of changing his made-up nickname in my head to "Uncle Fester".

If I go through with this and change his mental nickname I'll let you know.

My God. This girl is all over him. She's got her arms wrapped around his head and just smooching the crap outta him. If they weren't so disgusting, I'd think it was funny.

She just got out of the truck. Now he did. They put their arms around each other and she patted his butt.

Alright...I'm officially disgusted.


I brought some old yearbooks from when I worked at Opryland in to work today to let Edweird see my old girlfriend, Treva.

Treva was cute, but not very photogenic. She always looks like the photographer said "Okay...look sweaty and gassy!" and then snapped the photo.

Me on the other hand...I was looking at my old pics from the same yearbook. I'll have you know...I was a looker in my day, sister. It's almost funny to see me without a beer gut and a bald spot. A strapping young man, I was. 18-19 years old. I was a catch. I could have had any babe I wanted. Provided she was blind and deaf so she couldn't hear me talk endlessly about how fine I was when I really wasn't.

Alright, fine.

I coulda had Helen Keller.

Happy??


Alright, believe it or not, I've got work to do and I'm tired of talking about how fine I was and why I don't pick my nose in my car. I'm moving on, babe.

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