PARANOIA AT THE PEE PALACE

About 2 p.m., his son ... the one and only Drunk Assed Jamie called me on my cell.

"Hey man," Jamie slurs because it's after noon and he's half-drunk. "Dad said he's sorry he didn't call you but he wanted me to call you and tell you that you're hired."

"Great," I said, because I was in the break room of the Piss Palace and one of my co-workers was eating her lunch and I didn't want to give away that I was talking to someone about leaving the post of Piss Boy to someone else.

"Do you have to give notice over there?" Jamie asked.

"Well ... yeah," I said. "That would be nice."

"Shit!" Jamie belched. "Well then go ahead and turn in your notice now. We need you yesterday."

"Uhhhh, I want to talk to your Dad first," I said, sneaking a peek at my co-worker to see if her curiosity was beginning to come into play. It wasn't. She was engrossed in the TV which I will get to in a minute.

"Why would you want to talk to Dad?" Jamie asked. "He's going to pay you what you want and you're going to be doing what you do. Everything's perfect."

"I still want to talk to your Dad," I said carefully.

Bottom line ... Drunk Assed Jamie is ... well ... he's a drunk.

And while he's a charming drunk, he's also one of the biggest habitual liars I've ever met. It's not malicious lying ... he just lies to lie.

I don't think he'd actually lie to me about having a job and me not having a job.

But I want to make sure that since I'm going to be working for less than what I was making before, I also want to work less hours.

Which is kind of ironic because the newspaper is the one job that I've had where people ... if they don't want to ... don't go to work and still get paid.

I know that Jamie's Dad isn't exactly thrilled by that, but that's the way it is there. If you're hungover from the night before, you go in at noon ... or not at all.

The only two days that you have to be there are Monday and Tuesday. Those are the deadline days. The other three days are insane. The bookkeeper shows up and that's usually about it.

And here I am, waiting to talk to Drunk Assed Bob (Jamie's Dad) to insure that I won't have to come in on Fridays.

Hell ... NOBODY goes in on Fridays.

I just want it confirmed.

Anyway, I believe Jamie enough to be assured I have a job there.

I'm just ... not sure this is going to be the greatest career move now that I'm sober.

Because the Piss Palace is too cheap to pay for cable, we can only get one channel on the TV in the break room ... NBC.

And on NBC in the afternoons, there's this one soap opera on ... called "Passions".

This is the worst goddamned show in the history of television and if you dare to defend it to me, I shall declare you the dumbest person EVER!!!

EVER, I TELL YOU!!!

DUMBER THAN GEORGE BUSH!!!

THAT'S DUMB!!!

So on this soap opera, they've got this little two year-old kid that's a witch and can do all these adorable little magic tricks with her mind that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the rest of the show.

It's just ... time filler. Between disturbing rapes between friends and daughters choking their mothers while walking in their sleep during blizzards, this kid is making pencils rise in the air while her Nanny cheers her on.

The girl I normally take a break with is hooked on this show.

And because I'm Piss Boy, I'm generally regarded as the company's retard whose opinion means nothing ... especially when expounding on the subtleties of this television program.

So when I say "This is stupid" over and over again, I am told that it is I who is stupid and the TV show is sheer genius.

We've been fighting over this since my second day of employment there.

Yet, there I am every day, parked in front of the TV to watch this shit.

And I have to think ... this must be what it's like for a guy to have homosexual tendencies.

I'm fighting it ... but I'm secretly obsessed with it.

Gah.

I'm such a homo.