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6:51 a.m. - 2005-06-29


In light of recent situations, I've had a number of people ask me how I knew I'd be safe at my new job with this website.

The reason I don't think anyone at my new job is reading this crap is because ... well ... they're old.

I mean ... I'm old.

And I'm the next-to-the-youngest one there.

There's this one guy ... a young guy named ... hmmm ... I've got to give him some sort of alias. Let's seeeee ... his name starts with "M" so we'll just call him Murray.

Murray is a freakin' trip to China on acid. He is sooo sarcastic and while that can be a pain in the ass to a lot of people, I find it endearing.

I think the really old knockin'-on-social-security's-door employees don't fully understand Murray who was raised by MTV.

But I'm in tune with the freak.

Yesterday he stood there next to my desk, staring at me for the longest time and then finally said "You ever look up midget snuff films on the Internet?"

Second day on the job and the guy hits me with a question like that.

"Once," I said, not taking my eyes off the paperwork that I was working on. "But if you've seen one midget get ripped apart by a chainsaw, you've seen 'em all."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm more into midget clown porn myself."

"There you go," I said with feigned encouragement. "There's nothing sexier than a naked midget in clown makeup."

"Boy howdy," he replied with no enthusiasm whatsoever and then walked away to shift tuxedos on a rack, giving off the impression he was actually working.

I'm going to like this kid.

One of the other employees told me to "keep an eye on him".

"That boy ain't right" were her exact words.

Which is precisely why I like him.

And please ... no emails about how midgets prefer to be called "little people" and that by calling them "midgets" I'm being politically incorrect.

I'd prefer to be called "slim" but I'm fat as an old hog.

Live with it.

By the way, Henry replaced the doorknob in the bathroom.

I can now urinate without a sense of dread hanging over me. Which is a good thing. My genitals need as little stress as possible when it comes to performing simple everyday functions.

Do you remember how the other day I made a plea to those that read me behind my back but knew me in real life to please email me and let me know they're reading me?

...Not a single freakin' email.

Ohhhh ... you people are pieces of work, you are.

By emailing me, you insure that you will never have anything bad about you written here. In fact, you'd probably get a lot of good things written about you under a pseudonym.

Instead you climb under that rock of yours and wait for the day I write something about you that's less than flattering.

And I have no freakin' idea why you do this. Everyone I know in real life who has a blog online has heard from me about it.

At the family reunion a few weeks ago, my nephew took me aside and said that he now had a blog online and asked me to check it out.

I checked it out. It was about what you could expect from a nephew except for the fact that I learned he does speed. This doesn't mean he's a speed freak, just that he needs uppers to cope with everyday life. I dunno. I didn't read too much into it. I did 1,000 hits of speed in the summer of '82. I ate a bowl of speed for breakfast once. I'm the last guy to pass judgement on the kid.

But I left a comment on his blog telling him "Good job" and that I'd come back to keep up with his blog.

It's that freakin' simple.

But still, some people want to be weasels about it.

Maybe I just hang out/hung out with weasels.

Beats me.

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