Last night, I had mom over for dinner to help celebrate her birthday. We produced some tasty food, including chicken enchiladas and taco rice. Don't ask me what Taco Rice is...it's a Lipton thing, I guess. But it was quite tasty, so I'm not going to dwell on the strange name very long. Mom enjoyed the food, and I enjoyed the Darth Vader gift bag I wrapped her presents in. It was effing cool.
After dinner we had the obligatory cake: cinnamon with vanilla icing. It was good, and we all enjoyed it. Then mom drops the load on me that she is going out of town tomorrow, and so she can't take the cake home with her because it will go bad. Aw, crap. That means that Jen and myself have 4 days to finish it, before we go out of town to the group bunny beach bash.
Crap. Cake is the last thing that we are going to want to eat, before the beach trip. Nobody wants the weight of a cinnamon cake hanging around their waists while they're lounging on the beach trying to look cool. As I tried to debate what to do with my sugary creation, Jen proposed that I bring said cake to the office, and leave it in the break room.
I punched her in the face for being stupid. Listen, the place I work is a corporate servitude hell that I would wish on no human being. It is a fortress of pain and misery, with clouds of doubt and boredom that not even the brightest light rays of hope can penetrate. It is doom. It is the end of all things. And so, I am not going to bring tasty sugar cake goodness into the midst of this darkness. Why should they eat cake? They ruined my life...I'm not going to reward them with dessert. These people make my life hell...I'm not going to feed them, for crissakes!! Besides, feeding this place will only help it grow stronger…and we definitely don’t want that.
So these corporate bunny bastards aren’t going to get a lick of my cake, no sir. I’d rather induce some sort of sugar coma to the dog next door, than to share my baking abilities with these mindless automatons.
I went to a Hawaii party cookout thing this weekend in Leavenworth, KS. Yes…the Federal prison. Yes, we drove by it. Yes, somebody was taking it in the butt that didn’t like it very much as we drove by. The party was a pretty good time, and I’m glad that we went. There was one part of it that sucked like nothing has ever sucked before, though: the fucking chiggers.
For those of you who don’t know what chiggers are, the best way to describe them is to say that they are very tiny mites that live in the grass that spend all of their time eating the flesh of humans. They bite. They bite and the bites itch and get red and swollen and they itch and they itch. They fucking itch. I’ve been scratching for 3 days solid, with no end in sight. My legs and feet look like some sort of middle ages plague. I itch and I scratch and I suffer. Stupid chiggers. The only funny part about this whole chigger situation, is the fact that my mom informed Jen and myself that chiggers actually burrow under the skin, which is what causes the itch. Jen freaked out and ran into the bedroom to find some sort of anti-chigger evacuation device, which included a knife and a match. We were able to talk her down from the roof, and I’m glad to say that the wonderful staff at the mental health “clinic” have informed me that she should be back on her feet in a matter of days. Great news. Even better news, is that the concept of chiggers burrowing in our flesh is NOT true, which means that I don’t have about 20 bugs crawling around my insides taking pictures.
If you’d like to know more about chiggers, please look here.
Since the bunny beach bash is so close, I am officially clocked out of this job. I really don’t feel the urge to do my work, and I feel even less likely to attend all of these meetings I have scheduled this week. Oak Island is only 4 days away and I’m going fucking nuts over here, waiting. Anyway, in honor of the group bunny beach bash, I thought I would share this with you:
Bunny Theatre: Pulp Fiction
Nothing quite as funny as cartoon bunnies reenacting a popular movie…in 30 seconds. If you don’t find this even mildly amusing, you’re dead inside.
Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ll be here scratching the top layer of skin off my feet with a cheese grater.