I already made an appointment

The brakes on my car are completely shot. If you see me, stay the fuck out of my way.

OCD

There is this girl/woman/overgrown baby in my office who is starting to bug the hell out of me. She clearly suffers from a mild form of OCD. Actually, it is me who suffers, but she is the one with the disease.

She is about 30 years old but is one of those women whose voice never changed so if you heard her on the phone, you might ask, "Hello little girl, is your mommy home?"

I can hear her walking around the office, taking short, quick steps and it sounds like there is a pony loose in the office, and the pony is always in a hurry. She always punctuates her visits to my cube with a little pony stomp to signal her arrival. Clomp, clomp clomp. Then two quick ones, like a pony counting to two, except one with each foot, if you can imagine.

She used to trot over to my cube everyday at noon on the dot, clomp, clomp, "Lunch?"

She is tied to routine. Lunch is the same thing everyday. A cheese sandwich and potato chips. She eats the sandwich starting with the crust and then takes bites in a circle, finishing with the center. She eats her potato chips in order of descending size, the biggest, unbroken chips first.

She is a vegetarian and an extremely picky eater. That, I assume, is why she eats the same thing everyday. She is also very emphatic about everything. Love or hate, nothing in the middle. Avacado? "Ewww, disgusting." Cake? "Does it have frosting? I hate frosting." Tomatoes? "I love em." I mentioned today that I like 7Up. "I like 7Up too," she said, like she'd just found the only other Jew in Afghanistan. "It is so much better than Sprite or Sierra Mist. Do you like [some brandname] lemonade?" Shit. I can't even remember the last time I had a Sprite. I just like an occasional 7Up. I'm a casual fan, not a diehard adherent.

Every Friday after work she goes grocery shopping and presumably buys the same thing. Sunday night is movie and pizza from Papa Murphy's with the same toppings.

What a freak.

I hope she sees this. Then maybe I'll get fired.

Definition

Pedantic: marked by a narrow focus on or display of learning especially its trivial aspects

The truth

The placenta is an ephemeral (temporary) organ present only in female placental mammals during gestation (pregnancy).

It looks totally gross. If you want more information, and I don't know why you would, click here.

Surrounded

The mice have me surrounded. They are growing more numerous everyday. Today they ate my lunch and now they won't let me out of my cubicle and I really have to use the bathroom. I fear the end is near.

A new citizen of the blogosphere

RFD started his own blog today. Practically everyone has a blog now. It is the accessory of the season, like an iPod or a Von Dutch trucker hat or a chihuahua in a Louis Vitton purse. I can just see RFD right now, sitting at his computer, listening to his bling encrusted iPod, with his little dog-in-purse wearing matching his-and-dog trucker hats, blogging like the rest of us.

Mailbag

Hey folks. It has been a long time since we've looked at some letters from our readers. Let's take a dip into the Friday mailbag, shall we?

Dear Holdening,
I have a friend who is almost 30 and likes to date younger women. His favorites are 18 and 19 year old waitresses and community college students. Lately, when I try to talk to him, he is always wearing his iPod and his pants are hanging low. What is wrong with him?
-Anonymous, MN

Dear Anonymous,
Your friend has a social disease. It is highly contagious. I would recommend severing contact with the depraved pervert immediately.


Dear Holdening,
I'm going to run a marathon tomorrow. Do you have any last minute advice?
Scoop Rosenbaum, CA

Dear Scoop,
My advice is to wear loose fitting pants for quick removal in emergency crapping situations. Also, carry a roll of toilet paper or wear an extra shirt. Remember to lube your nipples in order to avoid a potential finish line faux pas. Lastly, a satellite map of the race course will help you plan all your shortcuts. Good luck!


Dear Holdening,
My girlfriend is a tobacco chewer. She spits all over the apartment floor and the furniture. I've tried to tell her how disgusting her habit is but she keeps doing it. How can I get her to quit?
Tim Hillman, Analo Lakes, MO

Dear Tim,
Chewing tobacco is cool. It is reminiscent of a simpler time in American history when cowboys were good and indians were bad. I'm taking your girlfriend's side on this. Sorry buddy.

Mouse whisperer

Our office is freakin infested with mice. They run from under the copier across the room to the file cabinets. Yesterday me and the kid stomped a couple of them, but we was chasing them around for a long time. They are quick little fuckers.

They are brave too. One of them crawled all up on my foot when I was sitting at my desk. He flipped me the bird and ran away before I could catch him.

We have given them names, but we can't tell which one is Norm and which one is Art. I think I killed Norm, but Julie said it was Art. I killed him dead, that's for sure. They all have boy's names, so I can't figure out how they keep making more mice babies.

Did you know they call their home a nest? This morning I came in and one of em had dug up the plant on my desk and I found a bunch of mouse eggs buried in the dirt. We are infested.

An interfaith gathering for peace

Last night I went to an interfaith gathering for peace at a large house of worship of a particular religious denomination in the center of town. It was laughable. It was like a combination of the United Nations and the Special Olympics.

They had one of each there, a Rabbi, a Catholic priest, indigenous peoples from around the world, Hawaiians, Unitarians, Episcopalians, Buddhists, Hindus, some eunuchs who played lovely music on instruments I've never seen before, Ba'hai, even Scientologists and Hare Krishnas. Oh-- and of course Muslims - modern day's most important PC token. I was lucky to be seated between L. Ron Hubbard and David Koresh. We spent most of the time talking about sci-fi and firearms.

The Rabbi got up and said something that I can't remember because after years of synagogue attendance, I'm programmed to stop listening when a Rabbi speaks. Then this guy sang a song in Hebrew in terribly overwrought cantorial style.

The Unitarians said a prayer for a candle as a metaphor and the lights were dimmed for maximum penitence.

The Imam read in English and then chanted from the Qoran. Then he read in English and chanted from the Koran. Then he read in English and chanted from the Quran. He did this like 7 or 8 times. It was like sitting in class when that one dork keeps asking stupid questions and no one can leave. He would take long, exaggerated pauses and everyone would wait to see if we should applaud. Then he'd start again and I'd let out a loud groan that would echo through the room (it was a very large room).

The gathering went on and on. I'll spare you the details.

The thing is, everyone seemed to be lapping it up with delight. The audience was positively gleeful.

I was bored as shit so I started reading the welcome cards in the back of the pew in front of me. They warmly invite me welcomingly hope that I will follow along in my journey of faith in pursuit of justice and peace blah blah blah.

By the end, I came to the following conclusions:
1. Organized religious is cheesy
2. People who get together and sing songs and chant prayers about peace are doing nothing concrete to promote peace, they are just masturbating together, peacefully.

Trying too hard

I really can't thing of anything interesting to write today.

Let's have Eggs Benedict XVI.

The new pope was in Hitler youth. What is it about Hitler that so many popes find attractive?

I got a new phone yesterday. Give me a call and let me know what you think.

The two hearts in Bell's Two Hearted Ale are made of bubble gum and marijuana.

If music isn't at least slightly evil it isn't worth listening to.

Oh! I know what I was going to say.

Why I cry (red sauce)

I remember one time, when I was a kid, maybe 5 years old, my family had some cousins in from out of town and we invited invited them over for dinner. As we always did when we had company over, we ate in the dining room. It was beautiful room that we were only allowed to enter under adult supervision or when company was over.

That night my mother served her delicious lasagna as it was a family favorite passed down for generations going back to Italy. Me being a clumsy 5 year old, I dropped my fork, with a bite of lasagna, on the white carpet. My mother, without saying a word, fire in her eyes, grabbed me by the hair and dragged my up the stairs to my bedroom. As she was dragging me, bump, bump, bump, I threw up all over myself and then she got really mad.

So that's what's wrong with me. To this day, I still can't keep lasagna down.

Update:

Ricky got arrested. Poor guy. What am I going to do with all these syringes? Anybody need a recycled syringe?

Looking for capital

My cousin Ricky called me last night. He suddenly found himself in possession of a truckload of surplus botox. What a windfall! He's got the raw materials, all he needs is a little venture capital to get the operation off the ground. I told him that I have a diabetic friend who belongs to a support circle and maybe he could collect some used syringes. Now all Ricky needs is an office and he'll be in business.

The house, the dog, the people

Last night I had to go to an event for work. It is an annual event that we do in partnership with a big, powerful, rich DC lobbying group (we'll call them, oh, I don't know, AIPEK) when they come to town to fish for benjamins. We'd like to tell them to get fucked, but we have to play nice and dance for our supper too. It is the worst event of the year, and it leaves me feeling like an abused lapdog.

The event is held in an opulent mansion. That way it will draw people who are friends of the homeowner, and thus also rich, in addition to the poor saps who just want to see the big house with the movie theater in the basement.

The host this year was the Goldenpeckers of Wayzata. I got lost trying to find their house, because the streets are ordered in such a way as to keep out riff raff like myself out. There are hidden streets that you can only see from the cabin of a luxury SUV with a satellite mapping program.

I walked in later than I meant to (cause I got lost) but still before any of the guests arrived. Our visitors from out of town were oooo'ing and aaaaa'ing over the aquarium in Mr. Goldenpecker's office. It was truly large and truly colorful. It wasn't a fish tank, it was an aquarium, see? Like you would put whales in, small whales, like maybe a pair of belugas. It was a beautiful thing that I'm sure he has just so he can show it off to his teenage daughter's friends when he lures them into his office. When I grow up, I want an office like that.

I walked out into the hallway to be immediately accosted by a small white yipping ball of fuzz. It may have been a poodle. It was basically a pinkish sort of sausagey looking thing with a ball of fur for a head and short boney legs. I said to my boss, I bet this things name is Mitsy. Mrs. Goldenpecker walked up and I asked her what the fuzz was called and she said, "Misty." Dang, I was close.

So people started to arrive and I had to try and mingle but none of those rich fuckers care to talk to me which is fine cause I don't care to talk to them either. It felt like a high school party where I was the weird kid at a jock party. It was very chummy, the way these rich folks related to one another, but it was slippery underneath, like they don't really like each other or have slept with each other's wives and they all know it, but they don't know that the other ones know it too.

After a couple of alarmist (The sky is falling and only your money can stop it!!!) pitches for each of our agencies, special guest spoke, giving a stock (This is what I think and why I'm important.) speech that I could have easily given. She used a few choice redundancies, like "This is a momentous moment," and "It will continue continually." She spoke as if she were on auto-pilot, fully cognizant of the lack of real meaning in her buzz-phrase stuffed speech.

When she finished, there were audience questions and then an invitation by the local president of AIPEK to eat cheese. I would eventually eat a lot of cheese but first he told a story about the importance of AIPEK. While meeting with a freshman congressman who had recently voted against some legislation favored by AIPEK, this prick told the elected member of congress, "You will never vote against that agian." At least that's how the story went. These rich fuckers were practically masturbating to the story of bullying a congressman. "Can my money do that too???" Then he said basically how they buy congress. It was a revolting story. I threw up down the neck of my shirt.

Then there was another hour of horribly painful mingling. It was 3 hours from the aquarium until I returned to the safety and solitude of my automobile. If I'm still working here when this event comes around next year, I'm going to wear a suicide belt filled with human feces and shit-bomb the place.

15 minute break

I play a game with myself that makes my long days a little shorter. When I take my 15 minute break, weather permitting, I go out to the 4th floor patio down the hall from my office. The patio overlooks Hennepin Avenue in downtown. I stand on the ledge and see how many people I can spit on before my break is over.

Today I played my first game of the season, heralding the coming of spring.

Due to the wind, it wasn't a great game, at least not on paper. I only got two points, but they were good points: I spit down a fat lady's shirt and on a bald man's head. The best part is they always assume they got shit on by a bird.

To do:

Party Supplies

Target:
• Kleenex
• Lotion
• Vaseline
• Plastic wrap
• twine

Home Depot:
• Shovel
• Lime
• Toilet plunger
• Saw
• Large, industrial strength trash bags

Grocery store:
• Chocolate sauce
• strawberries
• mayonaisse
• carmel

Work-assisted suicide

I think I might kill myself today if I only had a free hand. "What about my right to die?" I ask my supervisors...

I’ve hit rock bottom today with work.

Oh who am I kidding. I’m sure the ground can fall lower. It is getting hot in here. The flames are licking my ass. I wonder if the flames are as tired as my tongue from all the ass-licking.

"I FUCKING QUIT!" I say in my most precious fantasy, middle fingers held aloft for all to see their glory.