AnonymousCoworker

Glitzy:
“What tips / advice do you have for the folken who are considering going to grad school and working full time?”

Kiss you social life goodbye and make sure you have a strong support network. Seriously. To do ANYTHING you’ll need to plan it well in advance so you have time to work around your homework. On top of that you’ll need friends and family that will understand your inability to do anything anymore, but who will be ready to give you some beers and make you dinner when you flunk an exam.

Diamond Lil:
“Where have all the flowers gone?”

I didn’t realize they were missing.

Jenna:
“Why is it impossible to eat while watching porn?”

I’ve never really had any problem, but then again, I don’t really watch tons of porn. I imagine that if you’re the type that goes on a 7-day, 24-hour porn binge, your brain is probably too warped to be able to do anything but allow you to drool on yourself. Besides, the starlets don’t see to have any trouble eating while making porn. (Possibly nsfw link)

lovemonkey:
“‘wicked retarted.’ Do I know where you’re from????”

You’re probably thinking Boston, but I’m not. I was born and raised just outside of Baltimore, and now I live in Glen Burnie. “Wicked Retarded” is just one of those regional sayings that I’ve added to my lexicon over the years. Like “cheers” from the UK, “yins” from northwest PA, and “guh” from West Virginia.

Sassy Blondie:
“If a bear farts in the woods, will the butterflies hear it?”

No. Butterflies don’t have ears. However, if they are within the danger zone, they’d incinerate before they heard it anyway.

Desk Job:
“My car was almost stolen at the Metro station yesterday, should I stop working in DC (in favor of another location) or suck it up and deal? Basically you can get in my car now with a screw driver. Do I have yet another reason to hate Metro and DC?”

See, your problem is the type of car that you drive. Rather than owning and driving a POS Tercel with 130,000 miles on it, you own a car that people would actually want to get their hands on. I could park my car in the middle of an abandoned parking lot with a giant neon arrow pointing to it and the keys in the ignition with the windows down and the doors open and still no one would steal it.

a.g.:
“Will M.Snay ever get laid?”

Of course he will. He’s friendly, jovial, caring, funny, giving, and nice almost to a fault. He just needs to find that right type of woman with gams from here to heaven and the right amount of perkiness, if you get my drift. It would also help if she liked Legos, Harry Potter, Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek, Star Wars, zombies, and Highlander. Speaking of, if you’re (yes you, out there on the internet) that type of lady, I’m sure Snay wouldn’t mind you reading his blog.

Alan:
“Friday Bonus Questions:

1. What secret would you never tell your blushing bride? You should probably ROT13 encode your answer since she reads your buh-log.

2. Are you smarter than a 5th Grader?

3. Given the following question:

“Assume Moe paid an arithemtic average of $250 for four
ladies of the evening. One of the women cost more than
all of the others. How much did he pay for the most expensive
woman?”

Is statement 1 alone, statement 2 alone or both statement 1
and 2 necessary to answer the question?

Statement 1: Moe paid the most expensive hooker $100 more
than the least expensive hooker.

Statement 2: Moe paid an arithmetic average of $900 for three
of the ladies.

Please justify your answer in a well thought out argument
containing no vulgar slang for coitus.

4. As Lori suggests, can a question have more than one answer? Can it have more than one _simple_ answer?

5. Who or what the fuck is the Green Marinèe?

6. If you and your blushing bride ever create offspring and the personality of said offspring takes more after your blushing bride, how will you explain this blog to them when they eventually find it on “Googles Buh-logs of Antiquity (Beta)”?

7. Why is it that when I’m really late for an appointment at work or to pick up my mal-adjusted offspring from Day-Torture, the drivers that annoy me by either blocking lanes while driving slower than traffic in their lane, or doing idiotic maneuvers while yapping on cell phones always seem to be driving one of three cars. It’s either an old-ass Jetta, a BMW Z4 (Yuppie putz) or a Celica (pain in the ass stoner). What’s up with that?

And the 25 point bonus question:

Discounting Making Whoopie and any chemically (including ETOH) altered states, when was the last time your were enthusiasticaly, eurphorically happy and what were you doing?”

Jiminy fucking Cricket, dude. What the fuck is wrong with you? We’re looking at what, 15 questions now? Seriously. Seriously. What the fuck?

1) I have no secrets from my wife. I mean, I don’t tell her every little damn stupid thing that happens to me throughout the day, but I don’t really hold anything back either. Though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know about the meth lab.

2) Yes. I’m also smarter than most people with a bachelor’s degree, and many CEOs.

3) Who the fuck cares? He still paid a grand to fuck 4 chicks, but it doesn’t even matter how much it cost because the chlamydia will be the same in the morning.

4) Yes, all questions have more than one answer. All but one might be wrong, but they’re still answers and they can be as simple as “yes” or “no”.

5) I believe it’s the design template upon which my blog layout has been created.

6) “I was young and I needed the no money.”

7) People are fucking stupid. There’s a simple answer.

Bonus) Wow. 18 or whatever questions from you and we FINALLY get to a great one. The last time I was enthusiatically, euphorically happy was when I was watching my favorite scene from the Simpsons and cooking dinner with my wife, all the windows open in the house as the first warm air of spring blew through the living room.

Malnurtured Snay:
“Congrats on making bucket-loads of new money! Does this mean your old job is open? Because, um, I’m looking for something.”

Sorry dude. New title, more work, same job. If it counts for anything though I tried to get you some booty up there ^.

Gwenhwyfar:
“How can I make the crick in my neck go away?”

If you find out, PLEASE let me know because I never know how to get rid of these. I’ll tell you what not to do though. Don’t try to stretch it. That hurts like a bitch.

Poppy:
“I HAVE A QUESTION. ANOTHER QUESTION. That’s been bugging me the ENTIRE TIME I’ve read your blog. Your brother is always such a jackass to you on your blog. Is he that way to you in real life? (Sorry mokie, but YOU ARE!!)”

We’re both that way to each other. Combine that with our constant joking with each other at the expense of most racial, ethnic, and religious minorities and we’re pretty much unsuitable to be around. But that’s just on the surface. Deep down, he really cares. But not in a “gay” way. It’s more of a two-brothers-who-have-sex way.

Anger Hangover:
“Dear ACW,
I’ve always wanted to ask you if you get that, you know, not-so-fresh feeling?
Thanks in advance,
AngyHangy”

Well, to be honest, yes I do. It’s usually after a night spent down at the disco while having anonymous sex with anything with legs. Which isn’t to say that I ignore the amputees, they get to ride too. It’s typically at that point that I stumble down the street to find a dealer who will accept perverse sexual favors in lieu of payment, and usually they want to jam something into my ass-crevice. And let me tell ya, on the way in it’s not so bad, but on the way out it’s exquisite. Before I know it I wake up behind a Denny’s with 3 days of stubble, tied up with a fire hose, and a tattoo that says “Tight as a Virgin”… on my ear.

Oh, wait. You were talking about douching. No, I don’t douche.

S. Reed:
“‘I think it’s because I’ll brashly and obviously insult you. You penis-holster.’
Meh. I guess that’ll do.”

Were you upset by my effort to undermine your plan to be roundly and thoroughly insulted by the likes of ME? You were lucky to get “penis-holster” you Lost-loving, American Idol-watching mush-melon. Had I the time to fully examine the extent of your foibles, of which there are so many that they are nearly countless, I still wouldn’t be able to include everything. How could I possibly include your infantile support of what passes as professional sports teams in Boston while simultaneously insulting your oozing man-love of hideous bands like Boston, Journey, Styx, and Asia? Why don’t you just admit that you wish Tom Brady would take practice throws at your gaping manhole while Neil Peart uses your gaping slack-jawed mouth for a drumstick holder?

Is that more like what you were looking for?

This shit was exhausting.