Archive for the 'i am so fucking awesome' Category

And in the order they were received, no less

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Anonymous Coworker
on May 14, 2008 @ 10:14 am
in contests, games, i am so fucking awesome, music, nerd stuff, potty humor, sex and word nerd
. 23 Comments

It was the middle of the longest lecture on apiculture Charles Mingus had ever sat through and he was beginning to regret giving up his bass, a jazz career overflowing with accolades, and all the money, women, and excitement that came with it. Jazz was a ruritania now that he was mired in the minutiae of “fixed-frame hives” and “smokers”.

In his disclosure of his wishes to the president of the North American Jazz Association for Jazz in America (NAJAJA) to pursue a life in beekeeping he expressed his desire for change. Mingus chuckled as he thought back to writing that going from jazz to bees would be “vicissitudinal to his spirit, his lifestyle, and his artistry.”

“What a magnificent douchebag I was,” thought Mingus, “to use an archaic version of the adjective form of ‘vicissitude’. I must have just thrown it in there because I’m a stupid cockface.”

Mingus contemplated further his life decisions and all the women he could have porked as the speaker droned on about the need to concatenate hive structures and the benefits of the new singular hive designs shaped like an upside-down uvula. Back then any woman would have jumped at the chance to be his penis holster: to have his purple-headed womb-ferret wriggling within their loins.

But now that he’d left jazz women looked at him with eyes full of arsenic.

“‘Irregardless’,” Mingus thought, “that’s a douchey word too. Why do I keep using such utterly pointless words? I am a cock.”

He cleared the phlegm from his throat and ruminated again on the career he abandoned because he worried about being the jazz bassist who had shark-jumped his craft.

At the front of the room slide after slide of oblong, squamous beehives filled the audience with glee. Mingus saw the mostly-male crowd was unaware of their vaginality: their eyes were moist at the sight of beehives! These men were children, really, better suited to playing tag and wiping their boogers on each other. They had no place in the real world. He could take it no longer.

“Listen up, cats, we’re talkin’ ’bout bees! Yeah, they make that sweet honey, but they don’t make the world spin. Let’s cool out on the bees a while, huh?”

His shibboleth was palpable. A crowd of angry, confused, and irritated faces drove him out of the room, and he was happy to go, revealing his callipygian side as he turned to leave. As he reached the door the room heard a malevolent borborygmus, and though Mingus knew it was coming it was so violent and explosive that when it burst from him he pronked.

Paper in the lecture room blew everywhere, and the cockbag at the podium was knocked over by the bowel-blowout. As if by prestidigitation Mingus produced a full upright bass from inside his vest and made his exit from beekeeping forever, leaving a room full of arsemongers and a life of tomfoolery behind.

He was barely out the door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The shitcock from the lecture was forcibly turning Mingus to face him.

Now that Mingus and the speaker were face to face, Mingus could tell from the speaker’s comb-over and threadbare suit that he was a parsimonious little twat who had long ago nerfed himself through years of coddling and penissockery. He lived a life bereft of adventure.

Mingus bellowed, “Get you hands off of me! Your life is a monument to floccinaucinihilipilification, you shit-faced dildo-sandwich!”

“Why, I’ve never met anyone so ribald…”

“Ribald? I’m the living transubstantiation of emotion into music! Sometimes it gets a little raunchy, but that’s what life’s about. You’re too busy studying insects to notice you anal-riffic meat-wallet!”

“… S..sir,” said the speaker trembling with rage, “I’d thank you to leave our conference now.”

“No, I think it’s time for you to leave you little cock-carnageous bug-fucker!”

And with that Mingus defenestrated the speaker. He then stooped over, gathered up his bass, and free from the inanity of the beekeeping world went on to write a song about the silliness of antidisestablishmentarianism on the bus ride back to his condo, chuckling all the while at the day’s douchebaggery.

And what, bitches? - ACW

P.S. Felching.

It’s that time again. UPDATED

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on April 21, 2008 @ 9:19 pm
in contests, i am so fucking awesome, meta blogging, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs, travel and work
. 24 Comments

UPDATE: Mrs. ACW says I was “insulting, combative, and bristly” in this post, so I thought I would put something up here to explain the below: I wasn’t talking about you. Or you. Or you or you or you. I was talking about that guy, over there. Yeah, the goofy looking one in the back with the raw bacon hanging out of his pants. The stuff below was meant for him. You people, though? I love you people. Also, I am superior to you in every way. Just to be clear.

I’m balls-to-the-wall busy today, and I’ll be making my annual trip up to Long Island this week, so I figured this would be the perfect time to do the very last ever “Ask the ACW” post.

I’m way too busy, and also way too lazy, to find any of the old posts on either a) the yearly trip to Long Island, or b) all the old Ask the ACW stuff, but rest assured it’s on the blog somewhere if you feel like looking for it.

Because this will be the very last Ask the ACW, there are a few rules. You can still ask anything that you want to ask, and I still reserve the right to answer or ignore questions based on little less than my own personal whimsy. But since I’m nothing if not extremely friendly and charitable, I will tell you generally which questions I won’t be answering.

- I won’t answer any questions that I’ve answered before. Oh, are you crying? Too bad. My brain cries when I keep seeing the same question over and over again. Also, my brain cries because they let YOU use a computer.

- I won’t answer any questions along the lines of “why is the sky blue?” or “why do 7-11s have locks on the doors if they are open 24 hours?” because not only are those questions kind of cliche at this point, they’re also not really a lot of fun to answer, and though you might think these posts are about you having a chance to raise your voice, it’s really still all about me.

- I, of course you dumb dumb, will not answer any questions about my personal life like my phone number, address, work place, sex life, etc. I really don’t want any of you sickos to know any more than you already do, and in fact, the amount that you know already scares me.

- I reserve the right to lie in totality and completely in some, most, or all of the answers, but will promise to try not to do so if I feel like it.

- Try to keep it to one or two questions. Every time I do this it takes me all damn week to answer the stupid questions because they just go on, and on, and on. Here’s a helpful tip: write down as many questions as you want, and then go through them to see which one or two are the best. Once you’ve eliminated all the questions because you’re dumb and your questions suck you can throw yourself off a building clear of any doubt that you bothered me with stupid questions.

I’ll almost certainly need to add more rules here as you numbnuts begin to submit your stupid questions in the comments. Try not to drool all over everything. Also, I’m pretty sure at least a dozen of you brainless meatbags will violate these rules in a pathetic attempt at “humor”, which is why I’ll be violating my own “comments will never be deleted” policy to delete your comments.

Cheers, bitches.

I nerd out about horror movies

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on April 10, 2008 @ 9:53 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, horror, i am so fucking awesome, movies, nerd stuff and people are idiots
. 7 Comments

Every year Mrs. ACW rents us up some movies from Netflix, and not just the same old tired pablum that YOU suckers are used to watching (seriously, everything you like is stupid, unless I’m something that you like, and then that one thing is awesome, but it’s not enough to redeem your otherwise terrible taste), but the After Dark Horrorfest.

Now, some people aren’t into horror, so they employ other tactics to select movies that would make other people squirm and to provide themselves an ample amount of self-loathing. Us? We choose horror.

You may have heard me mention previously some of the movies we own: Barn of the Blood Llama (bad), Cannibal! The Musical (hilarious), or Dead Alive (awesome movie from when Peter Jackson was a horror director). But don’t get me wrong. I love some of these movies, but they are TERRIBLE. Just completely unwatchable. Blitheringly, mind-meltingly, horrid.

So I hope you understand when I say the movies for the After Dark Horrorfest are even worse.

The 2006 selections featured some real stinkers*, so unwatchable that Mrs. ACW and I chose to watch some of the movies in fast-forward rather than spend the time to see it at regular speed.

So far the 2007 Horrorfest has been about the same. The first movie we watched, Lake Dead, was just kind of stupid, but not quite bad enough that we watched it in fast-forward. They seemed like they were doing a cheap rip-off of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and House of 1000 Corpses. It was the same old, tired, played out theme of sexy 20-somethings going into the country and being killed by a family of inbred yokels for some reason.

The second movie, Tooth and Nail, was actually not too bad, but it could have been saved by not being a blatant mash-up of 28 Days Later and Firefly. Also, Rider Strong AKA Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World, was in it. Also, all the “good” characters were named after cars, and the “bad” characters named after dogs. Now that I think about it, it was actually really ham-handed and kind of stupid.

Last night we got about 30 minutes into Mulberry Street, and the movie just couldn’t make up it’s mind about whether or not it ever wanted to get started, so we popped the ol’ DVD player into fast-forward. It reached the point where Mrs. ACW was reading Harry Potter and I was watching the screen flick by while narrating, “Okay, now there’s a rat. And the one guy’s upset. I think the rat bit him. Now he’s a rat. Now he’s trying to bite people. Oh, and the girlfriend just got bit. Now the daughter is on a bike. She’s biking home. Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s happening. There’s a rat. Nothing’s happening,” and so on. It finally reached the point where even in fast-forward the movie was still taking way too long to get to the end, so I started looking around to find something else in the living room that might be interesting to look at.

The thing that gets me is, these movies are advertised as “the content of these films are considered too graphic, too disturbing, and too shocking for general audiences,” when actually I think the problem is that the movies are either too stupid or too boring, which is really saying something considering how much money the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie made.

That said, I’ve got a real crap-factory at home right now in the form of SS Hell Camp. I wasn’t even aware of the genre of Naziploitation before I got this movie from Netflix, but apparently it’s just all around horrible. According to Wikipedia, it’s still banned in the UK! I have a bad feeling that once I begin to explore this super-niche sub-genre, I won’t be able to scrub its contents out of my brain. I’ll let you know how it is.

*Dark Ride, Unrest, and Wicked Little Things redeemed only by their special effects, Penny Dreadful being the stand out best, and The Gravedancers and The Hamiltons being unwatchably bad. I wasn’t even really interested in watching them in fast-forward.

A peek behind the curtain

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on March 21, 2008 @ 9:37 am
in awesome, i am so fucking awesome, potty humor and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 8 Comments

People have asked me how I come up with saying things like describing a person as a, “cock-noshing shitburger face-fucking a greasy fast-food sandwich”, and usually I just say, “I don’t know. I guess I just try to find a way to be obscene that I haven’t used before.” But really, there’s more to it than that. In the fall of last year a guy contacted me about an issue I was having with the archives, and in the ensuing conversation he told me he was blind and that a “male monotone computer voice” reads my posts for him. From that point on I’ve imagined what my words would sound like if they were being read by Stephen Hawking, and for some reason, that makes it even easier to be more obscene.

If you have a Mac, you probably already know how to make your computer talk, so I won’t elaborate there. But if you don’t know, or if you’re too lazy to find out, or if you’re using a Windows machine, or if you want to hear a computer say bad words, you can use this site.

I’ve prepared some phrases for you:

effluvium-snorting cock-holes
testicle-cradling panty-twisters
A two-hour toddler cock-knocking for them all!
fart-huffing butthole-stuffing troglodytes
nut-juggling cock-monger
poop
cock-snorting shit-bather
At worst I’ll make a cheek-clenching dash to the bathroom before spray-painting one of the toilets with used chili
unsanctioned cock-fight (not the kind with chickens)
middle-aged, cock-obsessed, leather freak
my ass becomes an uncontrollable anti-aircraft cannon of sound-barrier destroying feces
fueling an airborne shit-factory that will rain down upon the beach a globby, beige salvo of runny poo
If snow terrifies you so much, don’t get on the roads, you horrible fucking shit-juggling asshole

A message to superman_adonis@yahoo.com

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on February 4, 2008 @ 10:23 am
in awesome, i am so fucking awesome, money, people are idiots, potty humor, sex and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 30 Comments

I was GOING to write a post about the superbowl (a terrible game with 2 exciting drives bookended by boring, unfunny commercials) but the internet has provided the bounty, once again.

Here is the comment I got on Saturday from Man Enough to have fun at any club:

WOW,

This has nothing to do with you current post but one that had popped up from a few years ago about your experience at Baja Beach Club. Wow…………..you are a BITCH, lol. Most “real men” can handle themselves in a club full of screaming horny women but this seems not to be the case for you. As far as a tip goes, when you buy a bottles beer for 25 cents you fucking tip asshole. I don’t care if that beer came staright out of your boyfriends asshole it’s 25 cents for God’s sake, you tip. I have ran club after club after club and there are always wallflower, no game, losers like yourself who get bent when they get blownoff for being the cheapskate piece of shit that you are. It’s ok though, after reading your comments and opinions about Baja of Baltimore your scene would be best suited to the library you waste of space faggot, stay the fuck out of a crazy, exciting club where everyone but you has a great time. The funny thing is I was probably there that night and fucked both of the girls you came with, and they probably paid me to do it causing your little tantrem, that happens alot. Have a great day and enjoy the Science Center faggot. :) Next time bring monery when you go into any club and rememeber 25 cents bottles equal a tip…..reguardless of the service!!!!!!! now FUCK OFF!!!!!!!!!!

Did you read it all? If you didn’t, I suggest you go back and really soak in the idiocy of it all. Judging from the complete lack of spelling ability, poor grammar use, extremely low reading comprehension, child-like logic, and general dumbfuckery, I’d say we have a comment from your average, run of the mill club-rat: the poster-child for eugenics. For purposes of visualization, this is who I’m picturing:

spikeyhair

I’m not even sure where to start with this one, so I guess I’ll start at the beginning.

Dear Idiot,

Were you able to count higher than 4, I might begin to compare your lack of intelligence to that of a bag of hammers, or a bucket of rocks, but because you’re a mouth-breathing semi-functional illiterate, I’ll try to use as few words as possible, and make those words small ones whenever I can. Do you have your dictionary ready, or maybe a friend who passed the third grade? Great. Here we go.

If you had any reading comprehension skills whatsoever (and no, having your mommy read you the jokes in Maxim doesn’t count) you would have read that I was going to tip FOUR TIMES (sorry, I guess you’ll need a calculator too) the amount the bartender expected to be tipped, but because the bartender was a whiny little crybaby, I decided not to tip him at all. I figured the less money he had to spend on Drakkar Noir, the better. Somehow, though, you missed that part of my post, and I can only assume it’s because you could only understand one out of every 18 words that I typed. Don’t beat yourself up over it, though, lots of people have trouble reading. However, it would probably be in your best interest to stopping drinking gallon upon gallon of lead paint. Despite what you and your friends tell yourselves, it’s not making you smarter.

Now, on to the other issues to which you alluded. You appear to have quite a bit of aggression towards gay people. I’m not sure where this stems from, since I don’t know you, but I think it might be good for you to look up a term called, “projection”. Basically it means that you see something in other people that you don’t want to acknowledge in yourself. For example, you suggested I was gay about a half-dozen times, but I can see that you looked at the “About” section of my blog, and thus know that I’m happily married to a woman. But I have a surprise for you! You were able to see through the facade and find out that, yes, I’m really gay. I love having sex with men. In fact, I was just banging your dad, and he was really enjoying himself as well. Your mom was video-taping the whole thing, so you can borrow the tape from her if you want to check it out.

Also, it seems like you hate intelligence. This isn’t just something that I picked up from the barely legible missive you left in my comments, but also because you denigrated the Science Center and the library. Are you really so simple that intelligence is an affront to you? Your life must be incredibly difficult, not being able to figure out why it takes you so long to put your diaper on every morning.

Finally, no, you didn’t have sex with the two women I came in with. In fact, I’d say you probably never have sex with anyone. You go to a shitty club, swill shitty beer for a few hours, grind your way through the Baja Beach Club nightly sausage-party, ogle the few slutty white-trash trailer-bunnies that do show up, go home with an empty wallet and a tiny little erection, and masturbate furiously to scrambled porn in your parent’s basement. Doesn’t it make you even a little bit sad that your life peaked in high school, you prickless manchild?

I hope you continue to waste your money, life, and time at the Baja Beach Club, because the odds are in my favor that you’ll eventually contract Hepatitis C and die. In fact, I’d be surprised if you weren’t already riddled with a cocktail of chlamydia, herpes, and genital warts from rubbing your laughably small penis all over the other troglodytes in that den of idiocy.

Please sterilize yourself,

ACW

P.S. Here are the words you misspelled, now spelled correctly:

tantrum
blown off
straight
a lot
money
remember
regardless

You should probably write these down for the next time you try to make fun of somebody but instead end up looking like a moron.

Incidentally, eggnog made from Olympians is called Nogbrosia

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on January 11, 2008 @ 10:57 am
in awesome, bitches, food, i am so fucking awesome, nog, potty humor and sex
. 6 Comments

Jeezy Creezy!* Sometimes I think YOU people are more obsessed with the nog than I am. You people are all like, “Hey, why don’t you blog about eggnog?” or “Hey, maybe some nog-blogging would make you feel better.” or “You should have an eggnog enema and tell us about it while I try to type with one hand.” Seriously. You need to relax about the nog. What are you going to do when the nogbloggery ceases for the next 10 months? Worse still, what are you going to do when I shutter the site? I can see it now… I’ll log in to check the gmail account every few weeks and it’ll be full of messages like, “Hey, just thinking that you might want to come back to blog about this horrible eggnog I found that’s made with platypus eggs.” or “Hey, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to try to drink a gallon of eggnog without throwing up and then throw up and then post the whole thing on Youtube.” or “Hey, still waiting one-handed for that eggnog enema you cocktease.”

For reals, B, y’all need to relax. It can’t all be about nog all the time. You know how that one time somebody gave you that pointless thing, like the tea-cozy with the rooster on it? Or the Raggedy Anne doll? Or the towel with the watermelon slices on it? And you were like, “Oh, hey, yeah that’s cool, I guess,” and didn’t immediately shit on it/in it and then set it on fire? And then for every Christmas, birthday, anniversary, going away present, high-school graduation, and bar mitzvah you got another thing with a rooster on it, or Raggedy Anne, or watermelon slices? And then when people come over to your house they’re like, “Whoa you must really be into roosters/Raggedy Anne/watermelon.” And the situation is thusly compounded and becomes exponentially worse as everyone you know continues to give you this shit in which you were only mildly interested in the first place? And your house is just filling with this shit and you can’t throw any of it away because people keep giving it to you and it’s impolite to throw away gifts? And with each birthday you’re torn between making a wish on the candles that you could travel back in time and piss in the face of the first person who ever gave you that shit or wishing that a giant bear would burst through the door at that moment and maul the bejeezus out of you so you won’t have to open one more gift with roosters/Raggedy Anne/watermelon? Do you know what I’m talking about?

Well, just apply that to me and nog… and you’d be totally fucking wrong. I want to drink nog ALL year. That’s why I freeze a bottle of it so I can drink it in July, or for my birthday in September. Nothing quenches a hot, summer thirst like a thick, creamy beverage made from milk and eggs. Gatorade is for bitches. Eggnog is for Olympians.

eggnog frozen

As you can see here my freezer nog is comfortably nestled between the Italian Ice and the mystery container of spaghetti sauce that could potentially be from when I lived with Kmart.

In fact, as you can see in this picture:

eggnog frozen 2

the freezer nog has already reached it’s full, bloated, frozen potential, and is testing the limits of it’s quart-sized plastic prison.

So you psycho nog-loving wannabes, you’ll never be able to hang with me until you’ve reached my paramount of obsession, my apotheosis of nog-suckling greatness. At this point to even come CLOSE to loving nog as much as me, I’d pretty much have to catch you balls deep in a carton of nog, and though many of you are perverted beyond psychological help, I still don’t think you like nog THAT much. Suckers.

So yeah, I have one more nog post for you until I ingest the summernog, and then that’s it. For you people I will break my tradition of not blogging on the weekends and write something up so it’ll be there on Monday when I’m out of the office. I hope you’re happy.

*Skip to 4:30 if you don’t immediately get that.

Seems like I’ve been doing a lot of these lately

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on January 3, 2008 @ 10:03 am
in Glen Burnie, bitches, i am so fucking awesome, people are idiots and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
. 16 Comments

1) You like boobs, right? Admit it. We all like boobs. Nobody doesn’t like boobs. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that nobody doesn’t not unlike no boobs. For that reason ALONE you should go vote (relatively safe for work) for Dizzy von Damn for this year’s Viva Las Vegas rockabilly burlesque competition. Miss Dizzy is actually a close personal friend of mine, and I’m pretty sure that if you voted for her, she’d let you continue to read my blog as a reward.

“But” you begin to say as the hamster gets up off his ass and lazily saunters over to the rusty wheel inside your head, “why should I vote for a complete stranger?” Two reasons: 1) I’m telling you to, and 2) because the 40 other girls don’t deserve to win. So go vote. Scroll down to “Dizzy von Damn” (in the tenth row, on the left) and click vote.

Remember, it’s for the good of the boobies.

2) The Great Glen Burnie Annual Christmas Tree Throw-out has begun! All over Glen Burnie idiotic and inconsiderate families have begun pitching their Christmas trees out of moving automobiles onto the the side of the road.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hamster flopping wildly and kicking its legs like crazy in an attempt to get into the hamster wheel, “that’s probably because Glen Burnie hasn’t designated a specific day for the trash collectors to come around and pick up the trees.” In fact, they have. All the lazy idiots have to do is drag their tree to the curb, and in a few days, as if by magic, it will disappear. No more loading the tree into the ancient station wagon, reaching a top speed of 40 miles per hour, and pitching it out into the middle of the highway while simultaneously dodging the myriad other drivers doing exactly the same thing. No sir. Instead they can just sit home, stuffing their faces with pallet upon pallet of deep-fried corn-chip-stuffed Twinkies, waiting for the tree to be hauled away. And yet, on the way to work I dodged 5 trees that had been left in the middle of the road, and observed a dozen more that had rolled to the side by the curb.

3) For the umpteenth year in a row, I have made no new year’s resolutions. As many of you already know, I am so fucking awesome.

“Gruh,” you say to yourself, jiggling your head slightly in an attempt to get the now napping hamster to run on his wheel, “fuffer nubs hoo blah muko pahoodie.” Yes, well, be that as it may, I don’t really see any reason to make a big deal out of it being a new year. If you want to do something, just do it. Don’t set up a magical signifier attached to a specific date because it doesn’t make any sense to do so. Time is a construct created and adhered to by our world because we had to find some way to measure how fast our pizzas were delivered. Do you really want to apply the same constraints to your health? Or your ambitions? I certainly don’t. If you want to climb a mountain, go climb it. If you want to go back to school, go do it. If you want to lose some weight, go for a walk. Don’t make this year the year you do something, make today the day you do something. Take care of it right now. If you can’t do it right now, start making plans right now for when you can do it. I’m sorry to get all preachy and up on my high horse, but this is my blog and I’ll do whatever I want you you can just shut your stupid face-hole. I just get frustrated seeing people set lofty far-away goals based on a new year, rather than setting realistic achievable goals based on what they can do today. Sort of like, “I’m going to lose 200 pounds this year!” rather than, “Today I’m going to go for a 15 minute walk.” I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Sorry to end on a downer. I guess you can always go back to the link up top and look at more boobies.

2008 predictions

Published
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Anonymous Coworker
on January 1, 2008 @ 12:00 am
in i am so fucking awesome
. 9 Comments

You will all continue to be bitches.

2007 recap

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 31, 2007 @ 2:06 pm
in i am so fucking awesome
. 10 Comments

You were all bitches.

We Three Things

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on December 18, 2007 @ 10:41 am
in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, food, house, i am so fucking awesome, meta blogging, money, nog, people are idiots, potty humor and sex
. 13 Comments

1) Last year Mrs. ACW gave me a container of powdered eggnog mix for Christmas and to be honest, I’m a little scared to even try it. I thought I would be able to get up enough gumption yesterday, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Especially considering that the third direction is to “allow mixture to sit for a few minutes and thicken” (that’s what she said! ha! I’m hilarious) I’ve been particularly apprehensive. Even after having already come up with similes and metaphors relating to foamy reindeer ejaculate and elf orgies I still couldn’t bring myself to try the stuff. Or maybe that was part of the problem. Regardless, I’m going to attempt to try it at some point in the near future, and believe me, you’ll hear about it.

2) Last night I finally bought our Christmas tree. Last year I paid $20 for a tree that cost about $27. I didn’t haggle. I didn’t bargain. I just pointed to the tree I wanted and said, “I’ll give you 20 bucks for that one.” This year my success is debatable. Because of the drought, tree prices were a bit higher this year than last year. And by “a bit” I mean “ridiculously more expensive”. I saw quite a few trees that looked like our tree last year, the shabbiest of which cost about $50, and the one most like last years was going for about $78, and it was still no prize compared to some of the other trees on the lot. The nicest tree I saw went for about $150 bucks, which I guess is like buying a disposable ivory back-scratcher; nice to look at, but really completely pointless. I found two trees on the lot that were less than $40, which I figured was the upper limit of my bargaining range, and set about comparing them. The $37 tree was taller, but it was missing huge sections of branches, so I went with the shorter, chode-ier tree, even though that meant we’d have to put it up on some sort of small table. I found the saleswoman and told her I’d give her $20 for the tree. It was priced at $31.

“Well, I’d love to but that’s a blahblahwhatthefuckeverblah kind of tree, and people rarely pay less than full price for those.”

“I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

“I’m not sure I can go that low, but I can probably let you have it for 28.”

“I have a twenty dollar bill. It’s twenty or nothing.”

“Okay. $22.50. It’s as low as I can go.”

“I’m not sure you understand. All I have is a twenty. I can’t pay you any more than that. No one else is going to buy this tree. Do you want to make twenty bucks off it?”

She didn’t look like she was going to relent, but just at that second a whole gaggle of wide-eyed suckers wandered onto the lot, so seeing her chance to sell a blahblahsomefuckinkindoftreeblah to them for a hundred bucks, she took my twenty and left.

A guy came over to cut off the bottom and bag it in that plastic netting, but I told him not to worry about it, rolled my passenger side window down, and had him stuff it in there. Voila: a Christmas tree.

3) Today is our Holiday Party at work. I say Holiday Party because our boss is Jewish and the co-chairs of the planning committee are Jewish, Musilm, and Hindu. In fact, now that I think about it, the other three people on the committee are Non-denominational Christian, agnostic, and a non-affiliated spiritual zen Buddhism-type guy. Weird. Anyway, an email went around a few weeks ago about the gift-exchange at the party this year. It’s one of those events where people buy $10 worth of crap and then pass it around for a while until everyone is unhappy. Every year people hound me to participate, and every year I demurely turn them down. Finally my colleague, the non-denominational Christian, asked me why I don’t participate, and I decided to be completely honest. Why would I pay between $10 and $20, and spend the time to pick out something nice that just about everyone could enjoy, when I’m guaranteed to get crap in return? The gift exchange is nothing more than complicated, protracted boondoggle for me to pay $20 for something I don’t even want. That’s money I could be spending on beernog.

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