1) I will run into one of my students. Fuck that.
2) Having to carry a heavy tray of drinks while wearing heels.
3) Consequently spilling beer on a ‘patron’ or whatever.
4) What if I get grossed?
5) Well, they’re not allowed to hug me unless they tip me $300. I wish that I were kidding. The interviewing manager instructed me on this.
I have to wear BLACK SLACKS, I don’t get it, but whatever. Why can’t I this?:
Okay, the one on the right is too extreme, but the one on the left is better than black fucking slacks. I stuffed the fuck out of my bra for the interview, and I haven’t put up recent pics lately, but I lost about 10 elbows since then and I’m just going to stuff my fucking bra.
This weekend, anyway.
I’M BACK.
I’m teaching a summer class, and it starts this week. Gotta finish takin’ care of bidness, then go to bed early so they won’t find out what a MONSTER I am lol. I’m actually a pretty cool teacher. IF I MAY SAY SO MYSELF, lolol.
Soon, twat sprinkles! I’m grading like bananas right now >:o
Do it like this.
So I changed themes over there this morning and started playing with the new random button. Reading those old posts led me to the following conclusion:
Man I am fucking NUTS.
That, my peeps, is what this clam-flavored beer tastes like. Real talk. I know I said I would make a vid of myself drinking it, but I honestly can’t get beyond one sip and you’ll just have to take my written word for it.
I don’t know this poor human male, but that’s what one looks like while tasting a delicate blend of sweat and menstrual blood.
That also happens to be the lyrics to one my favorite songs — THX, Casiotone for the Painfully Alone
We make our own beds, don’t we.
So I’m standing in line at the gas station, mindlessly fingering around in the ice tub of gigantic beers. I pick up and begin fondling this clam-flavored beer, trying to get some answers, when I notice that the chick behind me is observing with great intensity.
The result: I kept it => that lady does not think I’m a girly-man => now I have to drink this beer. Oh, and also, FAIL.
—–
Unrelated: Zooey is engaged to Death Cab?
I’LL NOT LEAVE YOU AGAIN. Not for a good, long time. This is what Happy Airport looks like:
So I take it all back. All the things I’ve said about you:
- the insufferable humidity
- your “dance clubs”
- NASCAR
- your general insistence on the Immaculate Conception — high-five, Mary. You pulled it off.
“srsly god did it”
via vexappeal
Filed under: Iowa, beer, bored, farts, gross, mental, oh fuck, old people, scotch, trips, what a dick, you
OK guys: FLIGHT CANCELED. If I could bitch-slap the weather, I would.
I was so looking forward to NOT THIS. Since I am an emotional handicap, I’m pretty sure the entire airport knows I how I feel about my extended stay in Iowa.
Please, someone talk to me. I’ve already tried screaming SERENITY NOW!!!! but that pissed everyone off.
I’ve started drinking.
That smile was captured en route to the Airport of Sadness. It has been turned upside down. A couple-few more heinekens and we’ll right-side-it-up again.
Nearly every time I stop at a gas station betwixt the hours of 4 and 6pm, I see one or more blue-collar workers buying ONE large beer, +/- a lotto ticket.
I am confused about the cost / time efficiency of this, since isn’t it cheaper to buy in bulk? I do have my theories:
1) They go to each other’s houses on a rotating schedule, and it gets awkward or unevenly skewed when drinking the host’s beer.
2) They meet up with others at a parking lot or other outside venue, and they want their beer cold goddammit. And those insulated lunch-pack coolers with the strap look gay.
3) They drink it on the way home (most probable theory).
Instead of doing my real work today of which I have a shit-ton, I would like to tabulate the savings of buying at least a sixer of tallboys vs. this singleton nonsense. I’ll report my findings shortly.
