Monthly Archives: March 2006

Would you like. . .

. . .an advanced degree without all of that annoying studying?

Then have I got a university for you!

BundeSchwager University to be specific!

Learn about the student life! Check out the courses! Tryout out for one of their teams!

Take my word for it! BundeSchwager U. has something for you!

Another Proud Recipient

About a month ago (I see most tenants every month or so when they pay) this guy came in all flustered because he believed his wife was lying to him about when she left their house.

The fact he also believed she was trip wiring the garage (the location he entered the house) to warn her when he got home (wouldn’t the garage door opening do that?) will bring you up to speed on this guy.

Being the type of person I am, I decided to assuage his paranoia by giving him a couple of tips to find out if his delusions were true.

Regarding leaving the house: After figuring out she could only pull out of the driveway one way, I told him to buy a cheap watch, set the proper time, make sure it’s fully wound and place it under her tire. When she rolls over it the hands will stop at the time she left.

Regarding the trip wire: I told him to open the garage door and, before driving or stepping in, spray a line of silly string into the garage. If there is indeed a wire above the ground the silly string will hang in the air.

He leaves happy and I promptly forget we’ve had this discussion.

He comes in today pissed because my ideas didn’t help him. As a matter of fact, they were a hindrance. At first, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Then, after being reminded, I started laughing because he was stupid enough to go through with it. I told him I figured he’d think about it, realize he was overreacting and my ideas were, like always, pretty damn stupid.

“Yeah, well, what does that make me?”

“A dumber shit than I?” So I went to my desk to get a couple things I keep handy for occasions like this. I figured the way this story was going he was deserving of both.

He nods and tells me the full story. It turns out the watch bit didn’t work due to no fault of mine. I interrupted during his telling of the story because I had to ask one question. To which he responded,

“A watch with hands? What’s that?”

Turns out he’d purchased a digital watch. Yeah, that probably won’t work. Here’s your legally stupid certificate!

As far as being pissed about the silly string it seems that was also his fault. It seems that when he didn’t find any wires he couldn’t believe it. So he began to spray the entire garage with silly string.

Which, I am sure by his retelling of the story, would still be going on if his wife hadn’t come into the garage and asked, in no uncertain words, what the hell he was doing.

“She’s screaming. I’m looking around at my garage when it finally hit me, why was I taking the advice of a guy who writes comedy?”

I told him it was probably the same reason as everyone else.

“They’ve finally graduated.” I say while bestowing upon him his Densa diploma.

How’s Your Day?

I’ve been annoying people, if that makes you feel better.

A friend of mine came by work. I see the guy once, maybe twice a year, but whenever he comes by he always brings me beer (something I wish would catch on with all others) and someone new for me to meet. I think he brings them because they don’t believe the stories he tells of me. He brings the beer because I talked him out of killing himself year ago.

If I’d only known then. . .

I’m relating a story about this hypochondriac who whines about something new wrong with her every month. The problem with me (let’s just talk about this one problem right now, okay?) is when people prattle on I don’t listen. The best I do is nod and listen to the rhythm. You can tell when to nod or grunt using just cadence of speech. And I do.

My bigger problem is I pick out snippets of their rambling to entertain myself. I half heard this woman mention Sheryl Crow and what a bastard Lance Armstrong is for leaving her.

After mind humming a Crow song or two I start to think about Armstrong. More specifically, his balls. Which leads me to Tom Green’s balls but, fortunately, I snap quickly back to Lance’s lonely lump.

It’s at this time in my mind shower I forget people are there. It’s not that I care if they’re there or not, it sometimes surprises me when I have an incensed person in front of me. I didn’t even know they were there.

“Yeah,” or something to that facsimile, I say out loud. “I just went to the doctor. He said I have testicular dancer.”

I see the woman try to figure out 1) if she can have it too and 2) if I said what she thinks I said.

I notice this and, as often happens when I find myself sucked back into the real world after some idiotic phrase has just popped out of my head, I know I have to complete this idea.

“Yeah, the doctor said it wouldn’t have been bad if it was just the fox trot but I have those river-dancing bad boys. All that stomping! And the music! I think that’s more annoying than the constant throbbing.”

The woman gets all pissed that I’m not taking her twelfth illness this year seriously. Yeah, well, she got me there.

I’m telling this story and my pal laughs which validates the reason for my telling it. His friend, on the other hand, didn’t find it all that humorous.

“I’m Irish!”

“Chill out, Patty O’Humorless, I’m part Irish too.” I look at him with half an Irish grin and a full set of ‘fuck you’ twinkling in my eye. “Fortunately, not the small dick and rhythm-less part.”

I’m like an ambassador of good will! With tourette’s and a short time to my pension.

I go back to work and read an email from a friend who tells me my Densa page has been mentioned in the wikipedia. Cool. While I’m reading the page someone walks in dressed in her Sunday goin’ a prayin’ best.

I don’t know what it is, but even people who’ve never had the misfortune of dealing with me (see above) find me objectionable. Maybe it’s my clothes. But for the life of me I can’t understand why she’d have a problem with this shirt:

But, she did. People are too sensitive these days. I mean, sheesh, I have many more objectionable shirts to choose from!

She’s talking about finding the Lord as my Saviour. That the Lord is my one and true Saviour. That the Lord will save me when all hope is lost.

“So, this Lord guy, he’s like a celestial lifeguard, right?”

I don’t know if it was the cut of my gib (I’ve got to get a better gib cutter) or she didn’t like the image of the Lord in a speedo but the veins in her eyes throbbed as she says,

“Joke all you want, but do you know what the Lord says?”

To which, because I knew this one, I answered,

“Book ’em, Dano!”

All this and I’ve only been at work for an hour.