Monthly Archives: September 2006

Vegetative State University

Are you sick of all those higher education places with their insipid rules and demands like,

“Go to class!”

“Get good grades!”

“Don’t do bong hits while in front of the disciplinary board.”

Then do we have a university for you! All you have to do to fulfill your course requirement is frame your diploma! We know you’re busy! We know you have hangovers to get to! So we cut out the middle man and brought the degree to you!

That’s right! Vegetative State University gives you what you want while you give us nothing at all! Even a slug like you can pull this one off!

To get a 8×10 copy of your very own diploma from Vegetative State University just click on the link below and soon you’ll feel the thrill of a college degree without all that annoying work. And isn’t that what life’s all about?

Remember to carry with you for the rest of your days the VSU motto:

The Flat Line To A Higher Power

As a proud product of old VSU we know you’ll want to commemorate your minute with us and wear your alma maters colors everywhere!

Resident of the US

Are you a pissed off American? Sorry, let me rephrase that. You’re an American, you’re pissed off. What are you going to do about it? What’s that? Oh, no, no, no. We can’t let you stew in your own juices! That’s not the American way!

Do you know what you need? A symbol. An icon. A seal. No, not the cute and slippery mammal or world famous singer. You need a seal that tells the world that you’re pissed off and aren’t going to take it anymore. So, boy, is it a good thing we happened along.

We are now ready to unveil the Official Seal of a Resident of the United States:



Use it as your avatar:



Use it as clothing:

Just use it proudly while you tell the world that things just haven’t been wandering down the All-American path the way you see it!

A New Holiday

I know the calendar is ripe with holidays. But today I was there when history was made. I was in the center of the creation of a spanking new holiday. And, for posterity, I will relive the creation of this wondrous holiday with you. You don’t have to thank me. But you do have to buy me a beer.

Holiday Creation Situation #1: 8:04AM
A women pulls a 24 foot truck in front of three loading doors and asks where she can unload. I ask what her unit number is and she doesn’t have one. I ask if the 24 foot truck is full. She says bad words to me. I tell her that, at this current time, I have nothing to accommodate her. She uses new bad words. She tells me she called and if I don’t uphold my bargain she will sue me. I asked who she talked to and she said,

“Some fucking asshole bitch.”

I smiled and said,

“Sorry, we only have fucking asshole bastards at this location.”

Holiday Creation Situation #2: 8:09AM
While I am ushering #1 out of the building, a guy is pulling his big wheel, I mean, some vehicle made with more plastic but less horsepower than a vibrator, into a loading area. Well, he thinks he is. I try to get his attention because vibramobile is heading straight toward some crash poles we have secured deep into the earth. He, of course, can’t hear me because his radio is on ‘Bloodletting’ and crashed dead center into the pole. He gets out of his car and this is the first thing that dripped from his lips,

“How long have they been there?”

I look at him and can’t for the life of me figure out a reason why I would want to engage this person so I walk away. Still bitching about something he assesses the damage before getting into his car. Leaving his bumper behind. He gets out of his car, opens his hatch, grabs his bumper, tosses it into the back of his car and tears the roofliner from stem to stern.

Holiday Creation Situation #3: 8:17AM
A tenant, a very nice tenant in normal situations, has been waiting patiently at the counter while I’ve been taking care of the above situations. She’s witnessed each event in totality. She’s even rolled her eyes at some of it. I get back into the office from clearing glass shards, she looks me dead in the eyes and says,

“Would you like a coffee?”

“What kind of stupid question is that? Yeah, coffee would be nice. Lace it with some heroin and horse tranquilizers and that would be especially nice.”

She stands there for a second before I say,

“What are you trying to enjoy ‘Act Like A Moron Day’? Get your ass moving and get me the damn coffee.”

She turns toward the door before stopping and looking back,

“What about the heroin?”

“Only if it doesn’t take too long.”

Okay, so she only celebrated the day for a minute but she still felt the spirit of the thing, didn’t she?

Happy ‘Act Like A Moron Day’!

Weight Loss

You know my day’s often start quite ugly. Well, often they don’t end much better. At 5:45 yesterday, fifteen minutes from my escape, the door opens. In walks the guy who left the ton of garbage in front of the building last week. Oh boy! This is going to be fun. I start right in.

“What where you thinking?”

Without hesitation he feigns dumbshit. He says he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But there was something in his demeanor that told me it was lying. Maybe it was the shuffling of feet. Maybe it was the rocking back and forth. Maybe it was his lip licking and lack of eye contact. Or maybe it was because I saw this lying asshole at the end of his dumping glory.

“Don’t play stupid with me. I saw you.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s two times you’ve bullshitted me in eight seconds. Not a record but pretty damn close. And, do you know why I know it’s bullshit? Because the moment you saw me you got all guilty and pulled out of here like a bat out of hell.”

He shuffles his feet a few times. “I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to do it.”

“So, you don’t know dumping on someone else’s property is against the law?”


“What about assault?”


“Assault. Do you know if that’s against the law?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Oh good, the one thing I’m interested in doing THAT you know is illegal.”

“I’ll never do it again.”

“Of course not! You’ve already dumped all the shit in your unit.” I stand there staring at him for a moment as he stares at his feet. I am bummed he knows assault is against the law. I really am.

“Listen to me.” I pause waiting for him to look up. “Look up!” He does as requested. “Here’s how we’re going to play this. As a tenant you are allowed entrance during scheduled working hours. But, I’m giving you a new rule and you’d better follow it to the letter of the law. Don’t say a fucking thing to anyone while you are anywhere near this building. When you drive by it you’d better go as far as to stop any conversation in your car, do you get my drift?”

The guy nods. I buzz him in. He looks up and I could see another hollow apology cross his liars lips but with a single inhale of air from me his expression flash to contrite and he went to his unit. When he left, he entered the office again and I could see his desire to speak. He didn’t. I guess he could see my desire to assault at such a level there would be no ability to report breaking that specific law.

So today, as you could guess, I’m willing a good one. I’m hoping the day is somewhat somnolent actually. I just get to go about my daily chores without undue interruptions. And, as you know, I feel all interruptions are undue.

I knew that wasn’t a chance in hell when the first guy walked into the building. I’d gone to get an iced coffee (large, cream, no sugar) and when I came back someone was already waiting for me. I look at the clock as this guy approaches so quickly that, with one more step, we would have been conjoined. I don’t know exactly if I’d like to be conjoined to someone front hip to back hip but I’m sure I’d have times of frustration.

“Can you back off?” I open the door and can see the clock. It’s 8:42. I’m not even open for another 13 minutes.

But I let the guy in mainly because I couldn’t squeeze the door shut amidst his girth.

“How ya doing?” He says jovially. It’s hard to be pissy at someone so jovial. But, if anyone can, it’d be me. I put my coffee on my desk. “How’d ya sleep?” I turn to face him.

“I made a few mistakes. What can I do for you?”

I was hoping, and it turned out to be true, that he just wanted to pay. Excellent. 45-90 seconds and I can sip my coffee in peace for 12 minutes unmolested.

At least that’s how I saw it.

The guy, on the other hand, saw this as a perfect opportunity to catch me up on his life. I wonder if this guy knows about the assault laws?

“I’ve lost 63 pounds in the last six months!” He chrips excitedly. I smile and nod. It is an accomplishment and I’m glad he’s taking care of his health. But all I can think of is if he’d lost 20-25 more could I have shut the door to stop him from have coming in. I doubt it but it gives me something to postulate while he’s chattering on.

Again, please don’t just assume I’m an asshole in every situation. I’m glad people accomplish things. I hope they continue accomplishing things all the way to their final accomplishment. But I don’t need a blow by blow of every aching pound this guy lost.

To me, this is how this conversation should have gone.

“I’ve lost 63 pounds in the last six months!”

“Cool! Keep it up. Here’s your receipt. Have a nice day.”

But no. He has to tell me his diet, his good days, his bad days, his very personal moments best left staining porcelain, if you get my genteel gist.

Finally, I can’t take it. For the second straight day I’m not getting paid while listening to someone blather. There should be a law against that! During a pause I say,

“I lost some weight too. As a matter of fact, just today I lost 35 pounds.”

The guy looks at me wondering if he heard what he thinks he heard. I stand there smiling into his bewildered face.

“I did. I can’t find my one year old anywhere.”

I can see the guy get the ‘Chris! You’re not taking me seriously’ face. Why would you think that? I have on my best serious face!

“No, seriously,” I say to show him I’m serious. But also because he wasn’t turning tail and racing out the door.

“And you can help. You’ll be out there all day. Can you look for her? Don’t worry, she’ll be easy to spot. She’s wearing a shirt that says “Are You My Daddy?” on the back and “My Mommy Went To An Orgy And All I Got Was This Stinking Life!” on the front.”

Boy! All these people come in here all the time asking me for help. But, here I am asking once and what do I get?

It should be against the law.

Not Today

I’m definitely not going to be in the mood to work today. I can already smell the idiocy in the air. And I’m afraid it’s not going to be the fun, get to write about it idiocy. I’m sensing a deflating balloon that floats into the path of the birthday cake candles and explodes in a fiery ball that singes icing and eyebrows with the same urgency.

I get here at 8:30. There are three trucks, empty of goods but with three people in each, parked helter skelter around the lot. I don’t pay any attention because 1) they don’t have any goods inside and 2) tradesmen often pick their workers up at the bus stop in front.That changes when I walk to the door. I am descended upon as if it’s closing time and I’m the last floozy sitting in the Flim Flam Room.

One guy, let’s call him Asshole, begins to rant, red faced, about something. I didn’t really hear him because 1) so far this morning I’ve only spoken to cats and 2) I’m wondering how someone can get their face so red without the help of ketchup and a pneumatic drill.

It seems the reason this guy is so pissed of is because I’m late. When I try, above, below, and between the ranting, to explain that I am not only early, I’m not going to let him in until 9AM. On the dot. I look at it this way, if he’s going to be pissed at me about something I haven’t done I may as well give him something to be pissed about because, let’s be honest, if I actually did something bad to him it might push him over the edge.
By now I’m surrounded by the nine guys. A designated bitcher from each truck has been chosen and, in unison, they give me bits and pieces of why they’ve decided, as a group, whatever is wrong with their life is my fault and I should get all Cher on their asses and turn back the hands of time.

I stand there nonplussed. I have absolutely no feelings at all while the idiots choir serenades me with their rendition of ‘I’m A Little Fusspot.’ After the third refrain they seem to run out of steam. I know this may sound strange but I’ve found that standing there without emotion it wears them out. I’m a firm believer of using your opponents weights and balances against them. By not feeding into their screaming frenzy the blaze has no air so sputters. No matter how many people on that side are feeding the flames.

When there’s a pause the winded Asshole stares at me. He catches his breath as the other eight go into groups to see if they’ve missed any points to my worthlessness. I swear I saw a clipboard with a checklist.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Asshole asks. I know it was a question pointedly asked to put me on the defensive.

‘Oh no,’ he expected me to answer. ‘You’re a fine person. It’s me! I know! It’s always been me! It’s my fault you’ve been divorced three times, your kids hate you and the only reason these people are here is because they work for you!’

But you know me, I like to exceed expectations.

“As a matter of fact, I have no feelings for you either way. You’re like a shoe or rabid dog that has to be put down. Just a bubble gum bump in the crevasse of my day.”

He and I stand face to face while his Elite Eight huddles to dissect what it is I’ve just said. I take this moment of silence to ask him what it is he feels is wrong. But, I explain, if he gets in my face one more time I will request that he vacates my property and that I would see to it that it is accomplished by any means necessary.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid enough to consider for a moment that I couldn’t be pummeled by any one, two or eight of the assemblage but I’m just as sure that few of them want to be in a public fracas as much as I want to be bleeding all over the building. It’s a calculated risk. The problem is my math has never been real good.

After a period of time where I watched three people move back, two remain in place but look elsewhere, and three step forward Asshole spoke in measured tones. He explains to me that they’ve been there since 6AM. The time, he said, I’m supposed to open. I stop him there and point to a rather prominent sign behind me. Everyone slowly looks at the sign. It is a sign that states our hours. On that sign the only time the number six is there is in regard to closing.

Asshole attempts to correct me. I tell him he shouldn’t speak because the more his delusions get in the way the less we can do to resolve this issue. He begins to agitate again telling me that he has paperwork that has our hours on it. Excellent! Being the guy who had laid out all of the paperwork issued by this office I should be able to spot my error. He sends one of his guys to amble back to the truck and dig through a pile of papers looking for the paperwork.

The guy gets back and holds the paper out to me. I don’t take it. It takes Asshole a few seconds to snatch it out of the guys hand. I tell him to find where it says we open at 6AM. He looks around the paper, turns it over a few times, running his finger up and down the paper. Finally, he spots his information, gets all smug-faced and, with his finger on the spot, holds the paper towards me.

“See! Right here! Six. A. M.” He reaches the paper closer toward me while shaking it wildly. I remain still.

“That’s not our paperwork.”

He pulls it back and feverishly skims it.

“Yes, it is.” He says still with conviction.

“Look at the top of the page.” He turns it over and looks at the top of the page. “The other side.” He looks up at me and then turns it over. Right there on the top of the page, just like I said, is the name of a storage facility. That just so happens not to be mine.

“They’re down the street about a mile and a half.”

I turn my back and put the key in the lock. I hear grumbles, muttered conversations, and shuffling feet. I can also feel Asshole trying to figure out any way possibly to save face in front of his men.

“You’re still an asshole.” The guy slings his best. I open the door, the alarm goes off inside, I turn and, for the first time, emote.

“As true as you may feel that is, I’m sure every guy behind you feels the asshole stands in front of me.”

He spins his head as the guys disperse and avoid his eyes. They skitter off to their respective vehicles as I watch his neck redden and pulse. I step back allowing the door to swing shut as I move towards the alarm to disarm it. I hear trucks rev and begin pulling out of the loading area. I hear one last door slam shut. The engine revs angrily until I hear,

“If you knew this wasn’t the place why didn’t you tell me?”

Equally as loud, I hear, “I did! You told me to shut the fuck up. So do you know what I did? I shut the fuck up! What do I care? I’m getting paid.”

I think about that last sentence as I look at the clock. I’m still fifteen minutes from getting paid.

Makes ya wonder who the asshole really is, huh?