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Charlie Hatton
Watertown, MA
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Okay, before I get started tonight, a quick comment on a TV commercial that's been playing lately:
Have you guys seen that 'MLB on XM Radio' ad, with the fans of rival teams running into each other and managing to be civil to each other? Cute, sure. But at the end, where the Red Sox and Yankees fans living next to each other shake hands?
No. I don't think so. The only way any self-respecting Sox or Yanks fan shakes hands with someone on the 'other side' is if they've got a raging case of syphillis and they've just peed on their hand.
(And no, I'm pretty sure you probably can't contract syphillis from a wet-wee handshake. Still, that doesn't really matter, does it? You've still just pissed on your own hand, just so a little bit of it might rub off on the enemy. It's not quite 'cutting off your nose to spite your face', but it's damned close. And far nastier.)
Okay, enough of that. What else can we rap about?
(See, 'rap about' -- that's me, trying to be 'street'.
Which doesn't work at fricking all, of course. The very first rule of talking 'street' is to not put 'street' in parentheses. Damn, I could never do this. In high school, I was voted 'Least Likely to Raise the Roof'. Poopstain.)
Anyway, what's next? How about the new office I moved into today? That was pretty cool. There was a bit of a touch-and-go moment, when my officemate offered to trade desks with me. I mean, sure, his side has a little more desk space -- but we already 'marked our territory' last week, when we toured the place. I am so not sitting on that side now. Bleh.
(Hey, look at that -- two peepee references in the same post. And to think I don't even charge for this stuff. Crazy!)
So, the new office is cool. The only problem with it is that there aren't any whiteboards. I know, I know, that's all nerdy and shit -- hey, see 'street' discussion above; this ain't Ice-T you're talking to here. At any rate, let's just say that I like to draw stuff at work. Stuff with boobs, mostly -- I have to disguise them, of course, but I know they're still there, and that's what matters. I've gotten good at it, too -- ever seen an org chart with boobies? Done it. A to-do list where the first letter of the items spells out 'L-O-V-E P-I-L-L-O-W-S'? That takes some doing, but I've gone the extra mile before. Or a Venn diagram with... well, okay, all Venn diagrams are basically just a set of cleavage. That's barely even a challenge.
Anyway, the cool thing is, we figured out that we can just write on our windows. They erase, and everything, too. Not that we'd want to erase them -- why not share the boobies with everyone, eh?
(No, really, ladies. Share the boobies. Just a little. Just a peek, is all I'm saying. We'll talk later. I've got tat, if that's what you're after. Just a thought.)
So, all's well in the new office. Today, we had desk chair races and packing peanut fights, and wrote rude words like 'buttface' and 'stinkmonkey' on Post-Its and slapped them on each others' desks. Oh, and how we laughed and laughed. Tomorrow, we're planning on going out to lunch at the combination Taco Bell-KFC a few blocks away -- and how fucking awesome is that place, by the way? -- so by tomorrow afternoon, we may just end up with some of the 'christening components' SilverBubble mentioned in the comments on my last post. Specifically, I'm thinking we're probably in for a few 'unidentified reddish-brown stains on the desk' and 'a sickly-sweet odor', at a minimum. And tomorrow's Friday, so there's always a good chance that we'll end up doing 'a tribal dance' or 'chanting in a foreign language'. Particularly if we have the extra-crispy chicken chalupas. I like mine with refried beans and flaky biscuits. Ay, chihuahua, baby.
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Yeah, butt...
I got boobs. I think we've talked about it before. :-)
Back to the important part of the post.
MLB on XM totally effin ROCKS.
My mom always called them dirty pillows.
A combination Taco Bell/KFC? That's located on the corner of Heaven and Paradise, right?
I work at a somewhat skanky and crusty "Gentlemen's Club" in upstate NY. I worked one sad shift in another NY town, but for monetary and jerky manager reasons did not go back. Part of it is surely the city, feh!, but part of it also is the fact that the club itself is such a dive that people with money either don't go there or don't feel like they have a responsibility to help my pay my rent! It's a friggin' job people!
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Okay, so here's the thing I dont' understand. As far as I can tell men (and many women) just love breasts. They're crazy about them. And I have relatively nice ones, at least I've been told. And I'm a stripper. So why the heck do guys tip me so dang little? Is it just that they're cheap bastards, or is it because Plattsburg NY is such a cheap skanky place? There are strip clubs where the average tip is a $20! A $20! That's like 20 times more than I normally get tipped for a table dance and about 4 times more than I usually get tipped for a private dance, and let me tell you, I give a hell of a private dance!