who gets the kendo stick...

welcome to your thursday beatdown boys and girls. there's been an abundance of candidates worthy of the old kendo swipe to face this week; my supervisor as always, that cheeseburger that gave me heartburn, residents of massachusetss and so forth. so here are this weeks recipients of karmic justice in the form a wooden stick beating. prepare to get FACED! cock-wookies:

IT guy with shit eating grin- you've managed to do it yet again you verbal toilet.

me- why am i not getting any spam emails?

IT guy- i put *fart* a filter up so you won't get them *fart* anymore.

me- oh, thanks. (now i know his intentions were of the best, but spam email keeps me occupied. how else am i suppose to find out how much i could be saving on my long distance plan or what new miracle pill will cure prostate inflammation? besides, we all know that the road to hell is paved with "good intentions")

IT guy- no *fart* prob, what are *fart* friends for.

i could see the poo juice dripping down his chin through that smarmy smile. i think there's a video on the internet starring him titled "1 IT guy, 2 cups". what are friends for? friends drive you to the airport. friends buy you lapdances and jaeger shots on your birthday. friends offer to put their finger in your ass when your stressing out in the bathroom while experiencing your first bout of performance anxiety (i owe you one Paul). friends don't strip you of the only reason you check your email. FACED! this kendo sticks for you, you fucking ass-rat.

stall talking co worker- as talked about in the post below, i believe that you only get a good kendo stick blow to the knuckles. you FACED! yourself enough by accessorizing your shirt with that skunk-shit tail.

my urine- what the hell is your problem this week? you keep smelling like steamed vegetables. am i sleepwalking and eating broccoli patches at night? you should be smelling like you normally do, of coffee, jameson and self loathing induced erectile dysfunction. get it together pee. the last thing i want to do is kendo stick my own balls. i pay vietnamese hookers to do that for me.

the dude wearing the banana suit outside jamba juice who would not take "no" for an answer- look man, i don't want to try the new doucheberry smoothie. oh! you claim its really good? you like it? because i wanto to be just like you. i have a hard enough time getting laid, so i don't need to be talking to a 6 foot banana in broad daylight. it has a new vita-boost you swear by? well then, ill have the 16 oz. doucheberry smoothie, with a celibacy-boost and a shot of zero self respect. and what the hell, toss in one of those pretzels covered with total faggotry. you take debit cards right? the last kendo stick of the day is for you my struggling art history major.

who gets the kendo stick...

I'm not really a violent person. the two times i threw a punch in my life i ended up hurting my hand more than the victims face. that's why i stick to dropping elbows like real assholes do (ie: randy "macho man" savage). but this morning there is a shortage of coffee in the workplace and i feel like a sober dean martin. so i introduce you to the new weekly column, "who gets the kendo stick". for those of you not aware, a kendo stick is an eastern weapon normally referred to as a "shinai", "bamboo sword", "cane" or "fuck you up real good pole". the following people are in need of the kendo stick beatdown.

- obviously my supersivor gets the first beating. she's made smarmy comments to me in consecutive days. in exchange, i offer you a gift for your gross amount of disrespect. FACED BITCH! you get the first kendo stick beating, and it doesn't end with just you. oh yes, your husband, his pre-school teacher, your mailman, your cat, the cat next door that your cat has been fighting with at night, and whoever sold you your first big mac gets it as well.

- IT support guy. alright, there's a lot of reasons you should get one. perhaps because you whistle all day long and the only songs you know are "the star spangled banner" and "happy birthday". happy birthday? you're shitting me man. I'd presume you're a serial killer but i doubt that you are based upon the fact you wear scooby-doo themed ties with polo shirts. you also answer the majority of questions with "yeah baby" in an austin powers mock voice. and you're married, which means you're regularly having sex and I'm not. this kendo sticks for you asshole. and a second one is for your scrappy-doo necktie.

- Tech-Ops manager. strictly because everything that comes out of your mouth sounds like a fart through your shit eating grin. FACED BITCH! last kendo stick beating of the day.

still at work...

yup, 6:35 pm on new years eve and I'm still grinding away. what? you think the 2007 state tax board uploads itself to the general ledger accounts?!?! well fuck you for thinking that, for that is not the case. i shall spend tonight the same way i spend every new years, drunk and alone masturbating with my own tears. in all reality i think my buddy and i are going to get fitted for our asshats (get drunk) and play around with a wetsaw. ill keep you all posted on our handy and unecessary tilework. have a safe but not sober new years. perhaps a post tomorrow about hangovers, resolutions and how i plan to take a shit on my supervisors desk.

post holiday hangover...

but not the good kind of hangover. not the hangover where you wake up in bed wearing a bra and no pants next to an empty bottle of jameson and empty pack of cigarettes. more like the hangover of seeing family members and consuming chocolate truffles that you would ordinarily not eat unless you were high and they were strewn across an xmas tree shaped serving dish (which just so happened to be the case). I've also been fighting an illness which means antibiotics, which also means a lack of posts, which also means i haven't had a stiff drink in 5 days. ever gone 5 days without a scotch? oh, you have? well, you're probably not an alcoholic like i am. which means you're a coward when it comes to looking yourself in the mirror. either way, I'm going to attempt the bar scene sober this weekend. but i have a few ideas that should keep me entertained.

- wear a shirt that reads, "i don't want to be with you, i want to pee with you". I'm sure the fallout of that shirt alone should keep me busy.

- when someone asks what kind of music i listen to, respond with, "i only listen to instrumental prog-rock", then roll my eyes when they ask what that is. thus widening the canyon between me and the tolerance people have for me.

- speak to my supervisor only in the third person (this isn't really a weekend thing, but i just want to annoy the miserable bitch).

- tell a girl she has "assets". I'm predicting a follow up question like "excuse me?". then look her in the eye and walk away. this just seems like it will keep me entertained.

- scheme a blog post worth reading

be back on monday with "reverse new years resolutions". have a drunken weekend for me.

Stream of Thought...

I'm in a zippy mood today, probably because I'm being fed sugars and various baked goods at work. this is just a splattering of brain matter on a cyber canvas.

- I'm sick of candy and cookies being brought into the workplace. why doesn't someone bring something good? i want to walk into the breakroom and see a catering tray of eggs benedict. not a basket of of rice krispy treats. oh, human resources has peanut brittle downstairs? I'm going to the IT department, i heard they have veal chops and braised parnsips.

- grandma mammy's non-alcoholic rumballs? I'm sorry co-worker, i will decline, would you care to try uncle evan's scotch cubes? they'll get you drunk, and its totally chill because its the holidays. (note to self: begin the patent process for "uncle evans scotch cubes")

- my supervisor eats corn chowder every morning at 9am. cream based soups are a privilege, not a right. "well i wanted to quit drinking so much coffee". i see, so instead a hot mug of clam chowder is what starts your day off. good luck living through the new year.

- greatest xmas movie:
Die Hard and Die Hard 2. now these may just be the two best movies period, they don't need a holiday label on them. if i had to choose between the two I'd have to go with the original. strictly for the fact you get to see boobs in it. either way you pick them you can't go wrong. "now i have a machine gun. ho, ho, ho".

- co worker: "evan, can i ask you a personal question?"
me: "nope"
I'm beginning to see why people at my job dislike me. I'm a total prick.

- my xmas list:
1. a bottle of highland park 18
2. erin andrews wearing nothing but a barry sanders lions football jersey, asking me to treat her ass like a bowl of vanilla ice cream. oh yeah, and she has a dish of smoked almonds. smoked almonds are the jam.
3. a box of uncle evan's scotch cubes
4. an attention span

- co worker: "evan, did you sign up for the company pot luck yet?"
me: "not yet, but its on my list of things to do, just before 'smash my thumbs in a car door' but after 'register to vote'."

- now i must allocate funds for county tax purposes. be back tomorrow with a post that is actually thought out.

should have just politely nodded...

here's how the situation played out:

co-worker- "morning aaron, working hard or hardly working?"

evan/not aaron/me- "suck it"

co-worker- "pardon?"

evan/not aaron/me- "uhhh, software kit. uhh, did you get the new software kit for the aeris billing system?"

co-worker- "actually yeah i did. are you in charge of those?"

evan/not aaron/me- "no, i believe mark is (i don't even know if there's a mark in the company)"

co-worker- "actually would you mind doing the set up report on that?"

evan/not aaron/me- "sure man" (goddamnit!!!!)

a hard lesson was learned. if i would have kept my anger to myself and accepted the fact that no one really knows my name i could be zoning out playing solitaire on my computer today instead of this most cruel of projects.

my san francisco weekend recap:
- haircut
- highland park 18 scotch is pretty much liquified construda. a real party in ones mouth and not everyones invited. only wealthy virgin debutantes and english premier league soccer players. the true A list of scotch flavor.
- triggered a mini riot in a carls jr. (people just don't like the look of me)

- three good quotes:
1. "ahh, come visit the haunted shores of morro bay"
2. "not having sex is the new getting laid"
3. "i want to have sex with a 5 year old boy wearing lipstick. dammit! i mean i want to have sex with my girlfriend"

The only thing that happened all day...

and even then, the fact that this was my daily highlight is all the more reason that i need to do something this evening to redeem my lost 8 hours. so a male co-worker/total jackass walks up to me and asks if he can have a word. learning from past mistakes i politely nod and follow him to his desk where i find 4 other male co-workers.
jackass- "now, i just want to say that whoever used the bathroom last needs to admit to it. what took place in there was rude and unacceptable"
we all looked at each other blankly for a few moments, obviously we were all guilty of something that's taken place in the bathroom at one point or the other. i had a clear conscious, my phone was in my pocket so its not like someone found out i was gazing at porn in the stall. finally someone speaks up, "what are you talking about?". obviously he was guilty of something, probably not this crime however. knowing this clown-ass he probably left his rock tumbler plugged in overnight and was robbing precious electricity from work.jackass walks us towards the bathroom. at this point my mind was racing. what could it be? dirty joke written on the wall? i started sweating. cocaine trail left on the counter? my breathing grew rapid. dead hooker!? dead hooker!? please be a dead hooker! that would liven things up around here. jackass opens the door and one of the most evil smells hits us. the temperature raised a good ten degress due to this shitwave. it was bad, real bad. it reminds me of what i imagine satans college laundry hamper to smell like. we all scrambled away from the door and began to offer up our own descriptions of the smell. similar to that scene in 'anchorman' when paul rudd puts on the infamous "sex panther" cologne. only this wasn't sex panther. this would be known as "shit panther, with pieces of real colon in it". here were some rather distinct descriptions:-
-"it smells like when my dog had puppies"
-"its like he didn't flush, did anyone check to see if it was flushed?"
-"no way someone did that, the human body can't produce that much sulfur"
my personal addition to the odious comparisons was-
-"whoever it was, they were up late last night drinking a lot of gin and eating a lot of boiled cauliflower"
no one ever confessed to the crime obviously. but i want to know what jackass' intentions were. did he have a punishment lined up for the culprit? i guess we shall never know.