by Paul
Apr 25, 2005 09:47
it sure seems like it to the rest of the world because they're a lot less perfect. I like to call it "a lot less Paul." Even so, I have a job. Most of the time, believe it or not, I'm working. For a summary of my schedule (the 'C' is silent) you can check John's Blog to understand what the F I'm talkin' 'bout.
Some people possess the ability to be quite considerate and say things like "Hey Paul, your blog entries really make my day; thanks." They use a semicolon and everything, I shit you not.
Other people however "encourage" me by saying things like "Hey Paul, you're not funny enough!", or "You haven't been funny in [insert the number of days since my last post] days! What the crap?" Hey Paul can't you go outside with a bull's eye painted on your back until something humorous happens to you, that you can then share with me via your blog to allow me to laugh at your plight? Paul what the fuck are you doin going to work and having a social life when you could be out in the street making a total ass of yourself ala Tom Green?
Tom Green's funny right?
I never thought people would take veiled shots at the excitement content of my personal life, especially considering I'm telling you all my deepest secrets (in blog form of course). Instead I get (in a nutshell), "Can't you hurry up and have a more interesting life? I'm dying over here not getting a blog entry in [insert the number of days since my last post] days!"
I am currently listening to: Smokey Robinson - Tears of a Clown
Today's Mood is: PPMS (that's like before PMS, so you're not like a full blown bitch yet; just kind of ruffling some feathers.No but seriously, Tom Green is funny right?
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Tags: Perfect, Jobs
by Paul
Apr 11, 2005 09:47
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I've been working a second job (at least that's what I tell myself) at a skating rink for like 104 years. After reviewing that sentence, I'm pretty sure it's accurate, except for maybe grammar.
Over that time period, I've heard people come in and say things like "DAMN! It smells like feet in here!", or "It smells like feet in here, DAMN!"
First, I kinda take offense to that, because it's my rink, and it means more than nothing to me. Then I think, you know what, I can't even smell feet anymore. That's awesome! Just imagine what it would be like if I couldn't smell shit. I'd be so much happier in life.
Then I thought, there's absolutely no downside to not being able to smell feet, and that I am officially super human, because of my inability to be affected by the stench of feet.
Unless...
I burst my own bubble when I realized if for some reason the terrorists drop a chemical bomb that's extra deadly, and the warning is a foot odor, I'm a dead man. I'd be walking down the street laughing at all you suckers who can smell feet, until you all freak out and run for cover indoors. I'll be left smelling my armpits, wondering if it's me that caused the comotion. Smelling my armpits for all of 3 seconds before I keel over stone dead, because I couldn't smell the foot bomb dropped by Al Qaeda.
Today's smell is: Dr. Scholl's Bunion Fun |
| Damn you and your foot bomb Bin Laden! |