it has been in relating to people how much I mean business. I am all about the business. To quote Meatwad, the business of giving you the business.

In fact, in an effort to clarify, I've been thinking of changing my name to Mr. Business. Perhaps even Mr. Bidness, to appeal to the youth; I mean youf.

Anyway you're making me lose my train of thought. Desipite my strict adherence to the business of meaning business, I'm usually a pretty calm and collected guy. I'd go so far as to say I'm a live-and-let-live kind of guy.

Just the other day in my house, a mosquito hawk flew in. I didn't even kill him. If you've never seen a mosquito hawk, these things are giant ugly fuckers that look like spiders with wings. They eat mosquitos however, so I don't really mind having them around; as long as they chill out and don't fuck with me.

This mosquito hawk chilled in my house completely over night, in peace. I woke up the next morning and started my ritual of going to work: I turned the alarm off and went back to sleep. When I did finally fly out of bed because I was late as usual, I noticed this mosquito hawk (we'll call him Steve) in the bathroom on the wall. I was like, "What it be like Steve?" For those of you who don't come from the projects like me, that means "Hello." Anyway, I brush my teef and get in the shower, and it's all good until Steve goes fucking certifiably ballistic. For some unexplained reason he flies over the shower door, and wigs out (no shit) when he catches himself in the stream of water from the shower head. What the fuck Steve!?

I hated to do it, but I had to put Steve down. He was all flying into my head, generally discombobulated, and I was in a vulnerable (ass naked) state; so I may have overreacted a bit. I crushed Steve in one incredible show of force. I didn't mean to, but I mean realistically, I'm like 1000 times his size. How many times should I have to hit him?

Well, there was this one time with this prehistoric sized dragon fly, but remind me to discuss that another time.

I felt bad having to break Steve up into parts small enough to fit down the drain, (If you're a girl and you're reading this, feel free to vomit following that description. Unless you're bulimic, in which case please don't vomit. Just shoot yourself and get it over with. You ARE in fact, fat.) but I didn't really have a choice. I had a goddamn shower to finish.

The moral of the story is I didn't want to kill Steve, but he got out of line. I had to demonstrate how much I mean business. In related instances around the house, I'll dispose of insects not in single blows; like this fat ass fly the other day who wouldn't leave me alone. I hit him like 4 solid times with an open hand, in mid-air, to let him know who was running shit in my living room, before I finally hit him so hard he got knocked out and just fell to the floor.

Do you know what I did then? Not a damn thing. I left him there, just in case any other flies were watching and thinking "Damn that guy on a couch is a fucking pussy." No, Mr. Bidness doesn't operate under the umbrella of being a certified pussy. Mr. Bidness wrecks all the shop, and leaves the shop wrecked for other insects to appreciate it. In fact I try to leave a couple of dead insects in every room; maybe just a few legs left over. You know, just to reenforce my principles. Think of it as having the classroom rules posted.

It's a simple system. You get your name put on the board. Strike two? You get a check next to your name. But after that buddy, your ass is sitting on the bench during recess.

Today's mood is: Strictly BusinessThis blog entry got kind of long. I'm sorry, but that's the price of business.

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?