An Award-Winning Disclaimer

A charming little Magpie whispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Saturday, December 12, 2009

My New Skill

There is a new skill I've been demonstrating at work of late, and that's good. It's always nice to demonstrate new skills.

Unless, of course, that skill is data entry.

Back in middle school, when crusty Mrs. Droopy Cheeks taught us typing on baby blue Remington electric typewriters, I averaged 60 words-per-minute, and I expect my pace has increased since then. My boss has frequently marveled at the speed and alacrity with which I bang out letters, emails, and other correspondence.

Sadly, she realized that I would be a right down reg'lar whizz-bang at this snappy little database enhancement project we've got going on 'round these here parts.

Street address. State. Zip. Name.
Street address. State. Zip. Name.
Street address. State. Zip. Name.

Lather. Rinse. Hate-fuck me raw with a broken Coke bottle. Repeat.

This, apparently, is what my life has become. I am now, unofficially, a data-entry clerk. Shall I introduce you to my Master's Degree? It's in the house somewhere, under some dust, shame, and possibly dog pee.

Rather than bitch and cry and moan about how I'm now a data-entry clerk, I think I'd (and you'd) be better served if I presented you with a list of things I'd rather be than a data-entry clerk....

* Tied up inside the trunk of a Gotti's Cadillac.

* Imprisoned & sharing accomodations with a prisoner named "Baby Fuck Johnson."

* Unemployed.

* A retarded rabbit being product-tested upon by crazy Revlon lipstick scientists.

* Trapped in a broken elevator with the Lawrence Welk Show.

* An ICU patient.

* Onstage with no trousers and no memory of what my lines are.

* Hairless.

* Have a disease that only enables me to blink once every New Moon.

* Naked, wrapped in cheesecloth and defecated on by the Oakland Raiders.

* A devout Catholic.

* A thong worn by any daytime performer at the club "Castle Muffenstein."

* Be a guest at Martha Stewart's house for Christmas.

* Sixteen and pregnant.

* Whole-Milk-Boarded by America's bravest.

* Conjoined twins with Jesse Ventura.

* A herpe.

* Forced to eat one (just one) of my late great-grandmothers blackened liverwurst hamburgers.

* A twitchy, one-eyed cat at a pet adoption agency.

* A night neighborhood watchman in Harlem.

* The butt of a Borat joke.

* Tased on COPS.

* A hemophiliac descendant of the inbred, chinless ruling class of the Hapsburg monarchs.

* Fingerless. Try giving me data to enter now.


  1. Hey I gave you a blog award...stop by my blog to claim it!

  2. A herpe! Bahaha it would be that one that would elicit the audible chuckle. I am such a child.

  3. "ff space jj space dd space kk space ss space ll space aa space semi semi space"


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