Friday, May 30, 2008


It is finally Friday. The weekend couldn't come quick enough. Mind you, this was a short work week anyway. It just didn't feel like it.

My staff went nuts and shit, talking about how insulted they felt because such and such got to do something and they didn't. Boo hoo, bitches.

I had paperwork like you wouldn't believe. Any entity set up NOT to make money is in for fucking problems in the first place here in America. Some people only believe in the profit motive, so for them civil service is for the birds. To navigate the waters and get things done is a miracle, if only because of all the paperwork you gotta fill out to cover you ass if you spend a nickel of the city's money. It's unbelievable how much of the same paper came across my desk to sign and re-sign for one single project. Then I had to chase down minutes to a series of meetings to prove that the expenditure was actually properly approved. Then the purchasing department hazes your ass. It's a fucking nightmare, says the guy with a masters in public administration.

Then it's the meetings. Everything's literally resolved within 12 minutes on average. Minus the small talk, what everyfuckingbody did that weekend, cute shit their kids said, good natured ribbing about somebody's dumb ass tie, the meetings would be 12 minutes. I've sat in meetings for the better part of 5 hours each 8 hour work day. If meetings actually lasted 12 minutes, I could all of them in one day and still have time to work on the shit I need to that come from the meetings. But if they wanna pay me to sit in meetings, fuck it. As a matter of fact, fuck that. I hate meetings. You can't pay me enough to enjoy 'em.

I'm glad I get to relax at the crib this weekend. TAD's coming here so I don't have to pack and drive. I will be drinking extensively though. Grey Goose and cranberry. Lots of gooses.


Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Work Be Hard, Yo

When I tell you I'm trapped in a hellish cycle of getting more assignments and going to more meetings, I'm sure the absolute frustration will not register with you, dear reader.

When you're asked to go to more and more meetings, you get assigned more shit to do. The more meetings you go to, the less time you have to actually do the shit you're assigned. I'm in a situation where I can't even delegate work right now, because the shit I have to do is detail oriented. I don't trust the idiots on my staff with that level of detail. So I'm stuck. Paperwork piled to the top of my head. Shit is thick, yo.

I'm taking a break to write so y'all won't think I'm dead. Everything's still everything. Still getting married, still job hunting, still hating Satan's Anus, still not writing my book. Last weekend I came up with yet another book idea, but I forgot it. I was really excited too. That fucking sucks.

I'll write again as soon as I'm able.


Thursday, May 15, 2008

Why The Fuck Would I Be In A Good Mood?

Since 2008 started:

Number of resumes sent: 34
Number of interviews: 2
New apartments: 1
Unpacked apartments: 0
Times bad judgment exhibited by staff: 14
Times it bit me in the ass: 3
Average number of people to ask me about the wedding, daily: 3
Most days in a row drinking alcohol: 5
Number of overwhelming assignments, concurrent: 4
Average number of sexually active days per month: 3
Average times masturbated per month: 84
Average number of days worked per month: 20
Most good days in a row: 1
Number of times I've seen an actual ass in a thong: 1
Number of times I dye my goatee in a month: 4
Average number of headaches per week: 4
Weekly nacho intake, one pound bags: 2
Number of dress shirts: 27
Number of blue jeans: 2

Be Cool,

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


Big Hot Funky Shit Encrusted Mess

I was in a meeting yesterday and we had a "community activist" in the office. In this town (or in most towns, actually) that means a jobless or underemployed kook that has nothing better to do than bemoan the lack of Neighborhood Watch signs on his or her block. This lady represents her neighborhood in a paid position. All I've ever seen her do is smoke and eat. One time I came to her office to meet with her and she was sleeping HARD with her head on her desk, snoring and slobbering. She's a black lady with a short, perpetually uncombed afro that always seems to have a lint ball in the front of it. She has questionable bathing hygiene and a lack of coordination that couldn't be achieved by Stevie Wonder or the Governor of New York. Yesterday, her stankin' ass had on some manner of headwrap that would have to be seen to be believed. No, I didn't listen to the broad, I was too busy holding my breath. I have no idea what she talked about.

The Short Sleep

Is it possible for a man to die from boredom? Last night I could not fall asleep. I was awake until 4:00 am with the alarm clock set for 6:30 am. Reading boring shit didn't work. Masturbation? No thanks. My dick is currently chapped from overindulgence. Solitare, infomercials, downloading obscure hip-hop ("Come Take A Ride" from World Renown? Anyone?), nothing worked. It was finally when I thought about the prospect of another full day of meetings did I start to get sleepy. I cannot fucking wait for the opportunity to control my calendar without interference from the boss.

Human (The Shep Pettibone Remix)

Last Thursday, I was out with some friends, drankin' and shit. This friend of a friend who I'd just met started asking me about what I do. It turns out she knew my boss. So she asked me if he was fucking his assistant. I laughed. You would too if you knew the kind of corny milquetoast assed dude he is. But of course I don't really put shit past anybody, so I stopped laughing and told her I didn't think so. She told me about being at a meeting with the two of them and he was openly glaring into her low cut blouse. I really blew that shit off. I'd never seen him publicly acknowledge a sexual impulse. Not an offhanded remark, nothing, in nearly 3 years. I shrugged it off and didn't mention that conversation to a single soul.

So today I came in my office from a meeting with my boss and Auntie Anita was in there waiting for me to return. I asked her what was up. She said "You wanna know something crazy? I was in a meeting yesterday with Allan and he kept looking down my shirt." I laughed hard. Boy, did I laugh. Three years of nothing and now I've heard two accounts of horndogism in the span of less than a week. I don't begrudge him that. He's 42 years old and has been married to his high school sweetheart since 1990. Let him look. He just has to be a little slicker about it. At least now I know this cat is human.

Flat Randy

Randall will be headed to Cleveland today. You can look for his exploits on Monie's page at

Take some good photos, Monie. And don't let him eat dairy. He's lactose intolerant.


Monday, May 12, 2008

The Case FOR Strip Clubs

How much is it worth to you to fucking relax? How much is it worth to the average man to spend money on a woman and have her work to entertain YOU? How much would you spend to have a woman pretend to be happy to see you every time you walk through the door? What's it worth to have a real live ass in a real live thong clapping in your face at your command, young fella?

That's what it means to go to a strip club. It took a long weekend of drinking, smoking and in general, thinking, to come to the conclusion that all my scorn and derision towards strippers and strip club patrons is misplaced. It's actually a beautiful, symbiotic relationship.

Those broads need and want money. Their asset? A gigantic ass/a set of enormous kegs. These dudes are usually in a home routine that consists of half listening to their significant others, ignoring their kids, and basically dropping off a paycheck every two weeks from a job they fucking hate. The wife, after a hard day at work, is not in the mood to entertain this cat. She's still busy at home. When it's bedtime, she's putting on some flannels, some giant fucking drawers, and a set of rollers. Ain't no clappin' happenin', Captain. That's where the strip club comes in.

For a fairly reasonable amount of money both parties walk away happy. Even if I don't patronize them, I think I'll stop being so hard on the cats that do and the women that work there. Both are necessary.

Be Cool,

Friday, May 09, 2008

I'm Finally Bored Enough To Write About This

So, TAD and I traveled to Vegas a couple of Saturdays ago. It was both our first times going to Vegas, and even though we don't gamble at all, we thought there would be enough other shit to keep us occupied. Like each others sexual organs, alcohol, and general debauched atmosphere. One out of three is pretty bad, yo.

Before we knew better

The accommodations? Extra feeble and wack. We stayed at The Luxor, which must be Egyptian (Arabic?) for Cheese.

They had fucked up elevators called "inclinators" because they went up on an incline. Just enough to make drunk people earl in 'em and to make someone going to a conference at 8:00 am every morning have to step around earl. Nice touch, Luxor. Actually the only good thing about it was the view of the mountains from our window.

We had a chance to walk down the Strip. The Luxor was at the end of the Strip, so the walk was long just to get to mainstream shit like Bally's or the MGM.

Two popular attractions: Cartoon, Cartoon and the Abused MGM Lion with hepatitis

Honestly, I didn't have one drink and TAD only had one. My mood was befouled by pint-sized Mexicans handing out unwanted flyers for poison pussy and loud, fat, stupid, unseemly hicks from every corner of the gotdamn globe. Hers was befouled from having to deal with my grouchy ass. Vegas is fucking filthy. I'm saying that shit and I'm from DETROIT!!!

Vegas is boring and gay, just like Siegfried and Roy

Honest to goodness, there were only 3 good things about that godforsaken town.

The Bellagio lobby, the view from the Venetian balcony, and the Wynn buffet and waterfall

Yeah, we got pics to show people so we can lie about how much fun we had, but we know the truth. I wish AJ had gotten a chance to check us out and show us the ropes, but I hated that shit as we explored on our own.

Fuck Vegas,

P.S. The first blogger to send me an email at gets Flat Randy. I tried to decide amongst y'all, but I couldn't think of a fair way to do it.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

"Man, Fuck That Place!"

Randall and TAD, pre-trip; Detroit, MI

Randall, The Strip; Las Vegas, NV
Randall, Riding the bus to Fremont Street; Las Vegas, NV

"How come we surrounded by old people and Asians?"

No, Randy, you can't borrow a dollar.

Randy doesn't like EVERYTHING flat!!!

Me and Flat Randy did what we could do in that fucking wasteland of Las Vegas, but it didn't amount to much. He deserves better.

If there is anyone, anywhere in America who wants to take Flat Randy and show him a good time, by all means, let me know. Just make sure you post the pics and send him to another blogger.

Be Cool,

Thursday, May 01, 2008


I'm more reinforced in my contention that I hate not only my profession, but the people in it. The fucking meaningless jargon, the affects, the way they dress, pronounce shit, and stand. The aloofness and the know-it-all-ousity. The fucking brainless way our professional association keeps shoving "the important things" down our throats.

Another thing. I used to talk about this a lot to my colleagues, but I'd toned down my denunciations: most of these cats are effeminate. The women are...well, boring and icy, and the men any flamy and shit.

The conference is over and I'm sitting in the airport, waiting to crash into a mountain. I just wanted to post while this shit is fresh in my mind, and I'll wait to actually talk about me, TAD and Vegas. One thing I want noted is I'll probably be unable to eat at another buffet for the rest of my life.

Be Cool,