Been Working a Bit More Lately

Work has been picking up lately, which is not a bad thing, but at my place of employment we use a lot of paper.
Do you know what happens when you work with a lot of paper? You get a lot of paper cuts. I know, I know, you’re telling me pull my skirt up and grow a pair, and you are correct. I should either learn to prevent them, or stop whining like a toddler who had his favorite toy taken away, except there is one catch.

The office in which I work is located a larger building that houses many other offices and a warehouse. This means that on any given day I come into contact with surfaces that have had another fifty hands come into contact with them. The bathrooms open into the break room, as well as the door from the parking lot.

How many times have you cleaned the underside of your car door handle? Yeah, most people could add up all those times and come up with the staggering sum of zero.

Now, I’m not a germaphobe, but I don’t like the idea of getting sick due to some twenty-something asshole deciding that wiping her hands on her shirt makes them surgery-level clean and ready to grab every handle in the public space.

The other day I saw this individual leaving the break room with a plate of whatever was left in the fridge on a plate. I wanted no part of having any bugs that her bugger pickers had distributed amongst the devices, so I naturally made a bee line to the large vat of hand sanitizer after retrieving my vittles from the refrigerator. That’s when it happened. Christ, oh, Christ, had I made a bad decision. Unfortunately I was to find that this was only the first link in a chain made entirely of suffering.

After the initial application my hands felt like I had jabbed them into bags of loose needles. At the very same moment I felt each individual cut. It’s like they were all cutting again, building to a crescendo of face-cringing pain accompanied by my toddler whimperings. Tears started escaping my eyes, even though I had them crammed together as tightly as a bank vault door.

Did I go grab a paper towel? Nooooooooooooooooooo. That would be too much trouble, and quite womanly. I’m a man I wiped my eyes with my fingers. OOOOWWW- I NOW HAVE FUCKING ALCOHOL IN MY EYES! Yep, so very manly. Also so very blinding.

Do you know how tears taste salty? That’s because there’s salt in them. I washed the alcohol of the sanitizer off of my fingers with salt water. Paper cuts don’t like saltwater either.

At this point I decided at this point that a bathroom washout of all affected areas. I had finally made a smart decision. As it turns out: nope.

Door handles are so very hard to see when your eyes are full of lava. Luckily I have a curb feeler for just such an occasion. Most people call it a forehead.

Moral of the story: Hand sanitizer is more painful than any shot you can get for being sick.

I enjoy our conversations

I was watching Comedy Central the other night, and while enjoying a bit of standup from Amy Shumer, my brain decided that I had drank enough beer and that I should have an inner dialogue in the form of writing a comedy bit.
Now, I'm used to my brain doing this, but usually it decides that the shower is the appropriate venue for such action. This mostly angers me because I know I won't remember most of the jokes, and attempting to write them on the stall wall is generally just another lesson in erosion.
Another time is while I'm trying to get to sleep. My brain nags me with coming up with hilarious material just like a wife or girlfriend asking if the T.V. is off and the door is locked. "Shut up, brain," I'll say out loud. This seems like an unnecessary chore due to the fact that my brain had to come up with that very command, and should have just shuffled it around inside of itself instead of having virtually put it in the mail so that the message could be delivered to the ears and have the aural mail room boy deliver it to the room down the hall.
But I digress.
So, I'm watching Amy do her bit on the boob tube, and my brain kick starts the jokecycle. I must warn those that suffer motion sickness that you may be moved to seizures because of your head shaking back and forth while you read the following.

B= Brain
A= Andy

B- "Hey, if you had a one night stand, would you make her breakfast the next morning?"
A- "Why not, I mean if she's still hungry after everything I gave her the night before."
B- "Funny. I realize you've already given her the cream, but maybe she would like the rest of the doughnut?"
A- "Maybe it depends on the size of the girl."
B- "You know she doesn't have nut allergies! Hayo!"
A- "What if she's really skinny, like almost anorexic?"
B- "Just throw her some rice cakes and thank her for letting you 'rattle her bones'."
A- "So maybe the punchline is 'What are the nutritional requirements of a one night stand?"
B- "That was stupid. You're not good at this."
A- "Fuck you, brain. I'm going to get another beer."
B- "No- fuck you. I'm going to make you forget about the top stair on your way to bed tonight"

As you can guess, Brain won that little argument because it didn't actually tell me that last line. It just did it, that mother fucker.

Yep, my brain went there.

I and a co-worker were out in front of the building and watched a male urbanite youth walk down the sidewalk.
Freshly steam-ironed hat brim? Check. Wife beater? Check. Phone in ear talking jibberish and not paying the least little bit of attention to traffic? Check. Pants down to his buttcrack with underwear hanging out? Check. Untied shoes? Check.

So, I started thinking the things I always think when I see such stupidity. "What an idiot. He should be in someone's yard holding a lantern, etc, etc."
Then my brain decided that a left turn without a signal was in order.
"We need a gay serial rapist that preys on these dumbasses. That'll get 'em to pull up their pants."

Fuck you, split pins, I'll do it myself

Me and Cousin Luke bowled twice this weekend, and it seems I saved the best for last. Saturday I won the pin count by only two pins and apparently subconsiously I was not to have any of that. I finished off the eight and ninth frames with strikes. Luke said, "O.K., asshole, make it five in a row." Tenth frame comes up, Strike. Woohoo, got a turkey. "Neat," I thought. Next ball, Strike. "Wow," I thought, "four in a row." Last ball comes up, Strike. "HOLY SHIT!" It was close there for a while, Luke.

Omagawd

The Louisville Cardinals men's basketball team will be playing the UK wildcats this coming weekend in the final four. I hereby proactively apologize for idiots from my state doing stupid things while in the big easy this week.
I suggest that any doctor in New Orleans that has to put a cast on anyone this week ask the patient if they are a cards or cats fan and then give them the opposite color cast as a reminder that they are idiots.
Most of these people are some serious live-and-die by their team's performance type folks. A lot of them are "we" fans,even though most of them haven't seen the inside of a college classroom that wasn't on a half-time commercial, and that isn't good.
"We really beat the shit out of them, didn't we?"
Really? I didn't see your shit out there on the court, mother fucker.

Again, I'm sorry New Orleans. You have enough people acting retarded down there, and don't need the extra stupid that is the usual traveling fan.
Holy shit I'm glad the Ville isn't a destination party spot except for one day a year.

Let's Start a Riot, a Riot.

Five days of riots because some of our military men burned a bunch of trash, and in that trash were some Kurans, or Qurans, or whatever.
Last week I had to go pay my water bill because I would've been too late to mail it, and I don't have Internet access at home. While standing in line I was watching the TV they have on the wall that was airing CNN. It was on this day that the world learned of the burning of said books, and the riots that had just started. While in line I shook my head and exclaimed rather loudly, "Christ, people, it's just a goddamn book. Was it the last one? No? Then you can print more."
I'm kind of tired of mother fuckers seeking things to be offended about. I don't care if it's the Fox news crowd bitching about a so-called war on christianity or slummy assholes acting like slummy assholes and getting up in arms about someone pointing out that very fact.
How many of those rioting fuckheads in Awfuckitstan have full bellies? How many of them have solid rooves over their heads? How many of them could name the 10 commandments if asked, even though they're in this "holy book?" If they can't say yes to two out of three of these, then you have more shit to worry about than if somebody burns a book, especially considering that most of them would wipe their asses with a christian bible.
How many people have been killed over this bullshit? How many more will die because none of them can remember that thou shalt not kill?
It's a fucking book; that's all.Same as the christian bible. It's printed words on a page. If I burn an O.E.D., is Garrison Keillor going to issue a fatwa against me?
I think I'm going to call a press conference, and burn a bible, kuran, American flag, Afghan flag, a bikini and a burka. I'll top it off by throwing a John Deere hat, rainbow boa and a afro-covered basketball just so that everyone can get offended and then get on with life.

Goddamnit, how dumb are these mother fuckers?

I was working with a prof. at the local secondary high school here in the Ville that has two readings packets. He initially had titled them "Prof. Spunknugget's Hand Outs." Since that was not correct because we sell them on the shelves, and I didn't want to confuse the little mouth breathers from the get-go, I changed the title to "Developmental Writing I&II."
Shit- I'm leaving a huge piece of information out here. These two classes are Developmental Writing, as in, PRE-ENGLISH-ENGLISH-CLASSES. Not smart enough to get into college? Don't worry; for a mere 3 grand of tax dollar funded financial aid, we'll teach you the English that you should've been learning in the previous 12(or 13 or 14)years of tax payer funded school. Then you too can read and write three years below your age level.
O.K., so Professor Dickinhand doesn't like Developmental Writing on the cover because he doesn't want anyone in his class to feel shame. Whatever. I suggested new titles for his packs, thinking that they would instill a sense of ownership of the student over their education. Because they have to take 090 and then 091, I suggested "Strategies for Success in Composition," and "Continuing Success in Composition." Sweet, right? Well, it turns out to be not so much.
Here's the copy from Prof D's last email:

"Logical, but I would prefer a completely different name for one of them. Later. It is a small matter, but I also would prefer a shorter title."

Shorter? Your students need to read a shorter title? Do I have to learn to phonetically spell grunt noises? Moses in a moshpit, are these people really that dumb? Fuck it; I have your two new titles. "Quest for Fire" and "Clan of the Cave Bear." Eat a slow roasted cock with ass juice, mother fucker. I'm done teaching kindergarten.