Suck a dead dog's ass!
Eat a Polar Bear's asshole!
Rock over London!
(a haiku-ized rendition of "Lick a Bulldog's Nasty Asshole" by Wesley Willis)
Ah, where to start, where to start.... hmmmm.....
Well, my sister is pregnant again, with number 6... I gotta tell you, when you have 1 kid, you are a good planner, 2 kids, a well balanced family, 3 kids, you must have an enormous dong and buns of steel, along with rippling muscles and a rapist wit... But dammit any more than 3 or 4 kids you are no longer building a family, you are having a litter. Past like 4 you should just start numbering them, and having the hospital tattoo their number on their foreheads, just raise them to believe thats how all kids do it, they just put makeup on to cover the numbers.
Anyway, congrats and yadda yadda yadda, on to other business. My middle kid (the ball-puncher) turns 6 today, effectively making me seem even more old and useless, I will have to defeat him in unarmed combat to make myself feel better...
Anyway, updates done, on to the phun tyme!
The year was 2003, and I was working in security (but not for Eddie Murphy). Life was for the most part alright, I mean we were always broke but it was a happy kind of broke, for though we had no cash whatsoever we still ate every day and that put us leaps and bounds ahead of Smeagol, who was still working booty ass overtime and coming home to sit on the couch in his thong until bedtime every night, with no dinner or anything of the sort to show for it but a rash and a nasty itch that no cream could cure.
"Well if you liked your job in security, why were you looking for work, Stevester?" You might be wondering. The short answer is a fat assassin threatened my life, giving the company a valid reason to send me to the butthole of the Midwest, Kansas. At the BPU plant on 12th and Quindaro, to be exact. And another BPU out in the Kaw Valley, which also sucked. Let me explain.
I had been promoted to Supervisor. Stevester and supervisory positions do not mix, because as long as Stevester is getting paid, Stevester does not give a flying rat's ass what you do, and this is the way I managed as well. As long as the work got done, I could care less if the security guards took 2 hour shit breaks, hour-and-a-half lunches or if they went and slept on the table in the conference room, farting and stinking the entire area up in a most awesome way. For most of the evening shift employees, this was awesome - they loved Stevester's "I don't give a shit" mentality and borrowed it for their own models on how to live. All except Ercie.
Ercie was a very large woman. I had no problem with that. Ercie was old. I had no problem with that either. Ercie also hated me because I was promoted over her and I was a third of her age. Yet again, fine with me. but the culmination of all of these shitty qualities led to some issues. I will explain:
Ercie was a thief and a liar, 2 qualities you would rather not have in a security guard. She was also lazy, but then again so am I, so I have to assume that is a desirable quality. She would buy the family meal at Church's Chicken, which usually consisted of 4-5 pieces of chicken, 2 corn on the cob, family sized mac and cheese and mashed taters and gravy, and eat all of it, including literally DRINKING THE DAMN GRAVY after she was done. I would have to endure this, completely disgusted as I watched and listened to her get fatter by the second while waiting for her to go on tour, and as soon as she was done have to listen to her usual "You is lazy Wallace, I don't know how you got to be supahvisah..." and with that she would slip into a diabetic coma I assume, as her body tried desperately to build another roll in which to store all the fat she had just ingested, and failing miserably.
Tomorrow: Part II