On Monday my blog decided to ruin my day by throwing a complete hissy fit and vomit my content onto people’s screens instead of rendering it properly, so I decided to take a personal day so I could get it resolved before it spun completely out of control.  I rang up my peeps at work:

“Yeah hey Mick, listen I’m going to have to take a personal today.”

“How come?”

“It’s personal.”

“Why do you always have to be a smart ass?”

“Do I do that?”  I smiled innocently even though he couldn’t see me.

“Whatever man.  Did you call up front to let them know?”

“No, gonna do that now, can you switch me over?”

I got transferred and spoke to payroll.

“Hey Obie, I need to take a personal day.”

“How come?”

“It’s personal.”

“Why do you always have to be a smart ass?”

“I seem to be getting that a lot lately.”

Thank God I took the day off though, since it took me 10 hours to figure out what the flip was going on and get it running smooth as silk again.

Oh, and I added new advertising banners underneath each post.  You won’t see them though as they’ll only appear to visitors who came in via search engines like Google.  That’s how awesome I am. 

And I’m top of that I’m still coming in to work too.  Why?  Because that’s what real men do.  We suck it up and do our jobs (and use the opportunity to hack and cough all over our supervisor’s desk in the hopes that our studly germs take over his wussy weenie immune system and make it their little bitch boy, forcing him to go on sick leave for a week.)

In the meantime, send me chicken soup please. 

I walked into firearms division with a broad grin on my face.

“What, Linc.”

I grinned for a few more seconds and then said, “I would like to apply for a gun permit.”

I was met with a chorus of groans.  They know me so well. 

“Oh come now, as a citizen of this great country of ours, it is my constitutional right to be packing heat if  so desire!  I request, nay, I demand that you honor that right__”

An application booklet was tossed in my face.

“Easy, sheesh…” 

“Don’t forget you need 4 character references, and you’ll need to have it notarized too.”

“….cha–rac–ter… ref–er–ren–ces…” I repeated blankly.

“People who can vouch for you not being a whack job, and no we’re certainly not gonna do it since we know you.  Besides we’re not allowed.  You can use your co-workers though.”

“And you’ll give me full carry right?  Right, right, right?”  I jumped up and down.

“Go away please.”

I raced back to my section.

“Hey guys, can I use you as references so I can get a gun permit?”

Another chorus of groans.

“What is everybody constipated today?  Just sign the damned thing please.  I want my Beretta!”

I got 3 to sign in and offered the pen to my last co-worker, Mick.

“Are you kidding me??”  He scoffed.  “I think I’ll pass.”

“Well look at it this way.  If I couldn’t get a pistol license because you refused to vouch for me, I’ll just get a shotgun instead, and there’s no license required for that.  So which would you rather I have?”

He blinked a few times. 

“Gimme the pen.”

I was doing this for an hour:

Notice the 3 calls I put on hold so I could keep playing. 

No words, just, no words. After this job has given me so much anger and grief and pain, they finally hammered the last nail in my coffin. I am now unemployed, with no means to pay the bills or the rent, and the rent is due in only 5 days. I don’t know what to do. I have no savings and no means to fend for myself.

My life is over.

I don’t want to live anymore. I’m tired of fighting, tired of failing, tired of never amounting to anything. Tired of being alone, tired of being rejected. How can I even blog anymore? This whole blogging experiment was a colossal failure as well. In fact everything I do ends up in failure. I hate myself more than anything and just want to die. The pain is finally too much for me to bear…
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Just kidding. Happy April Fool’s Day!