scary_manilow: (spook lights)
I often like to pretend that I don't believe in hell, that Judeo-Christian concepts of eternal damnation are nothing more than a cleverly designed guilt trip manufactured to shame people into conforming to a desired pattern of control.

Then, I have to spend all day listening to ACE OF BASE, and the idea of Hell comes roaring back to me in spectacular fashion.

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Oh, the humanity. The walls of our humble bakery rattle and pulse with the soul-retarding sounds of Summer and her remarkably poor taste in music. Her locker is stuffed with tapes that she'll throw on the deck to punish us for every perceived slight against her. In addition to ASS OF BASS, we've been subjected to a relentless onslaught of MEREDITH BROOKS, ALANIS MORRISETTE, WILL SMITH, LINKIN PARK, that terrible fucking BANGLES cover of "SEPTEMBER GIRLS," and some really annoying song called "ANGRY JOHNNY" that I had never even heard before she brought it in, but now it stays on a constant loop in my head 240hours a day because the bitch simply will NOT stop fucking playing it. DIEEEEEEE!

Summer, as you all remember, was suffering from a peculiar skin affliction. By peculiar, I mean DISGUSTING. By affliction, I mean SCABIES. After months of refusing to seek treatment, because, in her own words, "I don't want no fuckin' doctor makin' me pay for some shit that I don't even know what's in it," her mother finally broke down and stuffed a tube of skin cream in her christmas stocking. Just in time, too, because there seems to be a pretty good chance that she went and got herself knocked up by the sword-toting, jobless, half-wit she blows in exchange for rent money. She seems to think she'll be a wonderful mother. I think THIS ARTICLE is better than any retort I might present to her:

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/33652

In other news, our computer continues to exist in a persistent vegetative state, but my heroic father will hopefully put an end to that soon. His technological know-how has saved the day on many occasions; I have no reason to doubt my faith in his ability.

Personally, I'm falling to pieces at home without the internet. I still haven't made my awesome post about our trip to DEALEY PLAZA over the holidays, and the longer I sit on it, the more stale it becomes.

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The library is getting ready to kick me off the computer now. I would have gotten more done if their fucking browser didn't crash every thirty seconds. Hope you guys are doing well, I promise to fill your lives with candor and wit as soon as humanly possible. TOODLES!
scary_manilow: (spook lights)
Bah! So I skipped work yesterday. So what? The real drama always goes down when I'm not around to witness it, anyway. Such as my boss getting his license plate stolen while his truck was parked behind the bakery. Or my co-worker Summer announcing that she's actively trying to have a baby.

Summer, better known to my friends as "Girl Who Refuses Treatment For Scabies," is a scant 21-years of piss and vinegar. She recently missed a week of work because she woke up in jail after a ten-hour rolling blackout. Seems she likes to get punchy when she's had a few too many... Unfortunately for her, "a few too many" often translates to "a beer and a half." While shooting pool at a local bar last month, she flew into an unprovoked rage and attempted to fight every person in the room. Later that night, she screamed and battered her boyfriend until he fled into their bedroom, locking himself inside. It was at this point that her boyfriend decided that he would rather die than be locked in a relationship, so he took a fucking SAMURAI SWORD and sliced his wrists open with it.

You may be wondering, what keeps this loving couple together? What is it that sees them through these times of hardship? Summer seems to believe that her boyfriend is a "necromancer" that cast a spell over her heart. If so, this would explain why she works two jobs to keep a roof over their heads while he sits around and smokes dope all day. It might also explain why she shelled out the cash to buy him a car. At the very least, it should explain why she has become deeply involved in the little cult that surrounds his favorite band, THE INSANE CLOWN POSSE.

Sigh... I wish I could give her parenting skills a vote of confidence, I really do. But there's a little matter of SCABIES to think about. She refuses to take care of the problem, outside of wrapping her furniture in plastic and spraying her body with RAID. She says, "I won't pay a doctor $140 for some kinda medicine when I don't even know any of the ingredients." But she'll hose her fucking body down with RAID? That's gotta be good for the kid, right? When I told her that she could pass the condition on to her baby ("baby scabies," heh heh), she looked me square in the eyes and asked, "Really? How?"

I didn't mean for this entry to turn into a huge rant. I like Summer, I really do. I just think she's a fucking idiot. And with all the crack smokers and gun slingers that pass in and out of her apartment every day, I really wonder why she thinks MOTHERHOOD is the right decision. Especially when she's got Narco cops pounding down her door and arresting her friends every five minutes. And the scabies thing. I just don't know. I could be wrong, but somehow I doubt it.
scary_manilow: (divine)
Another hilarious sound bite from Summer, the 21-year-old wanna-be hustler I work with:

"Man, that bitch better hurry up and have her baby so I can punch her in the fucking face!"

Today, Summer enlightened us to the fact that she has scabies. In fact, she's had scabies for well over a month now, and hasn't bothered to say anything about it until today. Which means we've had several weeks to possibly contract the vicious little critters (a very real possibility, seeing as how we all share the same toilet). She refuses to see a doctor about it, and she doesn't plan on missing work any time soon. Needless to say, the rest of us are feeling a bit itchier than normal these days...

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If I end up with scabies, I'm gonna make the bakery pay for my medical treatment. Why don't they tell her to stay home until she gets it taken care of? It only seems fair, considering the compact proximity of our working environment... I don't get paid enough to pick up MANGE. It wasn't in my job description.

In other news, I found out last night that someone started a MySpace page for COMMANDER USA'S GROOVY MOVIES. Which, of course, excites me to no end, because I'm a fucking loser whose life revolves around BAD MOVIES and THE INTERNET. I wish I could say that I had fallen back on IV drugs or random acts of senseless violence to get my kicks, but alas, those misspent days of my youth have been lost forever. Please welcome the older, milder Rob Gillaspie to the stage, folks... Looks like his peculiar brand of mediocrity has moved in to stay!

Sigh... Seriously, though, Commander USA rocked my world as a child. His "Groovy Movies" was second only to Crematia Mortem's "Creature Feature" in shaping my cinematic worldview. I kinda half-suspect that this page is maintained by the Commander himself, but that might be nothing more than wishful thinking on my part.

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More later... I'll leave you with THIS, my billboard ad for the new line of designer fragrance that [livejournal.com profile] secret_malady is developing for the masses... Look for it at a Woolworth's cosmetics counter near you!

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scary_manilow: (delinquent)
Sigh... So, it's official. Nick Carrol is installing a fucking BURGER PRESS behind the bar at the Jacpot Saloon. Because, apparently, the only think that can save our beloved watering hole from it's current financial nosedive is to make the entire place smell like a fucking GREASE TRAP.

For those who haven't had the pleasure, this is what the bar at the Jackpot looks like:

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Lots of polished wood and pressed tin, not to mention the red velvet wallpaper plastered behind the row of highend whiskey bottles. Not exactly the kind of situation you want to introduced EVAPORATED CATTLE FAT into, right? WRONG! Because, despite what every employee, patron, and random passerby have said, Nick Carrol knows what's best for everyone. In this case, "what's best" equates to "irritated bartenders handling raw hamburger while pouring drinks for you." It just doesn't make any SENSE, you see...

I swore a long time ago that my days of line-cooking were over. After spending my entire working life as a short-order monkey, I've finally pushed my food service days behind me... Except for baking, which doesn't really count. After all, as [livejournal.com profile] skajester put it, assembling bread is more in line with MANUFACTURING work. Yeah.

I guess what I'm saying is, I'm probably out the door the moment Nick fires that grill up. And I've got several vegetarian co-workers who will probably follow me into the street, just because they don't want to smell like dead animal whenever they come home from work... Personally, I'm used to smelling like the ass end of a stove top at the end of the day. I just don't like the idea of being tied to a sinking ship as it goes down.

Sigh... Why wasn't I blessed with my DREAM JOB? Why can't I be a tough-but-tender ne'r-do-well with rebellious gleam in my eye? Why can't I be a troubled young dance instructor at some high class resort in the Catskill Mountains? Why? Why?

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MMM-Plop!

Nov. 25th, 2005 11:21 am
scary_manilow: (Default)
Ma and Pa stuffed themselves like game hens yesterday, then sat around and felt sorry for ourselves over how gluttonous we've become. What happened to the starving young class warriors of yesteryear? Ever since I got a BANK CARD, my inner socialist voice has been reduced to a squeak in the woods.

Reminders that I'm stuck in the midwest:

A woman came into the bakery this week wearing a t-shirt that said "JESUS LOVES ME THIS MUCH." Above this was a picture of Jesus with his arms stretched out on the cross. Do I need to add that she was purchasing a loaf of good old fashioned WHITE BREAD? Delicious.

Also:

HANSON came to town this week. Only in Kansas would this be a newsworthy event. There was a mile-long line of middle school girls camped out in front of Liberty Hall for several nights in anticipation of their arrival. Some of them were bearing home made signs: "We LOVE You!" and "MARRY ME!"

[livejournal.com profile] secret_malady and I encountered them one evening while trying to enter the video store.

ME: What the fuck's going on here?
K: Oh, gawd, HANSON is coming to town!

A couple of Hanson fans blocked the door, standing between us and the inviting warmth of Liberty Hall Video.

HANSON FANS: Whooo! Hanson! Whooo!

K: ARGGH! Look at all these little TWERPS!

She roughly pushed these mewling brats aside to clear a path. They tumbled into the street, where they were immediately run over and killed by the Hanson tour bus. Score another one for THE PROGRAM!

TODAY: More food, because I'm a fucking PIG. Then, we're off to a fun-filled afternoon at my uncle's funeral. Ugh.

TOMORROW: Back to work, hoorah. Working on remake of "The Slaves of Mary Jane." HOORAH!
scary_manilow: (program)
I brought "Forbidden Zone" and "The Undertaker and His Pals" to show at the bar tonight. I just got done carving the jack-o-lantern, it's sitting at the end of the bar under a flurry of orange and black streamers. And I'm standing here, ready to pour drinks, wearing a rubber Dracula mask and a big black sombrero.

And who's here to enjoy it? NO ONE, that's who. I've been on the clock for approxomately five hours now and have yet to serve a single person, other than myself.

Sigh... At least I've got Herve Villachez to keep me company, right?

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scary_manilow: (Default)
Before I get into the bitterness, here's something fun:

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Okay, then...

I work too much. It's official. It's one thing to have two jobs, it's something completely different when those jobs don't allow for any real sleep between shifts... Seriously, I spend four days out of every week clocking in at 4 am, going home at 1 pm, clocking in at 3 pm, going home at 10 pm. I usually fall asleep an hour after that, only to wake up again four-an-a-half hours later (if I'm lucky) so I can go back to work.

Is it any wonder I've been fucking the dough up at the bakery lately? Is it? My burnout level is at an all-time high. My boss left a message saying he wants to have a "discussion" with me this week... and I'm ready to tell him to go felch himself, I really am. I'm a pretty damned good employee, a total fucking workhorse, and I don't need some freaked-out ex-hippie coming down on me about every minor slip-up just because his ass is chapped. Especially when we have other employees who regularly show up late (and drunk), stand around smoking cigarettes all day, and clock out when they think no one is looking... Why not have a "discussion" with one of THOSE nimrods?

So I called in from the bar tonight just so I could have some quiet time for myself. And since "quiet time" usually equals "get drunk and spend money," I ended up with a copy of MONSTERS CRASH THE PAJAMA PARTY.

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The menu is almost impossible to navigate, and some of the footage is completely extraneous, but dammit, I'm pretty happy with this purchase. The Encyclopedia Britannica educational short about irrational fears is a hoot, and the main feature, "Tormented" is so awful and hilarious I can't believe it never turned up on MST3K... Also, any disc that begins with a whirling Hypnowheel is all aces in my book.

The downside: 3-D doesn't seem to work on television, at least not here. I was excited to see a pair of glasses incuded with the DVD, but the only thing that popped out when I put them on were my eyes... What a headache!

I had the fortune of spending some quality time with my daughter this weekend... I took her to see "the Corpse Bride" which she realy seemed to enjoy. Actually, she was bored as hell for the first fifteen minutes or so, until the first singing skeleton appeared... Then she was standing up in her seat, dancing. On the way out of the theater, she said, "I liked him when he put the ring on her hand and she came up out of the ground... It was CRAZY!"

She likes the copy of "Mad Monster Party" that I sent her so much that she opted to bring it along to watch... She's only had it for a week and she already knows most of the music and dialogue. Her favorite characters are The Wolf Man and Mr. Hyde, although she has to cover her eyes whenever Dr. jeckyll drinks his potion because the transformation process scares her.

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This week: [livejournal.com profile] secret_malady and I are going to start writing some music, with or without our absentee bandmates. And I've got to finish putting my Halloween costume if it fucking kills me... I refuse to sit on the sidelines for two years in a row!
scary_manilow: (program)

Okay, okay, after posting a page and-a-half rant about how much I hate my job at the bar, I actually ended up working a pretty decent shift last night.  The Double played, they were good in a Manchester-y sort of way, and my friend's band The Roman Numerals opened for them.  The crowd was thin, so a bunch of us walked down to the New Pornographers show and passed out handbills to the kids as they were leaving... As a result, the Jackpot was packed to the gills, and I made some fat $$$$$$$.

Seriously, it was the amazing handbills that brought everyone down.  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that NEKO CASE showed up for a few drinks.  I swear.

Also, someone from The Pitch Weekly came down specifically to hand me her card.  They need reviewers, I guess, and a couple of people who work there have been reading my blog for years.  They offer insurance to their freelance writers, which is nice, and since the New Times recycles reviews for their other publications, I'd have the chance to get my name in print all over the country.  Oh, and they let you swear as much as you want, which is a huge bonus.  Motherfuck yeah.


 

scary_manilow: (Default)
Oh, wow. I was going to take a moment to air out my current list of disappointments, but then I hopped online and saw THIS:


http://www.tonight.co.za/index.php?fArticleId=2904867

...and I realized that my problems are completely insignificant. There is simply to much evil in the world for me to dwell on my own disappointments.

My favorite line:

A source told America's Us Weekly magazine: "He has threatened to release raunchy footage of the two taken before Spears looked pregnant."

The "source" (which we can all agree is probably Britney's publicist) obviously wants to appear shocked, but her choice of words betrays this stance. Could this be a last ditch-effort to pump life into her gasping career? D'ya think? Oh, Ms. Federline, we hardly knew ye...

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So, the aforementioned disappointments, listed here in abbreviated form:

1. My daughter is getting her tonsils and adenoids removed next week. Unfortunately, I will most likely be locked up in the medical lab testing drugs, so I won't be able to visit her. To make up for this, I bought a DVD copy of MAD MONSTER PARTY for her to watch while recovering. I may not be a GOOD parent, but at least I'm a COOL one.

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2. The much-touted return of MOVIE NIGHT at the Jackpot was canceled last Sunday because the booking guy told a DJ he could come down and spin metal records instead. Being an asshole, he didn't bother to tell anyone about this, so we had to cancel everything at the last minute. All five people who showed up expecting to see WESTWORLD went home and cried themselves to sleep, I'm sure.

3. Speaking of the Jackpot, my tenure as an employee there has become increasingly irritating as of late. Sparse business coupled with lousy tips makes Gillaspie go something something... Like the fat guy who sat at the bar for an hour and a half, pounding shots of Rumplemints and referring to every woman on TV as a "fucking bitch." He was reading a book called "Tribal Quest For The Elven Princess" or something like that, and he tied a mean drunk on because his imaginary date never showed up to meet him. Thirty-some dollars worth of booze later, he stumbles away without leaving a fucking DIME in the tip jar... Did I mention he was my only customer that afternoon? Yeah.

Also, last night I had to rough up a little kid after he tried to sneak into the bar. I felt lousy about it for the rest of the night. I pulled him outside and he immediately started cursing at me. His friend tried to convince me to let him in because, in his words, "He's a functioning re-tard, man, you GOTTA let him in." Meanwhile, this "functioning re-tard" is babbling on a cell phone to his friends about what an asshole the doorguy is for throwing him out of the bar. I politely (but STERNLY) told him that I couldn't let him in because he had no ID, he was drunk, he was OBVIOUSLY underage... and above all, he'd tried to sneak through the door behind my back, which is a big time NO-NO. The kid said, "Just let it go, asshole," and pushed his hands against my chest, at which point I totally lost my mind, grabbed him by the shoulders, and threw him across the sidewalk. I was screaming all sorts of awful shit at him, and he eventually got up and ran away, screaming, "You fucking psycho!" and waving his middle finger at me.

Like I said, I felt lousy about it the rest of the night. He was just a kid, after all. But I was being polite as hell with him, and he decided to get physical anyway... If this had happened five ro six years ago, he'd be in the hospital and I'd be in jail. So I guess we're both lucky that I've mellowed with age.

Ah, well, at least I'm not THIS GUY:

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Massive flooding north fo town prduced this picture on the front page a few days back... In a perfect world, the attached quote would read, "If'n any of them thar looters reckon they can swim up yo my trailer home and get my collection of Chiefs shirts, they gonna hafta come through ME first! U! S! A!"
scary_manilow: (program)
Dig this:

This guy I work with joined a cult two weeks ago. For the sake of anonymity, we'll refer to him as "Bob" here... "Bob" has some pretty intense marital problems, and he's one of those fellas that always seems to be searching for his Inner Self. He's been into drugs, Christianity, tantric sex, and voodoo. He's done some espionage work for the government, toured in a rock band, and bent metal forks with the sheer force of his mind. Hell, he even tried settling down for the straight life with a wife and kids. None of it worked out. Needless to say, "Bob" is a man plagued by self-doubt.

So, one day "Bob" hears about this men's empowerment group and decides to give it a whirl. He fills out a twelve-volume questionnaire, detailing the innermost secrets of his existence, sends them a check for two thousand dollars, and reserves himself a spot at the next group retreat. The next day, he comes in to work and tells us all about it.

He said, "It's just a bunch of men who meet a couple of times a year, at a campsite out in the forest. They have some activities for us, these exercises that we do together to help us better understand what it means to be a man in today's world. They're all a pretty tight-knit group of guys, from what I understand."

WHAT I SAID: "Hmm.. That sounds interesting, 'Bob.' Hope you find what you need down there."

WHAT I THOUGHT: "Hmm... Sounds like a bunch of naked men beating on drums and trying to get in touch with their inner animal... Might this possibly be a cult?"

"Bob" left for the weekend and returned the following Monday, refreshed. He was bursting at the seams to fill us in on all the details, but something was holding him back. I pressed him for details, and he hesitated.

Then, he said, "It was a life-changing experience, but I don't want to cheapen it by going into details... I'd rather let the teachings show through in my actions."

It wasn't until later that he confessed that the whole thing was a big SECRET, that there were certain rituals involved with this "Men's Group" that he was forbidden to speak of.

"It's all very therapeutic," he said. "We all learned a lot about each other." He then dropped the names of several prominent local business owners who were also members of the group.

WHAT I SAID: "Wow, 'Bob,' I had no idea so many people were involved... It's good to know you have such a support network here in the community."

WHAT I THOUGHT: "Wow, a secret society comprised of some of Lawrence's biggest movers and shakers? Esoteric rituals that cost thousands of dollars to learn about? Starting to sound a bit CULT-y, if you ask me..."

Over the weekend, "Bob" divulged even more juicy details.

"We had our graduation ceremony last night. Some of the group leaders from ALL OVER THE WORLD were there... The head of our group came out in a HOODED COWL and gave each of us a BLESSING. It was really just a chance for our families to come out, meet the rest of the guys, and... you know, kind of let them know that IT'S NOT A CULT or anything."

He also told me that his involvement with this group was about to advance to the next level. "I'm through with the first stage of lessons. I'm going back again next year, as soon as I can get some money together, so I can learn how to pass what I've learned on to new members."

WHAT I SAID: "Gee, 'Bob,' it's great to see you so involved with something like this, and I'm glad that you're willing to pass that knowledge on to others who might need it."

WHAT I THOUGHT: "Um... Anytime you're involved with a group that has to call a special meeting to prove that they're NOT a cult, it probably means that they ARE a cult. And you're giving them more money. Good luck, SUCKER!"

I wish, I WISH I could say that it all ended there... But alas, it hasn't. You see, he's already managed to recruit another of my co-workers to accompany him this spring. First stage, PROGRAMMING. Second stage, RECRUITMENT. Third stage, PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO HAVE ANAL SEX WITH BANKERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS. Fourth stage, FULL SCALE GLOBAL DOMINATION?

Sigh... At least the cosmos balanced itself out this weekend. EXTREME CHRISTIAN FASHION vanished from the Earth in the middle of the night. It was as if the hand of God reached down and scraped that atrocity from the face of Lawrence. My black little heart did a quick two-step as I walked past the vacant storefront this morning. Everything is right with the world.

TONIGHT: Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings at the Bottleneck. This follows a weekend of hot action from THE MAKERS. Does life get any better than this?

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scary_manilow

August 2012

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