Hobbled Hussy

As I walked into work today, I saw a little blue Jeep with the license plate, "900JZM." That's just disgusting! Why not just get a bumper sticker that says, "Will Brake For A Shot of Cum,"? What kind of world do we live in when some sick hooker wears his or her trade on his or her sleave? I remember a time when hookers just stayed on the street corner or the whore house. Now they're freely advertising on their cars!

As if my disgust were not extreme enough, I looked up from the Jizzum Jeep to see that it was parked in the handicapped space! My hard-earned tax dollars aren't paying for the handicapped spots so some slut can make a few bucks off the fact that he doesn't have any legs! Although, I must admit, I've always wanted to try out a legless chick....You know, from a uh...Scientific standpoint....

Rev. Joshua

Psych Twofitty

So I'm still in my happycrappy psych class. It's all been bullshit which has strengthened my resolve to share as little as possible.

We had to make timelines tonight, breaking our life into a digestible chunks. I used 7 year increments since I'm nearly 28. In each chunk, we were to write a couple of positive moments and share just one of those moments with the rest of the class. Lots of people picked the day their kids were born. The woman before me talked about her gastric bypass surgery and how she lost 200 pounds. My turn.

"I woke up one morning in the summer of 2002...and I realised...that I drank a whole case of beer the night before and I wasn't hung over. That was awesome."

Josh: 2

Psych Hooker: 0

Rev. Joshua

Serial Killer Update

As I parked today, he drove into the parking space in front and to the left of my car. He stopped but made so signs of getting out, as though he were waiting for something. So I jumped out, grabbed my bag from the back seat, locked/closed the doors and hurried off.

In all, I probably took 20 seconds of his time. But what if he's so meticulous and anally retentive that 20 seconds destroys his day? If that's the case, I'm going to end up being referred to as, "The Gimp," and kept in a leather bondage suit in a box beneath the stairs. I don't want to live on people parts! I am not an animal!!!

If you, my faithful reader (I know I'm going out on a limb by assuming I have a faithful reader, but I got nothing to lose), do not hear from me again. Know that I love you and will think of you often as I stand watch while he makes a drag suit out of lady parts. Tell my fiance that I love her.

Rev. Joshua

Health Regimen

I started a new diet today. The idea is to eat 4-6 small to moderate meals each day, with a focus on protein. I'm to get 1 gram of protein per pound I weigh: 250.

I am currently at 4 meals, 231 grams of protein for the day. Even the minutest *phooh* of a fart stinks something aweful.

Rev. Joshua

Office Chatter

Ok, I work in an ocean of cubicles. There is a veritible labarynth of cubes everywhere you go. I keep waiting for a bizarre all-in-one David-Bowie-with-Michael-Motion's-hands freak contact juggling 4 crystal balls to pop out with some of Jimmy Henson's minions and serve me up a big, steamy riddle. But at times something far worse appears.

It's the office worker that speaks only in nonsequitors and cliches.

Try this one on for size:

Me: "Good morning, Cubie X. How's it going?"

CX: "Welp, it's Monday."

Now, of course I know what they mean. But I'd rather have them wax postal and hear their manifesto than deal with this trite bullshit. How about something like this?

Me: "Good morning, Cubie X. How's it going?"

CX: "'How's it going?' 'How's it going?' I'll tell you how it's going, asshole. I work in an ocean of cubicles. I'm a worker bee, a drone for a queen I shall never meet. I come to work everyday solely because I am in no way qualified for any job which could possibly provide me with any more pleasure or self-worth than the one I currently hold. Everyday I come here is one more day in which I am reminded of all the great things I could have done but will never attempt. I could be finishing my novel or touring Europe. I could be teaching a blind child the true meaning of friendship while saving the manatees and looking good in a wet suit. Instead, I'm here, drinking coffee and waiting somewhat patiently for my turn to die. I spend a bulk of my day thinking of new and inventive ways to kill everybody here using some cartoony Rube Goldberg executionator. In short, I hate this place, I hate these people and I hate my job. Every Monday, every beginning of a new cycle along my Mobius Strip in Hell is an agony with which I can scarcely bare."

See, if they said that, I'd likely high-five 'em and offer up my Erector Set to aid in the construction of the Executionator. But they deliver this simple cliche, instead, which is only indicative of their sad and pathetic lives in which they do not have the fortune of enjoying their job.

The same is true of Friday. They're sending the same message but it's got a little bit more of a manic excitement to it, as they get to pretend that maybe, just maybe, THIS is the weekend in which they take one in the face while cleaning their shotgun or get hit by a speeding truck full of cynderblocks and rusty razorblades and they can finally end the grisly nightmare known as Life.

Aaaanyway, I gotta' go to bed now.
Tomorrow's Monday and I can't WAIT to get to work!

Rev. Joshua

Things of Note from School Last Night

I'm taking a psych class right now, Individual Personality, or something to that effect. The teacher is a grade school counselor. I can't stand her. I can see that we're all set to do touchy feely exercises like talking about our day and telling the others about ourselves.

These are things I hate to do with strangers. Mainly because I know nobody really cares how my day went or what my favorite whatever is. I know I sure as don't care how their days went. I'm not unfeeling and I don't wish any harm to these people. But ultimately, I just want them to leave me alone. I have friends and a kick-ass fiance and family I can talk to if I want attention or solas.

Now to the meat of the post. Here are a few points of interest from last night's inaugural class.

-Class was 3 hours long. We adressed aproximately 7 minute's worth of content from the book or anything truly relevant to the development of the individual personality (the goal of the class).

-The teacher asked our permission to grade our quizzes. She also asked if the quizzes were fair. We spent a lot of time discussing this, it was like a committee. News flash, sweetheart, THIS IS YOUR CLASS!! It's not a group therapy session for passive agressors. It's your class. If you want to give and grade quizzes, then by all means, fucking give 'em and grade 'em.

-People talked way too much about their feelings in a big group of strangers. I'm sorry your relationship with your mom wasn't a good one, but could you stop monopolizing the class's time?

-We had to pick an analyst to write about for next week. The teacher didn't want us to write papers about the same person. When it was my turn to pick, I said, "I'll do Freud." To which the teacher replied, "Oh, you want to do Freud, huh?" Cute. Not only is that already lame, you're a fucking teacher, act like one. So I replied with a disdainful tone, "Yeah, we're gonna' do a ton of blow and get it on...." I shook my head in disgust. Everybody laughed and she just moved on, embarassed.

-I think I insulted the vegetarian in my new learning team when I told them about the group project I did in another class about killing puppies.

-I decided I won't be analyzed, poked or prodded during this class. Everything will be a joke, just like the teacher. If I wanted these poeple to get to know me, I wouldn't do it in my lower division mental masturbation class.

That's all for now. I'm almost certain there will be related posts in the next 4 weeks. I'm already ready for this class to end.

Rev. Joshua