I'm back for more glorious fun at the Generic Bread (the one by the Costco, if anyone cares). And to my right there is a sight that one could only find at Generic Bread. A fatty is sitting on one of the leather chairs all sprawled out doing needlepoint with a huge grin on her face. And one of the employees is running around behind the counter saying really upbeat and annoying things to the various patrons; things like "Are ya'll headed to the beach?" & "What position do you play, are you the pitcher?" Things like that. When the guy behind the counter asked the young man in a baseball uniform if he played pitcher, I almost said this, "I bet you like to play catcher." You know, because I'm assuming this freaky employee is not unfamiliar with the dark world of the anal arts. And along with that assumption, I figure he's the type who prefers to be spread out on a chaise lounge all knees and elbows. Or what my old friend Al Barela would charitably characterize as a butt cowboy...
Speaking of the big woman doing needlepoint, a bearded man just approached her and seems like he may have had some intimate relations with said needlepoint loving fatty. The reason I think the 2 of them might be star-crossed lovers of one kind or other is because the guy who just sat down looks like someone you might see pulling for the Philadelphia Eagles on a Sunday in the fall. And those guys tend to like their ladies bigger than most. It brings to mind what Morrissey said, "Some girls are bigger than others." Morrissey said other things as well. For instance, Morrissey said, "The sun shines out of our behinds." & "Hang the deejay." And my personal favorite, "I'm so very sick of you. I am so sickened now." In fact, earlier in that same tune, Morrissey says, "Why do you come here, when you know it makes things hard for me?" Anyway, it's something to keep in mind...
Good news! The needlepoint lady and her Eagle fan lover just took off. Now a guy is about to sit down who looks like he escaped from the group home this morning. He's not wearing a belt. That's a telltale sign of a group home runner right there. They don't let you wear belts at the group home. I think the folks who run group homes worry about massive retard orgies involving spanking. Spanking of both sorts - the spanking the bare ass with a belt sort of spanking & the spanking the monkey sort of spanking. Me, I don't judge. However retards wanna get down, I say rock on with your bad selves. I'm cool with it. Live and let live. And all the other applicable cliches...
Speaking of spanking the monkey, & I'm sure I've mentioned this before on this stupid blog, but see Spanking The Monkey. You won't be disappointed.
Speaking of the old cinema, I ventured out a couple weeks ago to catch Midnight In Paris at the local multiplex or whatever they call them. Anyway, go see it. It's the first movie I've ever seen where Owen Wilson is actually good. It's amazing to watch. He plays a much younger, slightly less Jewish version of Woody Allen. And he's funny as hell. As far as the quality of the film on the whole, you could argue that it's better than Annie Hall. Maybe not as funny. But there's an ending to Midnight In Paris that makes sense. It's pretty thought provoking to be candid. And Annie Hall just stops. Which I have no problem with exactly. But go see Midnight in Paris, if for no other reason than to see Adrien Brody play Salvador Dali. He's hysterical. He keeps talking about rhinoceroses or rhinoceri or whatever the correct term is. I have no idea. As I've noted before on this pointless blog, I paid very little attention in school. My mind tended to drift quite a bit away from the topic being taught. It tended to drift to trying to mentally picture various girls in class topless. And bottomless for that matter. I never discriminated on which half of a girl's body I was trying to picture without clothes. I was very liberal in that sense.
A very fetching blond just sat down on the sofa nearby with a balding man in an orange polo shirt. I'm tempted to ask him if he pulls for Ulster. Obviously. What the hell else would I ask him???
Interesting times at the place I occasionally show up to work. I made the mistake of standing in the wrong spot during the smoke break session the other morning. Anyway, this old bag was out there talking about some issue having to do with a debt ceiling. She seemed terribly misinformed about whatever the problem is with this debt ceiling problem. I listened to this lady for a few minutes and then asked her this, "How high can a debt ceiling go? I mean, are we talking one of those 12 foot ceilings or something higher? Like a 30 or even 50 foot ceiling?" Alas, she had no answer for me. She just looked at me like I was crazy...
The latest scorching issue of the Rhino is out. And in it, Greensboro's favorite creepy uncle type columnist, one Scotty Roast, was giving out awards. He called them the Roasties or Toasties or Boasties or something. I glossed over the piece pretty quickly to be honest. But one award did catch my eye. Roast claimed that the best wings in the Gate City are from Scams. And that assertion is patently absurd. Laughably so. The wings at Scams are inedible. Bloody and poorly seasoned, much like a retarded virgin...
Sorry for the low number of posts here this summer. I've been terribly busy with my real fake job and a couple other fake fake jobs I've been doing here and there. In fact, many days I'm leaving my real fake job and then going and doing some work at a fake fake job. It makes for like 12 hour days. By the time I'm done, I more or less just knock back a few drinks, watch my Reds try and stay in contention in the NL Central, flip the old TV around searching for Springer reruns, and hit the hay.
It was a good lay, good lay.
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