Blah, blah, blah, bitchcakes

I’m going to see this exhibit on Saturday. I have a friend that works there so I get in for FREE. Yes, for free. There’s this big huge controversy over this exhibit, is it ethical for them to use the corpses in this way, blah, blah, blah, bitchcakes. When I die, I really don’t care what happens to my body. You know why? Because I can’t care, I’ll be dead. Hence the not caring. Shoot, put me in a hefty bag and bury me in the back yard next to Sparkles the hamster at my parent’s house. Or give my body to a bunch of necrophiliacs and let them have a circle jerk around me.

Ok, maybe not that last suggestion.

The assistant manager of the men’s department at Dullard’s is named Sam, but I like to call him Penishead because I think his head looks like a penis. I’m clever like that, what with the thinking up names to match head shapes. If only there was a job that talent translated into. Hmmm. So Penishead is an angry little lobster and he walks around in his little suits that he probably bought in the boy’s department and he’s all, “oooh, look at me, I’m Mr. Important Penishead Pants, on important Dullard’s business, fear my wrath, arrrrrrrrrrrr”. Then he tells people to dust stuff.

On the plus side, working for Dullard’s has allowed me to save up enough money to sign up for a mosaic class. I’m not going to tell you which class I signed up for. I mean if you want to stalk me you really need to put forth a little effort on your part, I can’t be expected to do everything.

I overslept this morning. If anyone asks, I was in a meeting. If my head meeting with my pillow is the definition of meeting we are going by then yes, yes I was in a meeting. Sounds so right to me.

Instead of another exciting Dullard's tale, pictures of my giant shih tzu. Yes, he is really a shih tzu. At least that's what his papers say. He's sensitive about his weight, so don't call him fat. He's just big boned.

2005-08-18 at 10:49 a.m.