Beachfront un-real estate on the web.
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Anyway the County Clerk's mothor not only has a dog, she has a cat.
The plastic owl Blanlkenship was talking about is one of those diversionary scarecrow things, about 14 inches high and painted to look like an owl that peoplle put in their gardens to keep away mice. Ive seen these owls placed in cities to scare pigeons out of public areas whrere they might crap on things.
There are two verticol holes three inches deep which were drilled a few years ago into Granfather's husky coconut bone skull, right behhind his ears. In these holes you can slide two metal mounting studs which are on the base of one of these owls. The idea is to keep the old basterd from atacking small beasts.
I was shakking when I left the building. I drove straight ovor to the mall. No one speaks english in the hair cutting place I use but for 7 bucks I realy dont care.
I did not want to put the glasses on till after I left Cyberblop. Alls that woud happen is that people woud make fun of me. I climbed into the barber chair and the little haircutting lady asked me in very brokon English what kind of haircut I wanted. I learned to always say, "Just a trim," cause like I said they dont undorstand anything else. Only once before did they realy mess me up, where I had this awfull John Lithgow thing going on up top.
All the while my hair was gettin cut I treid to set my mind on higher things: like the famous TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) Employee Deppendent Elder care program. I had to ace this interview if my life was ever goingto improve. I treid to go over all of Stu's answors in my head. The haircutter spreyed water on my new eyeglasses, which sat on the countor infront of me, and I reached to wipe them off. I had nothin to wipe them but the front tail of my shirt. It was kindof hard to reach it and besides my stomoch felt like I had a rock in it. So with both arms under the barber apron I sort of stretched in the chair uncomfortably and dug my hand in my pants where the shirt was tucked. The haircuttor gave me an odd stare and I smiled. I have a terible smile. It is because I do not smile allot in real life. With both hands under my barber apron I started to polish my glasses--the new, cool glasses Stu got for me. The lady stopped cutting my hair and stared at me. I made my awfull smile again and continued to vigorrously polish both lenses of the glasses and it is only now that I realize how the movements of my hands undorneath the fabric might of sugested I was doing somthing allot worse than I really was and sudenly the lady punched me right in the friggin eye.
Like I said TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) is just a few miles away from Cyberblop. I made it there just in time. They woud not let me pay at the haircuttor salon and also this big burly man who works there said if I ever show up there agian or if even he sees my skinny ass anywhere in the mall he will beat the crap out of me and say that I started it and then after that call the danm cops.
The ominuos black building of TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) grew bigger as I drove closor. I actualy pass it every day, you can see it from the freeway. I parked and coght my reflection in the black glass. I had a swollon purple eye and half of a seven dollor haircut. My hair looked like Lyle Lovett with one side of his head grazed by a meteor.
I walked down an ugly empty hallway painted a speckoled, babystool brown. A loud industriol buzz burned my ears. I got on this awful looking freight ellevator and inside was a sign that said that the only floor you coud get to without your TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) ID badge was Reception. I stepped off the elevater into a tiny almost bare room.
There were no couches or nothin to sit on and no magazines to read. In one cornor, an old, tired looking inflatable palm tree listed to one side, and swayed gentley to the loud buzzing air conditionning vent on the ceiling. It was only half full of air and bent ovor at a right angle at the top. There was somthing very sad and pitiful about it, its sagging vinyl palm fronds hangin downword like the old wrinkled titties on a discarded 1950s era errotic inflatable party doll. Not that I'd ever seen one. OK, there are one or two in Granfathers shed.
There were instructionns on the screen: type your name, and the name of the person you came to interveiw with. Then the danm thing crashed. I got an error screen. I figured Id just sit on my ass waiting for somone to show up exept there werent no chairs. A webcam sat on top and it started blinking and the sound of metallic garble came from the computers speaker that squawked out somthing like, "WAIT A MOMENT, PLEASE."
He was ectomorphosly thin, all dressed in black, including his trademark black knit TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) shirt, which you were suposed to wear untucked and ovor your hips like a Star Trek tunic.
He staired ahead like a prison guard. He was balding front-and-centor to reveal a giant, winter-squash-shaped head with a receeding hairline that sat right at the crown of his skull and he wore those tiny eyeglases which are so much in style lately with the Internet industry. Exept these were way, way small, hillariously small. He looked a little like David Schwimmer after havin been hooked up to the liposuction machene all weekend by mistake.
We rode up eight floors very slowley, and I tried to introduce myself but he snapped at me very angrilly when I did, "I know who you are! You typed your name in at Reception!"
He said to me in a huffy way, "I'll bet you dont even know what we DO."
I was glad I didnt have to answer him, cause he cut in right away and said: "Ill tell you what we do. We aggregate. And we integrate. We see the whole picture. We think outside the box."
He bragged about TechnoDigiMeriCom(R), which was founded, like, way back in the '80s and had ofices on both coasts and one in Europe too. Also about how they are "nimble" while being "robust" watevor the hell that means.
"We are a Bleeding edge company he snarled. "Did you see that inflated palm tree in our reception area? That is not there just for ornamentol purposes. It is to show that we are comitted to pushing the envelope as we create milestones that will impact the landscape."
I cleared my throaght. I replied, "That is why I want to work here, sir."
"If you pass the personality test -- which you WON'T," he snorted, "Then and only then will we have the interview."
And then he gave me some blathor about interveiws being such a waste of time.
So I sat there as he fired qeustions at me. Most of them I got right. (Only cause I memorized them). Then he asked the Manhole one, about what shape it ought to be, and like a jerk, and I forgot what to say. Finaly I just blurted out, in as pissed off a tone as the interviewer, "The term 'manhole' is realy kind of sexist. Women are alowed to be utility workers too, dammit."
He looked back at me in kindof suprised disgust. Then he jotted somthing down quickly, glowering at me in this sort of just-smelled-a-fart-face that Peter Jennings does all the time on ABC World News Tonite when he reports on somthing that he disagrees with when he is suposed to be objective.
"We are going to mark you corect on that one," he said somwhat sheepishly.
The question went: "Every person in the world boils down to one of the charactors from "Winnie The Poo" ...Who woud you like to see yourself as?"
I was so scared I almost crapped in my pants. I did not know what the hell to say. The test played arround alot with words: they did not ask which one best discribes me, they asked who I woud like to see my self as.
My head pounded from gettin hit by the lady and my stomich by now felt just as bad. I was exhuasted and distracted. Alls I coud think about was the awfull incident in the county Green. On instinct I said, "Um, Pooh's freind Owl."
The evil emaciated David Schwimmer frowned angrilly at me and bit his lowor lip which seemed to tremble a bit in rage. "Congradulations," his hissing voice cracked,