I have been doin this for too long
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She is waving, and pointing and wrinkeling her little warty toad like nose at me and now wrestling thru the crowd with her fat little elbows to get close to me. Yes i am a sensitive persen, and many times more sensittive for my own good. But this anoying pain in the ass, well I have to tell you I woud barely not even feel bad if she got demoted. OK, mabye I woud feel bad if she got fired.
"Walter!" she chirps at me. "WHEL-ter! Let me minister to you!"
Who the hell talks like that? And she said it loud so allot of people coud hear. Mabye i cannot stand her because she is a codependent and I am also a codeppendent too. But at least i am a codeppendant for the whole internet industry. She is a codeppendent for ME. How danm pittiful can you get.
"This company is no place for talented people like ourselves," she said and then also said stuff about it being a mirracle that me and her survived the reorg. (There was realy no miracle abuot it; I hacked the big Admin system."
"I will help you deal with your loss" she said in her twangey Chicago acent. I said, "WHAT LOSS," and then she looked at me like i had two heads and then wrinkoled up into a painful wince her toadlike Yoda(TM) face even more tightley than i thoght coud ever be possible and said "my loss" of losing HER as my dirrect supervizer.
"Oh, "WHEL-ter!," she worbled. "You and I just always clicked so well! And we should NETWORK with each othor for the rest of our lives!"
"NETWORK, NETWORK, NETWORK!!!"
She kneads and squeazes my arm so it allmost hurts and then presses a moist sweatty business card into my hand. It is the card of this guy, this guy who runs his own company that shes been tellin me abbout for months now, that I shoud "get together" with so us two coud do a "mind meld". A mind meld for Godsake.
She says that i am creative and that my tallent shoud not go to waste. I get enbarassed when people say that to me. If I'm so creattive, where's all my danm money? Anyway, the businness card of her freind has some dumb made up title like "Content Meister" or "Edutainment Evangelist" or some such crap.
"I told him you would fax your resume today!" she whisperred to me and then she started rubbing my arm agian. It was like she was tryin to rub the danm skin off.
Well anyway i had to get my resume to him becuase acording to my pain in the ass boss, (who, mabye thanks to this favor i shoudnt call that anymore), said that he woud have time on Wenesday to meet with me to give me job leads and advice. Mabye he even had a job for me himself!! Truth be told if they ever had anothor re-org soon i woud sureley be out on my ass and so I'd bettor look for anothor job.
Being more desperate than i am smart, I called up Granfather and asked if mabye the old basterd coud print out one of my resumes (as well as my lame, boilerplate cover letter) and mail it to the guy.
"SO-O-O-O, BOY," he said to me in his exagerattingly high-pitched evil croaking cackle.
"LOOKS LIKE YER STANKY OL' GRANPAP DONE GOT YOU BY THE SHORT AND-CURLIES."
I told the old monster what i needed. My resume and covor letter are right there on the desktop of my PC, so alls he had to do was right-click and print it. Granfather was suprizingly helpful -- usualy the old sonofobich makes me sweat it out as he does his favor for me. He even typed the guy's name and adress into my template cover lettor.
"Whats that tingling sound?" I asked him.
"THIS HERE'S THET THAR LITTLE STEEL WHEEL WHICH YER UNCLE DONE LAST NIGHT SPORKED TO MUH FORE-HAID."
Granfather told me he is gettin used to it and even hooks his cofee cup to it. Since he was in a rare helpfull mood, I also told him that I needed a mailing labol. So, next, I printed the guy's adress on the laser printer at work and faxed it to Granfather and told him to please carefulley cut arround it and stick it on the envolope with clear tape.
Granps made me promise not to worrey. He also made me prommise, that in return for this favor he woud insist that I attend a "Focus Group." I said to him What the HELL are you talkin about.
Granfather told me he wanted to round up a couple of our neighborrs, specificaly Junior, and my freind Cathyann and her boyfreind and her mother. Under the lure of free beer, he wanted them all to asemble at our trailer tonite to give input on his girlfreind's new invention ideas.
"SHE'S GONNA BE A BILLIONAIRE ONE DAY," Granps bragged.
Then at the end of the presentattion, we woud all have a chance to get in on the "ground floor oportunnity" by providding investment capotil to fund the ideas on the Web.
"I AM MAJORLY JONESED ABOUT THESE HERE IDEARS," Granfather kept sayin.
"WE'RE GONNA E-TAIL THE HELL OUT OF 'EM. AN' DISINTERMEDIATE THE COMPY-TITION OUT ON THEIR ASS."
I know for a fact that the old basterd dosent know what the word 'disintermediation' means. He picked it up in a dirtey chatroom. He kept sayin she was an entroprenorial Genious. Yeah right. "Mental midgit" was more like it, I'd say. She had the tiny head to prove it.
In any case the old basterd told me hed be happey to send out my resume. And this favor, in return, was all that he wanted. I did not care that I had to submit to the riddiculous focus group of stupid consumor ideas invented by his snappy, brain-the-size-of-a-chocollate-chip girlfreind, the celestial muffin tray Female eqiuvalent of H. Ross Pirot.
The Caster Car--Theres nothin worse than tryin to squeaze your bigass, pink Mary K Cosmettics Caddilac (that you do not own, but are only borowing from a freind) into a small parkin spot. The caster car has big revolving casters insted of tires to make paralell parking easier. Granfather claims 50% of all proceads from this invention as he sort of inventted it himself by being trapped in that rolling foldout couch for 3 months last year. Grovestand(R) Prune Juice--Yes we all enjoy Homestyle(R) Orenge juice, with bits of juicy pulp, as well as Grovstand orenge juice, (with ALLOT of pulp). While prune jiuce with pulp does alredy exist, it apears to be closer to Homstyle than the super pulpey Grovestand. The first time I ever heard Granfather discribe it he said, "SOMTIMES YOU NEED HI-TEST PULP AND YOU COUD FEEL IT IN YOUR GUT." That night after he said this I had a horroble nihgtmare about this invention somhow being merged with the paint bomb in conjucction with Granfather's ass...Andspeakin of his ass:
The Atmosphereic(TM) Enema(R) -- As you know an enema works on a systam of warm water unnaturaly flushing into your insides... Why not insted use naturol atmosphearic pressure from the outside? (I did not entireley undorstand this concept until I atended the Foucus Group, which I will write about in just a bit).
You woud think that Grovestand(R) Prune juice woud elimminate the need for any type of enema, but leave it to the old basterd and his old bitch freind to covor both ends of the preistaltic demmographic.