Its getting so I can write this thing with my eyes closed. (And it shows).
Page 15 of 50
I started out by initialy leaving just a long peice of toilet paper half in and half out of the toilet wator. The magic of osmosis pulls the water upword, and over the rim, then down onto the tile floor, leaving a soggey cascade of pulp sure to deter someone from using her before me. This trick worked for a while, but again, those danm programmors, whose standards drop with each Quarterley Rollout from beta to box seem to push the limits of their own self-viollation each fiscal year.
Howevor, it is hard to time a log to six PM. I am a morning man. I dont get into work until 8 or 9AM. So how to keep your bowl nice and clean from 6 PM untill then?
Last year (or mabye the year before) I divulged one of my secrets on this homepage: Snackpak Pudding Singles. Yes, I warn you the folowing 2 paragraphs are disgousting. It is my secret plan that I do nowadays, to ensure the firstfruits of the Day are MY friuts.
At exactley Five aftor 6 every night, I locate "Lucille" (the bowl I like), and flush her soapy blue water down to make it look "used". And then I take the extra step of makin it look VERY used. With a plastic spoon I flick a small amount of fake spattor right out of a SnackPak chocolate pudding cup on a few strategic places.
By morning --like the morning I am writing about right now, the fake spattor, having sat in our stuffy fake-air building where you are not alloud to open the windows, will be nice and suficeintly dry, with no nasty odor. And it looks danm real. Lovingly, I wipe the chocollate off with alcohol swabs, sit down, relax and start my day right...
He is NOT a loner, and in fact is very sociel, dispite the fact that he looks exactly like a pig. His chin was up and his snout pointed high in the air. He looked very distracted and said that nothin was wrong.
I wandored back to the front of the building to where all the people were. And slowly pulling into the Cyberblop circulor driveway was my brother Spike driving his minivan. He looked like the face of shock and death.
Spike lives in the same town as Cyberblop. Last year he moved here to Texas with his wife and kid from California and bought a big piece of land. He made sure he was far enough away from Granfather's trailor so as not to have to deal with caring for the old basterd, which was MY unfortunate lot in life. Also being 100 miles away is suficiently downwind from the stinking troll, if not barely so.
Spike's face was white and his lips were purple. "He's back," he stammored raspily. "Granfather is back."
I said to him, "Yes, I know, the Criptozoologists said that in a mattor of weeks he'll be totally back. That odd statement about Hannity and Colmes on the Fox News Channol was just a weird thing that made no sence..."
Spike cut me off, "Walter, he is BACK, and he is back NOW. Listen, I'm gonna drive back home and walk to the roadhouse and get some drinks tonight, and mabye get drunk tonite too. Mabye I'll see you there later, aftor work."
The wheelbase of the minivan was tight but not too tight as to keep Spike from drivin up on our vomity little company lawn as he made the abrupt turn out while still talking. The van slowly moved back on the highway, and back toword where he lives. Right at this time the bell sounded that signolled the end of the firedrill.
Tilde insistad I follow her back to her cubical and truobleshoot her budget file. It was only an Excel file so I guessed I coud figure out what was wrong in one minute.
"Oh WAAAlter," she whined, with big whipped puppy eyes, "PLEEASE help me get my budget in order!"
Squirming away as she pressed into me, I said, "Lets see what is wrong," and when I popped it in her diskdrive all sorts of awful things began to happen. In fact the whole screen went black.
"Oh dear. That doesn't look good," she said, "Let's run it on YOUR computer."
Besides. I have alredy busted two laptops in the past. And the rules are, that if I want to keep my job, if the laptop I have gets dammaged, I have to pay to replace it out of my own pockat.