2003-08-17 - 1:30 a.m.
You know, I predicted it a couple months ago. I can't remember to who, but I said, "You know, I bet ***** and ******* start fucking eventually, cause it would just make sense in a twisted kind of way. It's what i'd come to expect."
Everyone else I told that theory to- "Nah, Ken, you're crazy. That'd never happen."
Godammit, when the fuck will you worthless Douches (my new favorite capitalization. Not to be confused with douchebag- you don't get to be the container, you have to be the water. And it fits- A Douche: One who is at best unnecessary and not really helpful, and at worst can lead to some annoying health problems which can turn serious if said Douche is not immediately disposed of.)
Anyway, that long parenthetical aside, when the fuck will you worthless Douches wake up and accept the fact that, while I may not be right all or even most of the time, I am never, ever wrong about stuff that doesn't matter. If it's trivial, stupid, has no bearing on my life whatsoever, and I don't give a fuck about it, then I will never be wrong about it. You know why I'm so good at math? Cause I don't fucking CARE about it, so of course I could have breezed through school as a math major.
Two weeks ago I tutored a girl in math for her PPST. You have no idea how much fun it is to spend eight hours trying to explain quadratic equations and interest rates to someone who needs to count on her fingers to add 7 and 5.
She needed a 173 on the test to pass the math section. She got a 173. I'd make a great teacher.
Oh yeah, I can just see that. Walk into class the first day of school...
"All right Douches and Retards, listen up. Many of you are too stupid to successfully dress yourselves, much less pass this class, and over the course of this semester I'll be reminding you of that until you contribute to the alarmingly low rates of teen suicide for people who should never have been born in the first place."
FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, IT WAS OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE THAT HE WAS FUCKING GAY!!! NOt to mention the fact that he's the Douche Society's poster child. Hell, the boy spent TWENTY FRIGGIN' MINUTES every damn morning using gel to spike his hair!
Yeah, I know I use gel too, but I just smear a little in and shake my head. Takes longer to wash the excess gel off my hand, although it's fun to walk around with your zipper open and shake people's hands while this goop is on it.
That joke need go no further.
And yeah, it's not like she was much better (hell, the bitch's favorite hobby was NASCAR and she was the only person in the universe who consistently dressed worse than I do.) But HIM? over ME? Keep in mind, I'm a lot nicer to people when I first meet them. Hell, I'm almost cordial, especially to some Fucking Slut I'm trying to nail. (well, tis true.) Women are supposed to be INTRIGUED by me at first, wondering what's underneath all the bluster and small penis jokes.
It's usually supposed to take a couple weeks at least before they realize there's nothing below the surface and move on.
Damn.
Okay, as promised- In all honesty, workign at River Falls was really not that bad. I had a good support group (some would call it a clique, I guess) consisting of basically everyone over 21, and we would gather at the bars after rough days and bitch about all the people who sucked. And to be honest, there were only a few people who genuinely sucked. Most of them were really nice. A few were just really, really, ungodly bad at their jobs (or didn't bother to show up for them very much, like the so-called director of State Fair) And even they were really nice. And yeah, getting sexually harassed (I actually was, according to harassment in the workplace guidelines) was creepy, but, in all honesty, it was only cause the girl doing it was unattractive, so I can't really complain about that. If she'd been cute, I'd have been nailing her, and I must admit to abusing her crush on me by flirting with her to get special treatment, like having my costumes cleaned more frequently, getting to keep certain costume pieces, and getting days off for my friends who worked for her. So all's fair.
It was a good time. The hours were long, the pay was laughably low, and one of the shows was embarrassingly bad, but I'd go back there to create more special memories, like the time there was a campus-wide blackout in the middle of the second act of a show, or the time I, instead of the normal takedown in the fight scene, German suplexed Woody so hard his vest popped off. He thought it was the best we'd ever done it.
Or the time darling little nine year old Willa, who had never spoken to me previously, came stomping up to me with her hands on her hips after she saw my haircut and said, "Why did you cut off your CURLS?"
If the cease and desist order is ever revoked and I can have children legally, I want to have a daughter like Willa. She's the kind of kid who'd make parenting fun.
In short, no, it wasn't as bad as I made you believe in the last entry. But it was bad enough at times for us to get drunk and create what I posted there. Just for a laugh.
Ken
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