blogger images

hm... so blogger launched blogger images in an attempt to make life easier for us bloggers to post pictures in our blog posts. fuck! can i just say that again? okay. so blogger launched blogger images in an attempt to make life easier for us bloggers to post pictures in our blog posts. friggin' weird the way i wrote that. like i was on crystal meth or something. wait a minute. i am on crystal meth. can i say that again? can i? can i? please. here it goes. i am on crystal meth!!! hahahaha. shitz!!! hey, dude, can you help me out with this METH problem i can't solve? yeah, it's like if {x^2+2x-35=0}, then x must be equal to? x is equal to five, bitch! hahaha! okay, bad joke. a total waste of time. i promise not to say crystal meth again. there, i said it. crystal meth!!!

but i'm not high or anything. honest. the only reason i logged in and posted this half-assed post is so i can test how blogger images work. y'know, just to have a first hand try on how this new blogger feature can disappoint and frustrate us more in the future as we struggle to continously improve the look and feel of our blogs.

like that friggin' photo of a black dog trying to dry hump that poor cat. aww.. poor cat. who's your daddy, bitch? who's your daddy??? are we allowed to call cats bitches? seriously. or this photo of a cardinal in vatican having a break. sniffer. fucking sniffer. this is an example of how scarface could've panned out had he turned away from sin and been faithful to the gospel.

that's it. i'm way to high to be posting shits like this right now. okay, that was a joke.

i'm out.

dumbo, that annoying weather guy, and monks

so i saw an old college friend last week. yeah, she's old. about four, five years my senior. i'm betting she'll have a heart attack when she reads this. ha!

anyway, so i saw her. we shared an exchange of the usual "hi, how are you?" pleasantries.

y'know the drill:

"hi."

"hey."

"been a long time eh? so how are you?"

"fine. so what's happening?"

"oh nothing much."

"killed an elephant lately?"

"oh no, haven't been in africa for about two years now. i've heard ivories haven't been that attractive in the black market since 98. so i shifted."

"really? to what?"

"siberian tigers. their fur and bones attract quite a hefty sum for coats and traditional chinese medicine, y'know."

"if you ask me, i'd rather kill whales. i mean, when's the last time a whale ever did something for you eh??"

that would've been our exhange if we were POACHERS. but we're not.


i don't know about you guys, but this wet dumbo sure looks like a friggin' rat with a trunk.

so we had this instead:

"hi, A! how's it hanging there?"

"nothing much, audrey. we're experiencing a relatively cool middle of the week weather up here in the north with highs reaching 24 degrees celcius and lows of about 14 degrees as night falls. we're also having light to moderate winds coming from the coast, blowing through partly cloudy skies with a 20 percent chance of rain in the afternoon. so how's your situation there?"

"oh we're having a bit of dry spell and a mild heat wave with temperatures ranging from 27 to 36 degrees. i'd advise everyone to wear their sunscreen if they decide to step out of the shade as our skies are clear with no sight of precipitation for the next four days or so. the sun will rise at around 5:22 tomorrow morning, and it will set at 6:18 in the evening. back to you, A!"

a perfectly normal exchange, if we were WEATHER GUYS. but we're not. heck! one of us ain't even a guy. i was referring to her not being the guy, smartass.


i can probably crack this annoying motherfucker's head with a 2x4 in two seconds flat. given the chance of course.

so we had this exchange instead:

"hey, A! how you doin'?"

"oh nothing much actually. due to technical difficulties and lack of credit worthiness, my runway has been unable to offer others with the proper flight control facilities. so i've been out of the radar lately. but not totally out, y'know. i was once soaring the stratosphere a few months back when they asked me to descend to 3,000 feet, which is below the controlled airspace. so i tried to contact the others on one two one decimal five to try get me out my slump, but speedbird 32 suggested i take up the hold as instructed and just cruise at 800 feet with FILBs and other little itinerant bastards. so how about you?"

"i've been great! been with delta echo sierra for two years now. and i'm also in close contact with my peeps on one one eight decimal three five y'know. they've been really super and all. i remember once i had problems with strong headwinds and i was down to fuel minimums in a middle of a really long flight twelve miles north of manchester just past flight level 240. bulgarian 231 was so cool to lemme land and even allowed me to take off on both my inbound and outbound legs for free. woot!

"good for you."

that's how our conversation would've been if we were AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLERS. but we're not.


monks as air traffic controllers? hell yeah! they can pray for your safety. or if you die, they can pray you won't be reborn as paris hilton.

so it went down exactly like this:

"A! how are you, man?"

"fine."

"what happened? you don't look so good."

"audrey, audrey, audrey. we've been friends for what? seven years now? you know for a fact that i've never looked good."

"oh. okay."

"see you around."

so that was it. short. uneventful. boring. unwitty. casual. and simply fucking unfunny. but it was real.

i'm out.

fuck moby! my shin still hurts.

this morning at the office was hell.

i'm just glad i don't keep a sledge hammer under my desk.

i was on a tight deadline. writing an important news release about our company's merger with "another" company which is actually "another" company because that other company is no other than our company too. yes, i like using the words "another" and "other" several times in one sentence. and yes, our company has agreed to enter into a defacto merger with no other than itself. it's like telling someone you're getting married. you hire a wedding planner. you send out all the invitations. and on the day itself, you show up in front of the priest with a life-sized wax replica of yourself. in a white gown. what an ass.



so there i was. deep in thought. writing. and in times like these, working on a really tight deadline and i'm focused and shit, there are actually three things that could really tick me off:
(1) i hate being stared at,
(2) i hate my work being stared at and
(3) i hate listening to moby

one or a combination of any of the three could spell danger to anyone, especially if i'm holding a blunt object.

anyway, so i was writing. then suddenly from out of nowhere this four year-old kid shows up. what the fuck is a kid doing in my office at 8:30 in the morning? apparently one of my officemates decided it was cool to bring her little creature at work. and she also decided that it was cool for her kid to hangout in my office instead of hers. fuck! does my door read day care, bitch?!?

don't get me wrong. i rarely hate kids. honest. i have two of my own. but i make sure they're at their best behavior everytime we're at somebody else's place. this kid, i assume, was not taught that way.

he went behind my desk and started bugging me. he stared at me. he stared at my monitor. and he looked a lot like moby. yeah, like he's on chemo therapy or something.

"what are you doing?"

"i'm writing something really important. why don't you go back to your mom."

"what are you writing?"

"something really important. please go back to your mom's office."

"are you writing a story? is it about samurai jack?"

"no, it's not about samurai jack. would you like a paper and a pencil? here. go sit there and draw something."

"but it's no fun drawing without crayons."

i didn't answer. i can feel my face turn red. i'm starting to lose focus. i'm starting to hum fatboy slim's weapon of choice. i'm starting to...

"you're fat! hahahaha! you're really fat and you have fat fingers too! hahahaha!!!"

"okay, that's it. get out of my office! now!"

he starts to cry. or at least, i thought.

"i'm sorry. but if you could just please go to your mom. please."

"you're mean. i'm telling you to my mom."

"good. anything to get you out of here."

that's when he came near me and kicked me in the shin. fuck! i can't even begin to tell you how much that stings! fuck! and i can't rub my shin because i'm fat and i can't reach it even if i'm sitting down. and it really fucking hurts. in fact, so bad that i wished his father masturbated in the shower instead four years ago.

"you fucking kid!!! i'm going to choke you til your eyes pop out!"

"hahaha! you can't catch me! hahahaha!"

then i gave him the finger. that did it. he stopped laughing. but his eyes grew in amazement. he went out of my office quietly.

i, on the other hand, went on to do my thing even with a swollen shin. twenty minutes later, the kid was running in circles at the lobby screaming, "fucking kid! fucking kid! fucking kid!" with both of his hands raised and both his middle fingers sticking out. shit. i'm fucked.

lunch at the cafeteria, everybody looked at me weird. again.

seriously, i will pay some people not to have kids. i mean, the least they can do is discipline them. or not bring them to the office because some people, like me, actually work at the office. if they can't do that, then i suggest they put 'em on a leash or something.

i'm just glad i don't keep a sledge hammer under my desk. because i could've smashed that kid's spine with it. or he could've cracked my shin with it.

fuck! he really looks like moby.

i'm out.

free starbucks coffee

been hangin' out at a local starbucks every after work for the past couple of days. yes, because i love the coffee there (damn! i hope people at starbucks read this shit and give me free coffee everytime i go there). and yes, because i have nothing else better to do (then again, maybe they shouldn't read this).



lemme just say (or suggest... i'm still hoping they read this and give me free coffee) that this particular coffee outlet i frequent should upgrade the variety of reading materials they have for us customers. i mean, fuck! i usually have my coffee by myself. and because i hate staring into spaces and looking every inch the moron that i am in public, i end up asking for reading materials. magazines. the day's paper. the company brochure. their survey form. their barista application form. just about anything that can help me not look like a college drop out and a loser while i kill time. by the way, i'm not a college drop out. but i do look like a loser. and a moron. but of course you already know that.

so i go there and pay considerably more than what the fucking coffee's really worth, and what do i get? i get volumes upon volumes of girlie magazines. yes, you heard me. girlie mags. magazines that talk about the pros and cons of boob jobs. that talk about the benefits of hypoallergenic and non-corosive cosmetics. that talk about the right kind of bra that can give the illusion of having fuller breasts. that talk about finding mr. right. that talk about how to clean your clit even with long fingernails. that talk about beauty tips, coping with stress, love and relationship advice, plucking your eyebrows, waxing your underarm with honey and shit, yada, yada, yada, yada. bullshit!

lemme ask you this local starbucks outlet that i usaully frequent, who the fuck do you think is your target market here? fifteen year-old lindsay lohan wannabes? stupid highschool girls who think they fart everything that is nice in the world like candies, and rainbows, and unicorns, and daisies, and twinkling stars, and smurfs, and sugar and spice, and strawberries and cream, and oreos? i don't fucking think so.

what you have are people like me who work long hours in the office just to have the purchasing power to buy your insanely priced "gourmet" coffee, which you virtually stole from the equally hardworking coffee growers of south america by taking advantage of their business inadequacies. and yes, i am both verbose and incoherent when i haven't had my usual fix of four cups of coffee before noon. fuck you! burn your girlie mags or prepare to feel the wrath of an extremely fat guy!

having said this, i, however, still hope starbucks reads this and give me free coffee.

and why the fuck can't we spell girlie with a "y"?

i'm out.

what the dilly?

i am a basketball fan. so bite me.

but i haven't watched a single minute of the detroit-san antonio championship series. because i think any game that features a boring school boy named tim and an ugly ape named ben can seriously cause impotency and low sperm count.

the only way i'm going to watch that series is if eva longoria shows up in the stands looking like this. or this. or this. jesus christ i think i'm about to explode! how desperate is this housewife, anyway? desperate enough i hope. *wink, wink*

or if david hasselhoff shows up. because we all know everybody just loves david hasselhoff, right? with or without baywatch, right? wrong! anyone with even a quarter of an ounce of self-respect would never ever ever be a fan of an actor that sports an 80s hairstyle . actually this picture of david was really funny when i first saw it. then it gave me nightmares for five days straight. the last one figured hasselhoff making out with spongebob. and if you think that was bad, the second half of my nightmare featured hasselhoff picking up spongebob by the waist and started rubbing him against his hairy chest, in between his legs, and up his ass. yes, just like a sponge! yuck! if the picture gives you nightmares, please let me know.

***

i'm sure by now everybody knows what happened to the michael jackson case. yes, he got acquitted. whaddayaknow, jacko is white afterall.

what most of us don't know, however, was how disappointed jacko was with the verdict. yes, he was disappointed. and yes, he's uglier than joan rivers. why was he disappointed? because the jury blew his only chance to ever experience some true manly love... for twenty years. poor jacko, he was really looking forward to finally have sex with someone his own age. well you can't have it all, right? now he goes back to his neverland ranch to have sex with kids a fifth his age.

oh, by the way, stephen king had something to say about the verdict, too.

***

so i had chicken for lunch today.

flat, dry, flaky, pan-fried chicken breasts. tasted like paper.

as i was about to chew my first chunk of chicken boobies, i suddenly had a thought. what if this chicken had a name? what if it had a family? kids? friends? a blossoming career in advertising? what if... aw fuck it! catchup always does the trick. yeah! catchup! high five, cathcup!

now that made me wonder why everyone at the cafeteria looked at me weird.

***

one day i'll attend a really hip PR event and all night i'll just stand in a corner holding my beer and wearing a shirt that reads: “DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING PEOPLE PERSON?”

yeah, that'll be nice. then when i'm tired of that i'll go at the end of the buffet table and pig out on the chips and dip. yeah, like the chips and dip were only made for me.

and when people try to get chips, i'll the slap the back of their hands and yell: "FUCK YOU, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A HOWARD STERN JOKE! STAY AWAY FROM MY CHIPS!!!"

and when i'm done with my beer, i'll close my eyes and just throw the bottle to the stage and pray really hard i hit a band member on the head. and when i do knock a band member out cold i'll yell: "YEAH! THAT'LL TEACH YOU NOT TO SING HANSON SONGS YOU FUCKING FAG!!!" even though they weren't playing any hanson shit.

***

so last week i was browsing through me blogroll and read something about mary poppins over at mussolini's.

a question: is mary poppins connected in any way to imelda poppins?

if you don't know who imelda poppins is, don't ask. it's a stupid question, i know.

i'm out.

old photos

was feeling nostalgic over the weekend.

the wife was out of town. i had no money to burn. i was hungry. i'm always hungry. got tired of nba live. there was nothing good on the tele. was listening to elvis costello. then barry manilow. then i thought, how much lower can i go?

so what to do? i brought out the old photo albums. and fed my nostalgia. i saw my baby picture when i was two. yes, it was a naked baby photo. yes, i was damn cute. actually, i'm still damn cute if you ask me. that is, if you ask me. ask anyone else and you'll end up seeing gag reflexes.

what struck me, though, is how huge my balls were. damn! damn huge balls! the circumference of one was like bigger than the moon! well, give or take 10, 930 kilometers. and that's just my left nut.

everytime i sat down, i was like sitting on a planet like that gay character from that book "the little prince," written by that gay author antoine de saint excruciate or something. what's his name again? the gay character, i mean. oh yeah, little prince.

anyway, enough with my balls.

i was on my third album when i saw the ugliest, scariest, freakiest photo of a mofo i've ever seen in my entire life. my initial reaction was of course to jump out of my seat in horror and run around in circles in the front yard screaming, "repent motherfuckers! the end is near!!!"

i did that for two hours straight when my sister came out of the house looking really worried and asked me what the hell was i scared of. i showed her the picture.

"look! this thing. this hideous creature. i have never seen such grotesque monstrosity since ernest borgnine smiled in ariwolf's final episode!"

"what the hell is airwolf?"

"oh, nevermind. just look."

"but that's your picture when you were in high school."

i looked at it again. and again. and again. yes, it was me.

well, in that case, it's the second ugliest, scariest, freakiest photo of a mofo i've ever seen in my entire life. a distant second. the first would have to be michael jackson.

i'm out.

one of these days... and oh, another bit about hermie the hermaphrodite

i got some shit to say.

okay, so maybe i don't. but there's only one reason why i haven't been blogging lately. well, not as regular as i used to. and not as regular as i want to. and that reason is... (drumroll please, max)...

maybe, just maybe, i've run out of things to say.

gasp!

now, don't get me wrong. i haven't been lying to you guys. it's true that i've been busy. actually, still busy. the past few months have been the worst in my pathetic career. i got blamed for things. things i failed to do. things i didn't do right. things i did right but were not done on time. but mostly (like 80% of the time) i got blamed for things that were stupidly done by other dickheads who didn't even have the brain to comply with my fucking requirements. everything just fucking exploded on my face. like a bad birthday joke. only my birthday's five months away. fuck! i hate birthdays. well, actually i hate birthdays that get equated with foul ups at work that feels like bad birthday jokes. did you get that? good. fucking good!

then there's the new boss i was assigned to. fucking VP for shit who was a former President and COO of a sister company that went bye-bye just recently. yes people, currently i'm reporting to a man who eats, breathes, and dreams of "chapter 11s." fucking sweet!!! and he looks like a white, balding gorilla. the hair on his head is thinning faster than the ozone, but the hair all over his body is just as thick as a wool rug. and he always has this comb in his back pocket. yeah, and he constantly combs his chest hairs with it. fucking freaky!!! especially when the comb gets stuck just at the bottom of his left nipple and he starts screaming like a sissy girl. freaky! and it happens like 6 to 7 times everyday.

and every time he gets scared, y'know, like when he watches horror movies and shit and his hair starts to stand on end, his shirt expands and he turns into this creature that looks like a fluffy teddy bear. a hideous fluffy teddy bear. one of these days, i'm going to buy 500 dozens of balloons and rub it against cotton. then i'm going to stuff all the balloons inside his office. when he enters in the morning... wham! fucking static baby!!! yeah!

then there was this time i got rudely evicted from my office. yeah! evicted! like i fucking pay rent to work there! apparently some lady on a power trip who looks like a fucking frog decided to move my things to the other room while i was out on field work. when i got back, all my things were just piled up. was i pissed? of course. i wanted to take my box of push pins and just shove it in her rotten vagina. oh, i know it's rotten because a vagina's is directly proportional to how a woman looks. and that woman looks like ALF. yeah, complete with the 80's hair sprayed do and all, only she has a longer chin. one of these days i'm going to take that old office photocopier on the roof of our office and patiently wait for that bitch to come out the front door. when she comes out, i'll push the damn thing over the ledge. SPLAT! ha! how's that for an office transfer, bitch!!!

oh, okay, where the fuck was i? yeah, about me being too busy to post. which is actually about me not having a damn topic to post in this stupid blog. posting something that says you're "too busy" to post would just be too cliche and fucking idiotic. you're not too busy, you just don't know what to write about. seriously, if you were too busy, guess what, you wouldn't be writing a fucking post about how busy you were because you'd be busy getting busy with whatever busy business is in making your life so busy. got that? good. fucking good. because one of these days, i won't be "too busy" and i'll get my mojo back and i'll be blogging again. like my life depended on it. like i've never blogged before.

***
PLUG:

oh, remember hermie the hermaphrodite? of course you do. i know i do. well, he/she made an entire post dedicated to me. actually he/she was suppose to make fun of me for four hours straight. that was the deal. but hermie only managed to come up with a 4-minute blah-blah about me. actually, it's a 22-minute blah-blah if you're a poor illiterate fuck. anyway, how did this happen? well, i asked for it. in a form of a comment. and hermie gladly obliged. i said please and he/she said yes, and we just kinda had a moment. right there. eewww.

go check the hermaphrodite out and ask him/her if he/she can make fun of you too. yeah, go there. because i'm tired of making use of "/" everytime i talk about the bitch. one of these days, i'm gonna stop using the "/" and just call everybody gay. do we even have a pronoun for gays?

i'm out.