Animal welfare

I've always wondered how they test whether a shelter animal is good with other animals and children. Do they just through a cat (or baby) into the pen and see if the dog tears it apart. Because that's how I'd do it. A five year old would have had to die to get Shep out on the market.

Longmont Humane Society

Date Night

My idea of a perfect date night with myself is 1 bottle of Moet & Chandon, a Red Baron frozen pan pizza with Ranch dressing drizzled over it, and several episodes of the Gilmore Girls (preferably early seasons, before they both turned into bitches).

orientated

New job-
10:45 - three hours in
I’m starting a new job today, which is exciting, except that I’m going through an orientation session that makes me want to disembowel myself with my complimentary pen. Also, why do people ask questions at this sort of thing? Don’t they realize they’re just extending the time we have to sit here. I could give this orientation. I could compress this 7 hour waste into 10 minutes of fun. The worst part is, they haven’t even taught me how to get online, so I can’t distract myself with the internet. I wonder if anyone would notice if I put my giant headphones on and started watching the Wire.

10:50 Employee awards – if you’re a suckup douchebag, you can get a big old certificate saying so. I’m going to get drunk during lunch. Then I can make all sorts of poor decisions about medical and retirement benefits in the afternoon. Then when I throw myself off a bridge, I’ll have no health care coverage. Ooops.

10:55 Do you know what to do if there’s an emergency? That’s right. Call 911.
10:57 And if you get stuck in an elevator, push that big red button.
11:00 I'm taking a nap

Barbers

shaveeverywhere.com

uh. . .everywhere?



really. . .everywhere?

Shits-a-lot and Stinky Smurf

My friend Lynne, who is working today, sends a collage-style picture of herself lying in an alleyway, with a dead fish on her face.
Marcel Parcells: Nice stick figure, and hair
Lynne: thx, note the serene smile
Marcel Parcells: yes, you seem to be at peace, finally
Lynne: (you might have to look under the trout)
Marcel Parcells: I think you should put some smell lines coming off the fish
Lynne: good idea, good team work
Lynne: I will get you a draft ASAP, drop all other work
Marcel Parcells: like Pepe Lepew
or Linus
"Stinky Smurf?"
Marcel Parcells: I think every cartoon should have had a smelly character. can you imagine if there had been a smelly Care Bear, it would have been called Shits-a-lot, and it would contribute a big smelly brown ray to the Care Bears’ rainbow.
Lynne: I think it would be poohs-a-lot
Marcel Parcells: Oh, yes, for the children. . .good thinking

you should. . .do a power hour

Apparently, Branson and I are feeling old, and desperately clinging to the last vestiges of irresponsible youth. We originally went to the saloon promising to share one pitcher of Pabst. As we finished it, I said, “We should have another one,” which is what one o fus always says on weeknights, and Branson said, “We should do a power hour.” Or at least, that’s what I think I heard him say. The waitress had already been summoned, but I sent her away, as I was inspired by the poor judgment Branson displayed.
I got up from the table, and led us to the liquor store, where we picked up the malt liquor we would need for our hour of beer shots. At home, we commenced.
We actually only drank 54 shots of beer in that hour. At around minute forty, I experienced an inexplicable sneezing fit that incapacitated me for several minutes as I spit phlegm, and dribbled snot into a nearby recycling bin. We both felt awful after our hour. We went to sleep, and I woke up for work six hours later.
At one point during the hour, Branson and I talked about one of our favorite old Saturday night live skits, a commercial for “Bad Idea Jeans” which features several small white men talking about their bad ideas (example: “Normally, I use protection, but I figured, 'When am I going to make it back to Haiti?'" and “Now that I have kids I feel a lot better having a gun in the house") before taking on a basketball team full of large, proficient-looking black men. Jimmy and I decided that we should market “Worst Idea Ever Jeans”. In the morning, I just wanted a pair of “Full-on crippling regret Jeans.” Instead I wore khakis.