I've totally forgotten what I was going to say. It was profound I think. Hmmm.
Last night was typical B-Man. I got drunk on cheap beer while other people did sober things and told me how funny I am because of the drinking and smoking and punching and cursing and long sentences with too many conjunctions, or...
I woke up at 8:05 today when I was supposed to be at work at 8:00. I never used to be late for anything. I used to get major anxiety attacks an hour before something was going to happen. "Holy Christ, the Wonder Years is coming on in 25 minutes! Where's my soda! Kevin!" Now I show up late and wearing a ball cap. Fuck 'em, I've been stabbed before. Actually, I haven't: but, Goddamn that's a good line.
So, it sounds like I'll be able to stay on at the space commander desk job after all. I call it that because I spend most of the day pretending that my cubicle is a spaceship and I'm fighting space asteroids and star people. It all started because the ergonomically designed chair that I sit in has these arm rests with buttons and levers on them to control lumbar support and tilt. But in my world they control the lasers and my tracking beam. Sometimes I'm wearing an eyepatch and have a big metallic space warrior suit on in my daydreams. Usually I have my trusty crew with me who gives me advice on how to handle situations. "Captain, don't shoot that asteroid, it's kind of pointless and we only have a million photon rockets!", they say. "Sounds like a challenge," I reply. "Huh?" And then I start my intergallactic genocide. I'm an anti space-monster-ite.
Then I come back to reality.
Casual Fridays rock! That's all that rocks about this place (except the world in my head). I'm dressed like such a frat boy today that I feel like pinching asses and tailgating out in the parking lot. Maybe I'll jeer people as they go into work ('You're office sucks, Washington Mutual has the best defense in the PAC 10! Whoooooo"). Actually, I think I wore this exact outfit to a Clemson/Carolina game when I was a sophomore. That night was crazy! This guy started hitting on my girlfriend at the time (El Diablo) while we were partying on the frat hall. Later on that night I found him on my bed and he did a "come hither" motion to me (this guy is a complete stranger by the way). I said "what the fuck are you doing?" and he said "Working on my paintball skills". He actually tried to convince me that he was laying on my bed drunk working on how to best squeeze the trigger of his paintball gun. I'm not a homophobe (I've actually given thought to banging a dude just to prove that) and I'm not sure if the guy was actually gay or confused or really did like paintball; but, he had to go. The fucker had his shoes on my bed. Try and do me like I haven't been done before, that's cool, I'm honored. Hit on my chick? You can have her, she's too skinny for me. But, shoes on my comfortor? Get out.
That was the same night I put the shaft of a six iron through my right arm, which I still have an amazing scar from. Note to all new found frat boys out there: Cheap vodka is a pretty good anti-bacterial rub.
Say something smart, Brent, you sound like an ass. How do you get exactly 4 gallons by using a 5 gallon and a 3 gallon jug? Fill the five gallon jug and pour it into the 3 gallon jug. This will leave 2 gallons in the 5 gallong jug. Empty the 3 gallon jug and pour in the 2 gallons. Refill the 5 gallon jug and pour one gallon in with the 2 gallons in the 3 gallon jug. This will leave exactly 4 gallons in the 5 gallon jug. "Form follows function" is by far the most challenging architectural design method. If lacking in aesthetic, it is made up for by it's almost alluring decadence in simplicity.
This weekend I'm going with the happy couple to an all-day cross country Bocce ball tournament. I'm looking forward to playing. I keep having memories of playing the game with Kyle in our backyard in N.C. "Lawn bowling" is the lamest term ever invented. I can just see some spectacled fuck in shorts and suspenders in Kentucky who can't say "Bocce" without the "K" sound, just giving up and going "Let's lawn bowl." He'd have a huge grin while all the other corn eating fucks all said "Kurt, you're a riot. Lawn bowling! Funny guy!". Fuck Kurt, it's Bocce ball.
Anything else happen to me? Did laundry, got drunk, stayed up late. Nope, pretty lame night and boring day so far. I think I'm going to go blow up Mars.
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