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9/22/2003

So, like I was telling you dorks yesterday.
Last week was testing. Testing in the way where you fight with swords, not in the way where you write your name in the top right-hand corner and make an A.
First off, GreatTits/NoBrain and Uncomfortable Silence Boy were fired. You see, as interest rates remain marginally high then the influx of new loans remains relatively low to last fiscal quarter, which allows for more space commander playtime but less purpose then before. This made me fear that the Roy job would soon end so I volunteered to do extra work. I decided to be come more valuable than gold to save my precious job. So far it worked, but I was very tired all day last week. While each and every one of my precious dorks were on my mind I was just a little preoccupied with visions of hobos and a disapointed Roy to do any more than cry and sleep.
Not really.
So, let's just skip over last week. Last week is dead to me.
I have snored my entire life. I think I have at least. I always hear people say things like "Did you fight a walrus in your sleep last night?".
And for 23 years it has been funny. I snore, other people don't sleep, I snore, and then Easter comes in the spring. Well, I decided recently to buy some of that snore spray such and such and such. It works. I even tried the strip things and then ...
anyways I sleep better now.
That was an all time low for the blog I think.
Friday night:
Me, R. Girl and the Lovely Couple all went to a high school football game. It was a freaking blowout, dorks. Some school kicked another schools ass by a large quantity of points. I don't really know. I was too busy checking out the hot 16-year-old in front of me and her sexy, sexy jailbait thongs.
Oh, and I'm not hip anymore. These kids these days don't tear up their hats or bend the brims. They wear white jackets and Skechers. I was fratted out, and I thought damned sexy. But, no, I was the dork who a group of 10-year-olds threw popcorn at. That really happened.
Saturday:
Me and The R. went camping out by Mt. Rainier (I accidently typed "Mr. Rainier" there, that would be whacky).
B: Gee, Mr. Rainier, we just wanted to do a little camping next to you.
Mr. Rainier: You kids are all right.
Nature fucking rocks. There were trees and I lost a frisbee and we drank beer and R. Girl wouldn't let me keep a big stick I found and poked at a fire with and there was a river and these rocks and the toilets didn't flush and we had pancakes for DINNER!
And I really like R. Girl. She's like the female me.
B: You know what I really like?
R. Girl: Clouds that look like boobs.
B: Yes, but Nirvana ....
R. Girl: ... couldn't have lasted creatively if Cobain hadn't sucked on a lead slug. Yes, I know. Now, shut up and pass the vodka.
So, there was that.
Today at work was this.
N.I.D. Girl: My throat hurts and I can't really talk. I said my throat hurts and I can't really talk. Clyde, my throat hurts and I can't really talk. My throat, which is where I breath and magic makes the letters into sounds, is hurty like hurtsville so I can't talky walky mcsquawky fawky. I want ice cream because my throat is soar and those words I just spoke hurt more to speak but these are hurting and then I saw a cat.
Thank god for the snore spray, dorksluts, because todays hangover would have been packed with stabbings if I hadn't gotten my deep R.E.M. cycle goodness.

Two trailer park dorks go 'round the outside, round the outside, 'round the outside.
Guess who's back ... back again ... dorks suck face ... tell a friend.
Guess who's back .... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... nanana
I created a monster because everybody wants to read about dorks and more, nobody cares about B ... I'm chopped liver. Well, if you want dorks than this is what I'll give you a little Nintendo mixed with hard liqour.

I'll never leave you behind again for so long, dork baby slut fucks.

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