10 April 2006

Work Is Hard

And evidently, it is even harder to keep foolish promises. But, I suppose that's what makes a promise foolish to begin with-- the inherent difficulty in keeping it. But, I don't want you to think that I don't want to dispense insults and observations rendered meaningless by a bravado born solely from the comforts of anonymity, updated twice daily. (Ah, the good ol' days!) Even this poor excuse for a post is strung together fiendishly, during rare moments of down time when I'm not getting some cunt her $14 salad "no tortilla strips, dressing on the side, please." It's really sad to think that a gig this shitty is still an upgrade from the last one-- except of course, in the blogging realm, of which there is now essentially none. Uh, sorry.

In any event, I did find time to write a blog last week, which is a lot more along the lines of all the blogs I hate; i.e., self-concerned. I always wanted this particular blog to be about anything except me. I didn't realize it would become so obsessed with Google's global takeover, but che sera sera. Besides, I prefer my narcissism manifest in ways much less trite (and in some ways much more trite) than a fucking blog. In this particular self-concerned blog entry, which you'll find syndicated below, you'll find out why I made this decision at the start. (Spoiler alert: It's because I suck.) Enjoy?

Computer Charlie / I Wish I Were a Retard

There's a guy who comes to my place of work once a week [usually on Fridays, but he is here today ("today" = Thursday)]. His name is Charlie, and he fixes our computers and resolves miscellaneous technical issues. Every week, the day before he comes in, they send out an email, and the subject line always says "Re: Computer Charlie." The emails are just to let us know Charlie is coming, and to therefore let our facilities guy know if we have any issues that need resolving. By Charlie.

Charlie is overweight, has receding hair and is a man in his late 30s to early 40s with fucking braces. He eats Peanut M&Ms by the handful and he chews with his mouth open. Charlie is also really, really smart-- at least when it comes to computer shit.

I am terribly jealous of Charlie. This is not hard for me to explain.

Because I've come to realize that the subjects upon whom I focus my jealousy have always been peculiar (to say the least), Charlie is just one of many people whom most others would not flatter with jealousy. I am jealous of Charlie because I glamorize and oversimplify his life. This is easy to do because it is so obviously different from mine.

Charlie doesn't have to give a shit about all the bullshit that I worry about and agonize over; and, because I have no idea what his bullshit is, I like to pretend he doesn't have any bullshit of his own. Charlie doesn't give a fuck if he's fat. Charlie doesn't give a fuck if he's bald (or, perhaps he at least doesn't mind too much). Charlie doesn't give a fuck if you think he looks ridiculous in braces, even if he is pushing forty... forty... I'm gonna say forty...two? This last "Charlie doesn't give a fuck if..." is the one most anchored in truth, because the very fact that Charlie has the fucking braces at his age is evidence that he weighed the probability of public ridicule and still went for it. (Such chutzpa!) Charlie is a computer guy, and he's fucking good at being a computer guy. And that's enough for him. As far as the fat/bald/braces/pure slob thing, he just says "fuck it all." Or, so I imagine. And that's why I'm jealous of Charlie.

But enough about Charlie. I'm even more jealous of retards. This is an even older jealousy than my jealousy for Charlie. You see, mental retardation is a whole new stratosphere of not giving a fuck. I don't mean Jessica Simpson retarded. I mean, a bonafide re-re. The source of this jealousy is the same deal as with Charlie, just more exaggerated. Imagine going through life not caring about social mores, people stealin' yo flava or even Bob Barker. Imagine not only going through life not caring about these things, but being largely unaware of them and their significance. Imagine not having any fucking idea what "significance" means.

Pee peed on someone's couch? And it wasn't covered in plastic? No problem. You won't even remember in about ten minutes. And people can't get pissed (no pun intended) at you for peeing on their couches, or just being an asshole in general, simply because you're a fucking retard. If they yell at you, then they're the assholes. Fucking sweet deal. I mean, do retards even have to pay for bullshit like rent? Or Pumas? Sure, maybe the sneakers provided to retards aren't Puma quality, but I often wear shoes with velcro as it is (yes, my fashion sense is already, quite literally, retarded), so it really wouldn't be much of a downgrade to have to wear them every day. Just sayin'.

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