Desk lunches

So this year's SuperBowl has given me yet another reason that I fucking hate my job. You see, I work in the auto business.....and as most people know sales are down big time. In the last year, the amount of sales people we have working at my place has been virtually cut in half(and this wasn't a huge place to begin with). So when you have a small group of people to pull from it begins to get much more difficult to fill up a simple SuperBowl Box pool.

For the few of you who do not know what this pool is, go fuck yourself and live in this website, as I will not explain something that should be common knowledge. Typically, I am in at least 4 or 5 pools....this year-not one! Is it the economy??? No work pool, or even other people calling me up to be in one!

I do not need the pool to get me psyched for the game, I love football and my Steelers are in, but the fact that I do not have a work SuperBowl Box pool is reason #165 why I hate my job. Ever since we have been going with a skeleton crew, I can't even leave for lunch. Leaving for lunch used to be the best part of the day. Even deciding where to go for lunch was enjoyable. But now, if I leave for lunch it's a big fucking issue as I end up leaving the workplace understaffed. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Now I eat at my desk., like a fucking loser.

When you eat at your desk, you still have to deal with work crap. Phone, idiot customers, and other employees. For the most part, the guys I work with are all ok, but I am here from 9am until 8pm......a one hour brake would do us all fine.

As I read this post over, I find that it is not very funny at all, in fact, it is so true that it depresses the shit outta me. If anyone has a decent job out there for me, let me know. Until then, let me leave you with my prediction: Pittsburgh 27 Arizona 13. Go Steelers.

Toddlers and Tiaras!!

Sacopapa reporting for duty. I hate to say this, but what the fuck is wrong with us and reality TV shows. Holyshit, has anyone heard of Toddlers and Tiaras? OK, I’m going to give you my top 10 reasons why it so fucking wrong to string your kids up like a fucking Muppet and parade them like fucking chimps. Here we go.

1. You were the least popular chick in school and now you are trying to make up through your daughters looks.
2. You’re trying to compete with the next door neighbor but you will never get there. You’re fat, your kids are fat and you’ll always be fat.
3. Ever thought of having your kid live a normal life? How about playing with a Barbie doll or playing outside. Stupid bitch.
4. Quit trying to be an attention whore. You suck, your kids suck and worst of all, your husband sucks for approving this whole cock a mania idea!!
5. If your husband approves of this, he’s really gay and probably wears better G-strings than you.
6. Now that your kid is mentally disabled by your great parenting, don’t be surprise if she ends up behind bars or just mentally disturbed.
7. Great, no one wants to know that she was a baby star and now she’s filming Porn.
8. Mom and Dad, I hate you both. I hope the both of you rot in hell.
9. You have been a great contribution to society and now the world can end with a cosmic crash!! Go fuck yourself and quit forcing your kids to do something they don’t want to do. Ever hear of soccer moms??
10. Ever hear of JonBenét Ramsey?

That’s it in a nut shell. Sacopapa out!!!

Stupid Bowl

So I’m putting together a Superbowl Pool this week, which in any normal office you could fill out fairly quickly. Not in this office. Compared to normal people I know I’d say I have average sports knowledge, but compared to the drones in my office I’m fucking Mike Lupica.There is even a Brazilian guy who works in my office that is not into soccer. That’s like a gorilla that doesn’t like bananas. The office is a sports black hole.

There is one guy who is a baseball fan and he ruins it by liking the Red Sox and another guy who likes to gamble on anything. Now apart from having to catch people when they are not in meetings to participate in the pool, I have to explain how the fucking thing works to everybody. Why do I do this? Red Sox boy and gambler had been begging me when I was out to lunch with them a few days ago and agreeing was the only way I could change the topic.

I whip the pool together on excel in a flash. With help from Bill Buckner and Pete Rose, we recruit people and are filling out a good portion of the grid. I carefully avoid bible thumpers and idiots. Bill and Pete aren’t so careful, before I can stop them I see them talking to the wire transfer lady. Not a bad person and does her job fine, but just an old school cackling hen.

I come over and it’s 20 questions. Mind you, I prepared a sample sheet and printed instructions so my two co-workers don’t get in to trouble. I explain to her that it doesn’t matter what teams wins, and that yes Pittsburg is quite cold this time of year, but the game is in Tampa. No, the Dolphins aren’t playing I tell her. A finance guy walks by and helps out explaining the grid. She talks very loud and this has become a 15 minute ordeal and we are supposed to be working. After all that shit, I’m like, “ok, pick your block, five bucks”. She looks at me right in the eyes and says, “Ah, nah, I don’t want to.”

Like a fucking kick in the balls. I should have slapped her in the face on principal alone. Once again I’m Charlie Brown and Lucy is a fucking fifty-five year old hag. Fuck me.

I did have a good lunch as Bill and Pete treated me to Chili’s to laugh about that shit. I am the Robotman.

My State of the Art Computers

Right now, it sucks to be Alteregoman. Why, you ask?? Well, where do I start. Ah, yes, we'll start with my state of the art computers. Surely, I jest. I have a desktop computer from, you know what, I don't even remember. I think 2002, I have no fucking clue. The bottom line is, as one can imagine, its 2009. If it were up to Queen Succubus, this would have been in the trash in 2006. I'm surprised the fucker still works. And it does, but boy is my patience wearing thin.

For example, just a half hour ago I started it up. Its like a car, it has to warm up for a few minutes to work effectively. Let me rephrase that, it has to warm up for a few minutes to work. Period. After waiting 5 minutes (avg wait time)I read SugarKing's post and wanted to make a comment, a simple one minute task. Not for Alteregoman. For me, the process took 15 minutes. (I used to get really pissed off, now I just get semi aggravated). After what seemed like an eternity, I posted the comment and forgot to log on under my name. Great, I am such an asshole!! Damn it, here we go again. I tried to log on, and I did, 5 MINUTES LATER!!! Unreal..

It gets better. Since I just moved recently, I have no desk because the old one was garbage and had to be discarded. And I can't afford one right at this moment. So I have the guajiro special, two trays put together in this perpendicular formation. The keyboard and monitor take up 50% of the space. There are 2 small lansing speakers on the corners. My mouse pad is, hold on, I have to take a look. This is actually funny. (I remember seeing this guy in the middle of the night on every fucking channel on TV). I have this Carlton Sheets No Down Payment Step-by-Step manual as my mouse pad which also doubles as my writing area. I have room for a drink and maybe an ashtray but that's it. I shit you not.

I haven't yet discussed the laptop, which at the time of purchase, was another kick-ass piece of machinery. Now, not so much. It works perfectly fine except for one little issue. The o button doesn't work. And at any moment, if you're in Word or some type of writing program, the o just starts popping up continuously, like this...ooooooooooooooooooooooooo....
Pretty fucking weak, huh. Any guess what your Highness' suggestion was like 2 years ago?? Throw it away. Typical. "Get a new one." Thats her response for everything, even if its new. Must be nice being rich.

I am happy to report the piece of shit prehistoric desktop actually held up during me writing this crap. At any moment, it could've frozen, leaving me wondering whether its stuck or just painstakingly slow. Who fucking knows. I pray it saves this shit before spazzing. Personally, I feel like whipping this processor against a concrete wall. Soon, grasshopper, soon....

I hope you enjoyed this private bitch and whine fest with Alteregoman and my state of the art computers. Until next time, peace. I'm out.........

Hurry, hurry, step right up.....

So the other day my wife asks me if I think it would be a good idea to take our son to Ringling Bros & Barnum Bailey Circus for his one year birthday this March, as the circus will be in town. Personally, I can not see how a one year old will enjoy the circus, he just is not old enough yet--I could be wrong, after all, what the fuck do I know---but I bet he will enjoy it as much as seeing the crappy NJ Nets.....and at least I like to see the Nets. So I tell her that I do not think it would be a good idea and I explain to her my reasons. So that's that.

Not really.

About 30 minutes later she calls me over by the computer and tells me she can get second row tickets for seventy bucks. That's $70 each, and that's before all of the bullshit ticketmaster charges, so we are likely talking a number just north of $150. Then she asks, "Should I buy these right now?"
Dear God(or any other fictional being from the heavens), please give me the strength.
She knows the answer, but she is asking me again. In fact, she went searching for the tickets after she asked and knew my opinion was that this was not a good idea. Why even bother asking me? Asking me would insinuate that my answer matters......when clearly.......it...does........not.

Bottom line is this: she wants to do this and thinks it's a good idea. I am beaten down, well-trained, an enabler, and I know that my opinion matters little when she thinks differently. So do I battle her with my logic, create a fuss, and ask her why she is searching for tickets when she knew I did not think it was a good idea or do I give it my blessing in an effort to bring peace to the home.

Call me a wimp, call me what you will.....but I hope the elephants do not shit too close to me.

Evidence Exhibit #374

So here we have Evidence Exhibit #374 in my continuing thesis, entitled, "Why I Have No Faith In the Human Race".

Some idiot in NY is baking obviously racist, offensive cookies and proclaiming that he doesn't know what's wrong with them.

Stay tuned for his other non-racist cookie varieties like Sprinkles Spic Cookie, Jew Jam Muffin, and Flat-Faced Almond Asian. Yum-yum, almonds!

Family Affair

My whole family got pissed at me during dinner last Wednesday, because of this site and especially because of fucking Sacopapa. Like I don’t waste enough time on this fucking site as it is. Before I get into why they got pissed, let me outline the cast of characters.

1. First we have The Furor. You may know her from my previous posts. Basically what she says goes. Condoleezza and Hillary have nothing on her. She’d be dropping nukes and making OPEC say uncle. I am not playing. She’s the fucking boss and that shit is cool with me as long as I have alcohol, smoke, and can watch my current shows. I am a man of simple tastes.

2. Next on the list is my daughter, 14, who I call “Fashion Show”. If you see her getting ready in the morning you’d think she was headed for the catwalk instead of fucking middle school. Her room looks like a clothing explosion went off at the Twilight premier party. I don’t mind, but it gets The Furor mad, which I receive shrapnel from, so I beg Fashion Show to clean up for sanity’s sake. She also is the only person who dares talk back to and yell at The Furor. My son and I usually head for the hills when this happens. Lucky for her she is an honor student. I told to let me know a day in advance if she ever has to show her mom an F. I’ll be working late that night.

3. Then there is my son, almost 17, his look is kind of a mismatched hippie punkrocker with a side serving of 50cent. He quit High School Baseball last year, which sucked for me but almost gave his Cuban baseball fanatic grandfather another heart attack. He is currently on a job search and getting his driver’s license soon. I can’t wait to see my new auto insurance bill. He keeps his room clean, is passing his classes, and The Furor has accepted that he will not get a haircut. He just stays quiet when The Furor gets mad at him. This gets her mad, but not nearly as mad as Fashion Show’s backtalk.

6. Last and least (the dogs are #4 and #5) there is the Robotman, which if you have read my other posts, you get the picture.

So,I get home from work last Wednesday. My wife is making dinner, a nice meat and vegetable soup since it was a bit chilly out for Florida. It will be ready in 20 minutes or so she says. It was looking like an evening of sheer domestic bliss. Since I have a few minutes, I sit at the computer and surf foobies for a quick peek and then I go to my wife hates me. Cool, I notice a new Sacopapa post. Off the bat he mentions his father-in-law so I already know this is going to be good. After reading about the shit, the breaking of shit, the butterknife, the fucking bananas, I almost piss my pants laughing. Disgusting yet hysterical.

My wife calls me for dinner as the kids are already sitting down. I go over still fucking giggling and thinking about the shit post. They ask what I am laughing at and I start telling them about the post while my wife is serving the food. They are all starting to dig into dinner when I get to the part, still laughing, about the piece of shit the size of a midget leg. Suddenly, all hell breaks loose, and I quickly stop the snickering.

Fashion Show gags on the soup, eyes watering and unable to speak. Later she told me soup went out her nose. My son drops his spoon, “fucking dad, we’re eating”. If I wasn’t his dad I think he would have punched me in the face. The Furor looked at me like I just ate a box of fucking crayons, just completely disgusted at my existence and speechless for a moment (a brief moment).

The dinnertime discussion was pretty much her talking about what an immature ill-mannered idiot I am with my kids agreeing 100% while I ate my soup still chuckling inside at the banana-shit post. I am the Robotman and I’m starting to think my wife may hate me.

Howard the Duck

So I head out to work this morning, thrilled as usual. I turn the corner and drive about half the block until I have to slow down because there, in the roadway, are 2 ducks. There just chilling crossing the street in my lane. I have nothing against ducks. As a matter of fact, when Queen Succubus and I have breakfast at a local place, I often say," Hey check out the duckies...". Pretty gay, I know. And by the some of the looks she's given me after hearing this comment for like the 750th time, I'm sure she thinks its pretty gay too. I proceed to swerve around the "duckies" and continue along my way. The person behind me does the same thing. These fucking ducks have it better than us humans. Unreal.

The thing about these ducks is that they're like mutant ducks. I've seen some that could weigh 15-20 lbs. Totally harmless, non-aggressive, but still abnormally large. Or maybe not. I'm not a fucking farmer or duck breeder. All I know is whenever I feel like any of my limbs are in danger with any animal, I'm fucking wary. So I proceed on my merry ride. I hit the main road and speed up to 35- 40 mph, the speed limit. I go 2 blocks and the light turns yellow. Fuck it, I think, I'm taking this bitch.

As I speed through the yellow light, out of the corner of my right eye, I see 2 ducks taking flight. Now, I have pretty good hand to eye coordination. I swear to God, when I saw the ducks taking off, I thought, "Holy Shit, am I gonna hit one of those...." I didn't even get to finish the thought. I closed my eyes and WHAM!!!!! 20!!!!! I fucked that duck up Looney Tunes style. I hit that fucker so hard I thought it might have cracked my windshield. And by the sound of the impact, it was a rather large one. Luckily, my windshield is not broken because I would have been one pissed off motherfucker with a hilarious broken car window story. And possibly sporting numerous lacerations due to flying shards of glass at 40mph.

Don't worry the duck survived the initial shot. After I pulverized it, I saw it in my rearview, feathers flying all over the place, looking to land in the median. He was rocked though. Serves em right. Next time that particular duck (if it lived) will think twice about flying carelessly through roadways with traffic. And I hope he spreads the message along to all the other stupid ducks as well. "Stay the fuck out of the street!! Go back to the lake or wherever the fuck you came from and stop slowing down traffic!!!"

Until next time, peace. I'm out......

Mask Man is a Fag

Sacopapa reporting for duty. Not much to share this week as it's been very quiet around here. My father in law finally went home and hopefully he is using his own butter knife to cut his shit apart. There is a god!

This week has been nothing but conference calling and corporate training. Even though I work from home, I still have to attend training to stay on top of my game. These conference calls usually consist of a few guys and every once in a while we get chicks to attend. They usually last anywhere between 30 minutes to an hour. Every time we join these calls we kind of bullshit a bit before the meeting begins. Most of guys talk about sports, beer drinking and hot chicks. Well, the moderator is from NY, lives in the Village and is a flaming Homo. He is super smart and does a great job giving the presentations. Like Seinfeld once said " Not that there is anything wrong with it". But I can't stand when he gets all girlie and start talking about what he does on the weekends.

We talk about sport, chicks, cars and this bitch talks about candle parties at his house. It's like you can hear a pin drop over the phones when he starts to talk. I'm pretty sure everyone is muted and are cracking up listening to Petunia. I know he is trying to fit in, but we don't want to hear that shit.

Anyway, I think it's wrong and bitch, please keep your shit to yourself. There is no point to this story except that fags quit trying to fit in with straight people. Go back to your fucking smelly candle parties and quit telling people what you do on your own personal time. We don't want to hear it or even know about it. Also, please stop with the fag laughs when you get carried away, it's really fucking annoying.

Here is a small clip of Lenny Bruce talking about Fags. Enjoy.

Sacopapa Out!!

Gates of Steel

I live in one of those cookie cutter gated communities. My home is nice and fairly new. The neighbors are decent enough and more importantly don’t park in, around, or block my driveway. This was a constant struggle and source of aggravation for me when I lived in no-parking available Northeast New Jersey, so I really appreciate it. One of the next-door neighbor families we call the Incas, nice people, but take away the Wal-Mart clothes, add some ponchos and llamas, and it’s a National Geographic photo. (Sacopapa’s father-in-law would have a field day). My other next-door neighbors are an older couple from Chicago, so thankfully no actual born and bred Floridians next door. After that it’s the usual assortment of multi-race families, boob jobs, and cops. Florida has many different types of law enforcement always driving around doing God knows what when they are not giving me tickets (State, Sheriff, City, County, School Board, Town, Postal, Animal, DEA, Customs, ATF, just endless) and many of them live in gated communities and like to park their police cars in the driveway. I even have a fire investigator nearby who parks his police style fire car in his driveway. You would think I’m set if I’m ever robbed or have a fire. Not that I’d bank on it, but you would think.

My community has an Association which you are forced to pay an annoying amount of money to every month. This is for upkeep of the grounds, clubhouse, useless gate guards, basic cable (which now they cancelled and didn’t lower the fee!), that type of shit. The association needs leaders who decide if Jill can paint her house pastel blue or if Joe can park his canoe in the driveway. Real fucking life and death shit. Since most fucking people have jobs, guess who are the leaders of this Association? Old retired white people. No offense to old retired white people, but who wants them choosing décor, making rules, and hiring 3rd party services? No one, that’s who, not even white people. They actually get voted in as barely anyone votes and only other old retired white people are running against the incumbents.

Here are excerpts from a random posting on my community website (that by the way, the old retired white people don’t access or post on the site) to get a little taste for things…

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Yes I agree with (so and so) we need to know the number of foreclosures and also the number of people not paying the dues...we definitely need to know this before the new HOA fees effective. I am paying my dues on time and I am not responsible for others. Everyone is in this economic crisis...paying too much for everything mortgage, insurance, gas...and now HOA fee increase no way this is ridiculous. With a HOA fee $134 and separate cable we are going to spend close to $200 on a monthly basis…After all paying these fees.., the security company is not doing their job right, they are allowing the visitors without calling the home owners…
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There are dozens of posts and threads like this. The HOA (homeowners association) is a cartoonish preposterous imitation of any type of formal organization and really should be put out of their misery. I’d kill them myself if it wasn’t for that fact that I’d probably go to jail.

So several months ago after much nagging and needling from my wife and I “agree” to have the outside of the house painted. Little did I know what was in store with this undertaking. First step was to go to the clubhouse and see one of the hired managers/attendants. Mostly they are always out to lunch but you can catch them for a few minutes a day. First trip is my wife and daughter. My wife is from Costa Rica and her English isn’t that great and the manager ladies have thick Jamaican* accents, so my daughter, on my suggestion, went along as translator. I should have filmed that shit and posted it on You Tube.

From what they told me, the lady wasn’t exactly unfurling the pom-poms at their arrival at the office. The lady tells my wife she can pick the color form the pre-approved color “color wheel” and it can be approved then and there. My wife asks if she can take the wheel home. The lady says a refundable deposit of $100.00 is required and it will be returned after the painting is done and the house is inspected by some person the old white people hired. Like we are going to steal it with them knowing our address. My wife doesn’t have the checkbook and is slightly annoyed, and decides she doesn’t like any of the colors on the color wheel. The lady really could give two shits and is following the retarded rules of the Association, so she gives the “planned construction” approval form to my wife, since she didn’t like the colors on the stupid wheel.

I arrive home from the job with all the meetings and get ambushed by my wife and daughter about the forms, the lady, the paint, the $100, and other assorted topics. They drone on and on for 30 minutes not even giving me a chance to get out of the “business casual” costume I’m forced to wear to work. Next up, my wife says we are off to Home Depot to pick the color we will have the house painted. Once there, I just say yes to any color she mentions and wait for her to decide. If there is a color I do particularly like, I say no as that will increase the chances of that color getting picked.

Since the wife was handling the hiring of good painters, a task which I wouldn’t want normally, much less in the Banana Republic of South Florida, I got the task of filling out the “planned construction” approval form, turning it in to the lady and finding out the next steps. I fill out the form and attach a color sample, savage sands, or whatever the fucking name was, and the $100 check.

After like 3 days of dropping by the clubhouse with no one there and the pressure from the wife, I finally catch the lady one day at 420pm turning off her computer with purse and key in hand. Mind you, this fucking place is supposed to be open till 6pm. She looks at me like I fucking spilled milk on her dress or something. I explain that I am having my house painted and before I can even finish my sentence she whips out the color wheel and tells me to pick a color. I explain the situation. She says the association meets once a month for pre-construction approval (which includes picking a paint that is not on the fucking bullshit wheel that I just want to shove up this lady’s ass). She tells me that the next association “construction approval” meeting is in 3 weeks and then they will mail me their decision. The Furor was not amused when I arrived home and told her this last bit of information, and somehow I was to blame.

The paint color was finally approved and a few painful weeks later I had a freshly painted house. Now I had to turn in the inspection request form, and after the inspection I could get my check back. A few days later I turn in the form.

Around 5 months later (yesterday) I’m at the back gate (no guard gate) of my community after leaving work a bit early to finally pick my $100 deposit check from the paint hassle, as they have managed to evade me for months. The fucking gate doesn’t open, the brand new $30 gate entry chip sticker I was forced to wait in line for last SATURDAY at the clubhouse that is now needed to get into the community doesn’t seem to be working…..fuck…..making the u-turn for the one mile drive to the front gate I remember my wife also mentioned she wants to screen in part of the backyard (construction approval hell part duex) …..it never fucking ends.

*Disclaimer: While I do think most people are lame and gross, I have nothing in particular against Jamaicans, Costa Ricans, Incans, or white people. It just so happens that those cultures are involved in this sad and factual tale. I am the Robotman.

Ticket please...

So I am a huge sports fan, and while my wife may hate me, she actually likes sports--and that's works out well for us. Ever since our son was born(a mere 10 months ago) going to sporting events has become a bit trickier......but in the last two weeks, I have gone to the Meadowlands twice to see my crappy NJ Nets with my wife and son.

The first time we went, everything went fairly well except having to park near Giant Stadium---making it a big trek to the Izod Arena(not that I am used to calling it the Izod Arena....honestly, I still refer to it as Brendan Byrne, which was a couple of names ago). The fucking arena is only 60% full and they send us to Giant Stadium to park??? What the fuck! Anyway, my son behaved, we had a good time, and the Nets even won and Beyonce brought some friends. I did have the long trek back to the car, in freezing weather, while carrying my wrapped and bundled up son, but I left enjoying the experience. Very cool.

Now on to my second visit: we do not get there as early, but yet we can park near the arena(and they seemed to have a bigger crowd, so who the fuck can guess at the parking logic)---great start as we zip right in to the arena. As we are showing are tickets to get in, the ticket collecter that puts the red light over the barcode of the ticket says to me:

"Anything one day or more needs a ticket."

I say: "What?" she says: "Anything one day or more needs a ticket."

Not understanding what the fuck she is talking about, I say: "What do you mean, if 'what' is one day or more?"

She replies, "The baby, if the baby is one day or more, he needs a ticket."

You fucking cunt of a woman. She uses the word 'anything' to refer to my son! My son is not a thing!

Part of any incompetence in public I deal with also includes me keeping my wife calm. She tends to flip out with incompetent workers like this ticket-collecting bitch. I think the best way get things resolved is to stay calm and reason with people(most of the time). Now if this ticket-collecting idiot would have said that everyone needs a ticket, that's one thing, but she actually feels that a newborn of less than 24 hours might come to an event.....fucking idiot.

So I say, "Older than one day? So if my wife would have gone through labor today, my son would be allowed in without a ticket?"

After a blank look and a pause she says, "Those are rules." My wife screams, "Those are NOT the rules, the rules state anyone 24 months and younger are allowed in without a ticket!"

Ticket-collecting whore smugly says, "That's for Disney events."

Wife rips back, "That's for ALL Izod events!" Ticket-bitch, not giving a shit, says, "Then you need a supervisor."

Quote from the Izod Center website:

AGE POLICY For ALL events at IZOD CENTER, patrons who are 2 years of age or older must have a valid ticket to gain admission.

My wife is on the warpath. She had checked the website and knew the info, she knew we did not need a ticket for our son.....her gun was loaded. In the next a couple of minutes(while trying to get a so called supervisor), we argued about her staying calm, while I told her to let me do the talking(that's me thinking reason would prevail). We speak to a couple of people, no one knows the god damn rules. Un-fucking-believable. They have us wait, while different supervisor-types have conferences and mull our situation over. My wife was spewing venom as we were waiting, while I was telling her to stay calm and act reasonable.

One guy ends up coming over and says, "Sir, you should enter through the other entrance....your seats are closer to that entrance." None of them knew the rules, so they told me to use a different ticket-collector. Pathetic, but we go right on through. So we sent an email the next day to let them know how shitty their employees are.......but that will be another post as that saga is ongoing.

Oh, and the Nets lost this time......and Beyonce was not there.

Elvis has left the building!!

Sacopapa reporting for duty. I hate to say this, but once again, I had a horrible fucking week with my father in law. If only he could have been 20 years younger, I would of scraped his old ass all over the side walk. Not sure if you know this, but old people have a hard time shitting. They get constipated by eating one fucking banana. This Nigga decides to eat at least 6 to 7 bananas a day. Are you fucking for kidding me?

Sacopapa Junior has been asking me everyday, “Daddy, where are all the bananas?” I of course don’t pay attention to it as I’m trying to do work and take care of my daughter. We’ll just call her Mojonsita, since she’s a little shit and acts just like her mom. Anyway, I went to the store and bought more. By the 3rd day, I’m like, “what the fuck, where are all the bananas going?” I bust this Nigga taking up to 3 bananas into my son’s room. I had to do it, and so I did, I asked him, “Why are you eating so many bananas?” His response, which I should of dropped kick him in the balls was, “Because I need all the potassium I can get.” My brain started to turn like a Hamster on a wheel and tried to remember if I had seen him or smelled him shitting in our kid’s bathroom. Nope, he has not!!!

I have heard of the poop of death and I started to panic. Anyway, the day was over and we all went to bed. The next day was dooms day! He started the morning by having 4 cups of coffee, egg whites, 2 pieces of toast and Exlax! I knew exactly what he was up to. I calmly had my breakfast and watch him in a mortified way, like I was 13 and was watching the Exorcist. He finished all his heart attack food and sat in the living room. Took nothing but 10 minutes for him to get up and go to the bathroom.

After 20 minutes he came out and asked me for a butter knife. I got up and asked him, “Why do you need a butter knife?” His fucking response was, “It’s to cut this bad boy up and flush him down!” I fucking looked by mistake into the toilet and immediately threw up in my mouth. Not enough to projectile, but enough to taste the gag in my mouth. This was the perfect time for me to say out loud, “HOLYSHIT, did that come out of your ass?!!!” He starred at me and was like, “Don’t worry; you’ll go through it too.” I’ll go threw it too?! What!!! I looked at him and said “you must be fucking high, how about quit eating all my bananas and quit shitting like a fucking gorilla!” He shook his head and still had the audacity to ask me for the fucking butter knife. I lost it on him. How dare you use my eating utensil to cut your shit apart, what kind of a fucking man are you? By now, I’m thinking, how the fuck is that “bad boy” going to be flushed down. The thing looked like a fucking midget leg.

Fuck me, Sacopapa to the rescue. I took his ass to the side of the garage, cut down a piece of branch and gave it to him. I told him to cut his shit up and try flushing it. He did and oops, the inedible happened. The toilet over flowed! This is when you become religious and start questioning god. Why me god? I could have sworn I heard a small whisper in my ear, “because you’re Sacopapa”. So I got a respirator mask placed over my grill, picked up the plunger and went to town. Damn that had to be the worst shit I have ever done in my life. I was so freaked out from all of this, that I called Queen Sheba and cursed her out for being his daughter.

We finally took him to his animal kingdom where he can do whatever the fuck he likes. He can use his own utensils to cut his own shit up. Not in my house, no way, no how and not in this lifetime. Old people are gross; I will be the old guy to blow out my brains if I ever have to use a butter knife to cut my own shit. I have come to the conclusion that I’m a germ o phobic, so I’ll leave you with a little George Carlin with regards to germs.




Sacopapa out!!

Inauguration Blues

In general, I just don’t get the whole Obama-Mania thing, but wanted to nonetheless watch the inauguration (one friend just told me to drink the Kool-Aid already). One thing for sure, our new president gives great speeches and he did not let down. It was delivered flawlessly and was positive, motivating, and as partisan as possible. Godspeed Mr. President.

A few observations.

You have to be kidding me with the homely poem lady. What the hell was that? This lady follows Obama, one of the great orators of our time with a weak ass def-jam poetry appearance. Why don’t you just get Sinbad to do 5 minute of stand up? What the fuck? JFK had Robert Frost at his inauguration, a once in a lifetime thing. I don’t care what anyone says. No one was into that lady. Maybe if she was hot I could see it. I will never in my life figure this out. I am genetically incapable of comprehending the homely poem lady after the Obama Inauguration Speech. Bizarre.

There was one shot during the speech where you could see Bush and Cheney sitting with Obama in the background. It’s funny to imagine what they were thinking. I’m sure Bush was thinking about the ranch and getting the fuck home. Exit stage left like the Alien in Spaceballs. Cheney on the other hand I draw a blank. There with his hat and fancy earmuffs looking like a statue.

……it’s freezing I want this to end…..this Obama needs a punch in the face….fucking W needs a bitchslap…...oh yeah, have to call the callgirl agency for tonight, I hope Ms.Honey Melons is available….wonder if Palin wants to go Moose hunting, loved to get a piece of that ass…

Really it could be anything. I would love to know what it was.

Bill Clinton, even in the freezing cold, eyes moving, scoping potential pussy. A year ago he was on the fast track to the White House as the first “First Gentleman”. This guy was getting play in the White House as President, I can only imagine living in the White House without an actual job. He would have eventually just fucked every chick that worked there. Today’s teenage boys owe him a debt of gratitude. Back in my day it was easier to get laid (which was not easy at all) than to get a blowjob. Now ask any 16 year old boy and he will tell it is the age of the blowjob. Bill really loosened up “third base” to say the least.

I’d be scared to piss off Michelle Obama. She’s got some big shoulders and muscles. Plus with that big jaw, her mad face must be very frightening. I think she could take Obama. He better not be thinking about getting blowjobs like Bill. He will get his ass kicked.

Before I close I again wish the 44th President the best of luck. Now to take me out of my Inauguration Blues, the greatest band in the history of rap……

Lunchtime with Alteregoman...

So I go to lunch on Thursday. Unfortunately, I had to run errands, which meant going to 2 different banks. Whenever I have to eat on the run, I love to have McDeath's. Some nice artery hardening comfort food on the go. I head over and I immediately notice there's a line. Not a small line either. There are like 7 cars. I figure, in normal surroundings, this should constitute no longer than a 10- minute wait at the most. But this is Florida, which has the worst customer service in the 50 states. Anyway, I wait for 5 minutes and the line doesn't move. And of course, my car is in the middle of the street (great architectural drive-thru design). I say fuck it, I'll have some Burger Death, there's one next to the bank I'm heading towards anyway.

Well, as I head to the bank, I hit the traffic jam from hell. It's 2:30PM "why is there crazy traffic" I say to no one aloud. To make matters worse I'm all the way in the right lane and I have to get all the way to the left. With no traffic, no problem, in bumper to bumper traffic, a bitch, especially with the assholes that ride the streets daily. Well, after finally getting over to the lane I needed to get to, I see the source of the traffic jam. Some car is just stopped in the middle of the right lane. No hazards, no signs, just some random car parked in a 5 lane highway in the middle of the afternoon. Unfuckingreal.

I get to Burger-Death and it is just as packed as the other place. I go inside and place my order. They give me the soda container, this huge cup. I fill it up with Coke and I'm thinking, should I put a little more or is this enough?? I say fuck it and as I turn to go back to get my food, SPLASH!!!! I spill half this tank of Coke all over my right arm, my pants and my right shoe. Wonderful. Now, I'm Joe sticky right half. I slosh over to the counter and wait for my order. And wait, and wait and wait...... Two people that ordered after me come and go. Typical. I don't create a big stink because, at this point, I'm feeling defeated and dejected. I just bury my head in my hands, waiting, staring down at the cold metal counter. The most efficient lady (notice I didn't say manager) notices me standing there wallowing in my misery. I ask for help and she produces, getting me my microwaved meat by-product in 3 minutes. At this point, probably 45 minutes have passed and I still haven't even completed my banking shit.

I am finally almost done, as I exit the 2nd bank. As I get to the left turn out of this crazy mall area where the bank is located, I notice my favorite. Some clueless cretins sitting at one of the left turn lanes I have to make. To make matters worse, as I pull up alongside of them, they kinda sorta move out to make the turn but they stop right in the middle of the road. Now, myself and the other driver across from me are like, what's going on?? I don't hesitate. I hit the pedal to the metal. I blast my horn and scare the shit out of these two old bags, who shouldn't be behind the wheel much less out in public unsupervised. As I whip around them, I hear them yelling out, startled by my driving aggression. Man, FUCK YOU!!! I have to get to work. As I got to the light I looked in the rearview mirror and they were still sitting there. They're probably there right now and it's Sunday.

I don't know but that was lunchtime with Alteregoman....

Face to Facebook

I know it’s kind of gay, but I have an account on Facebook.

I tried myspace, but the interface is annoying and ugly. Also, I really don’t want to know that much about my kids. It’s just not healthy for anyone involved. Hopefully and probably what I taught them in their younger days will carry through and they will be good people, but with this whole middle age crisis thing going at the same time as the teenage “I know everything and am invincible” era (boy and girl so I get a taste of the both very different worlds) it’s not as easy as back in the day. So forget myspace patrolling. They have fucking cell phones I pay for if I need to contact them.

In the two months I’ve been on FB it’s cool to see what has become of old high school & college classmates, military buddies, or whatever. What is truly entertaining is to see what freaks they have become and which freaks became normal. Reformed druggies and wacked out bookworms. It’s more of a reunion thing at my age that a social calendar or contact list as I imagine it is for younger people.

Here are 10 notes or observations I made about FB:

1.Most single chicks in their 40’s are fucking out of their minds. That is some dangerous territory. Scary, scary stuff. Weird diets, yoga, cleansings, high on life. Whew. A guy needs be like 55-60 years old to deal with that. The extra years of wisdom are required. I would be just baffled.

2.“Your family is beautiful” is a very popularly used phrased on FB. “You look just the same” is a close second.

3. People are all so nice and friendly with open identities, rare on the internet. This is lightyears away from the hate spewing on the old “Klingon Ridges” threads on the Star Trek Discussion Forum before the answer was canonized.

4.No one I knew ever became famous. Not even close, Bud!

5.Most people I knew, including myself, are fat. The fat ones are still fat and many of the thin ones are now fat.

6.Hot chicks have many friends.

7.Married guys all have that “I have been domesticated and trained“ family picture posted. Like that wasn’t the guy with the beer funnel and bong tube in his mouth at the same fucking time a few years back. (note: that’s still you man!!)

8.Large of amounts people from North Jersey moved to South Florida. Like fucking geese flying down for the winter and staying forever.

9.Even though FB is kind of gay and lame, it’s much cooler than work.

10.My wife is my friend. On FB at least.

Well that’s all I have for now on this topic. If there is any observation you would like to add please comment, as FB seems to be a bottomless pit of material. Godspeed friends, I am the Robotman.

Ode To Booze or Daddy's Littlle Helper

So yes, the Happy Misenthrope has been MIA for the better part of the week. Suffice it to say life has been rough.

But I'm here to post two items to edify the community at large.

First off, I offer a quick endorsement of Lucid Absinthe. If you're like the Happy Misenthrope, alcohol is a regular accessory to your daily rigors. Therefore, let me point you to Absinthe. Yes, Absinthe, the mysterious drink associated with crazed artists, foggy streets, and hallucinatory tales. It's the drink that Edgar Allen Poe was so fond of, that supposedly made Van Gogh cut off his ear (not really), and that Johnny Depp's character in From Hell drank copious amounts of. And man, oh man, does it have my ringing endorsement. Now, let me tell you something, Absinthe isn't going to make you walk on water or see visions; it's fantastical traits are greatly exaggerated. Having said that, it's an exquisite drink. At 180 proof, it packs quite the kick. It's got a neat ritual of water, sugar, and spoons attached to it, and it gives a buzz like no other. And get this, no hangover. That's right, I'll say it again. I've drank quite a bit of Absinthe and have at times over indulged, and I have to say, the following morning I've woken up clean as a whistle. At $65 a pop, it's not cheap, but unless you're an absolute degenerate, it's going to last you a while. I'm quite the lush and a bottle last me a 2-3 weeks. Besides, if you're a grown man with a decent job you can afford to pay a little more for your vices. Would you rather get a blowjob from some crack whore or get with some smoking High Society Call Girl? Yea, thought so. Lucid Absinthe is your High Society Call Girl.

So there you go.

Next item on the agenda is this little diddy from the New York Times lovingly praising alcohol. Since alcohol so often gets a bad rep with all the talk of under age drinking and alcoholism and those damn prudes, Mothers Against Drunk Driving, trying to bring back Prohibition, I'm just glad to see a major media outlet flat out praise boozing that I had to post a link.

Cheers.

The Father In-Law

The Father In-Law

Sacopapa here reporting for duty. What a fucking week. My father in-law has been staying here after Angioplasty was performed on Saturday. Talk about the stench of old fucking gizzard aroma in the air. I’ve been trying to be cool with him, but he still looks at me like I should be cutting his grass at his house. Keep in mind that I’m from El Salvador and my wife is white. She is very cool, but when I first met her, she thought I was going to ask her for a job.
Anyway, thank god for my python as she now worships the ground I walk on. Her dad is another story. He can be cool at time, but other times, I want to drop kick him on the balls. Bitch, you’re in my house now. My rule, what I say goes. Yet, I still get mass shit from him. He can’t fucking hear and can’t fucking hit the back of the toilet when pissing. Guess who gets to clean up after that dirty old bastard? Yup, you are right, Sacofuckingpapa!!!
This shit is driving me crazy. He’s been sleeping on my son’s bed for 3 days now. I know I will have to get a new mattress after he leaves. I can already hear it fm sacopapa junior, “Dad, my bed stinks. It’s smell like Grandpa”. As the good father that I am, I will tell him that I will get a new mattress. Just for that, I will have to give Queen Sheba Anal for being his daughter. Great another shitty day!! Anyway, life sucks, my wife hates me, and my kids love me, plus work sucks. I should have been a sniper in the Army, so I would have a real fucking job taking care of business. Wink wink Robotman, you know what I mean.
I’m a Director of Operations for my own company. Meaning I get to deal with Assholes day and day out. All good since I work out of my house, which makes me more of a Sacopapa on a daily basis. Life is great, NOT!! Dealing with old people is like dealing with your kids. Fuck me; I hope he doesn’t die in my house tonight. Poor bastard can’t take care of himself. Been frying eggs for the past week at everything he requests. What can I do, just suck it up and deal with it, I guess. Anyway, more to report later in this week.
If you have old relatives living around you, MOVE!! Get the fuck out of dodge, not worth getting involved. If you can make it to the funeral only, that is the best route to go. Peace out and be cool. This is Sacopapa!!!

The Wank

So I know this guy, we'll call him Greg for our purposes, that took a nice trip to Ireland with his wife this past summer. Even though they were going to visit some of the wife's family, they decided to stay at a resort. That way, they would not have to rely on any favors from family and they could enjoy the luxuries that some of these fancy resorts offer. Nice set up with two weeks off from the rat race.

So one of the luxuries that they wanted to enjoy was the spa. Typically more of a chick-type thing to enjoy, but since Greg never had a massage before, this seemed like a perfect time. She wanted to do one of those 'couple's treatments' that include facials, massage, body wraps, and some other bullshit. That sounded like a big fucking hassle so Greg took the massage and his wife did that big treatment thing.

Since Greg has never had a massage, he was a little nervous about things. He knew he would have to strip down.....what if the masseuse was a guy!?!? Oofa.....that seems quite gay. What if it was a mega-hot babe? Now that sounds cool. But what about happy endings, we have all heard about that---do those things really happen, or do they just happen at those Asian offices hidden behind Adult Novelty Stores?? What if he does not get aroused, what then? Obviously, he was over thinking this whole thing. So he made the appointment and off he went.

So he gets there and gets introduced to the masseuse.......the big moment...female, young, and attractive. He kind of described her like that chick in X-Men(Rogue), who is now in True-blood, Anna Paquin.

--On a quick note, it is interesting to think of Rogue from the X-Men as a masseuse. Since her mutant ability is that of power absorption through touch, she could single-handedly destroy the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants with a big massage session.--

So Anna begins the massage and everything is going fine, in fact it is quite relaxing. Then she asks him to flip over. While lieing on his back, Anna works his legs......above the knee. As much as Greg was trying not to think about 'it', he felt it move.....he was getting aroused and big boner-city was around the corner! He began to panic as he thought things could become very awkward. Then something happened...she noticed! Greg told me his heart raced........Anna noticed the 'penis-starting-to-get-hard-movement' beneath the towel, looked up at him, smiled, and in her fantastic Irish accent asked, "Do you wanna wank?"

Holy shit! Could this be true?!?! Anna Paquin was offering to jerk him off in the secrecy of this room! Was this normal for her or was he special? Who gives a fuck, he thought. So he quickly tried to collect himself, hoping to sound calm and cool, and said, "Uhh, yeah.......ok." Realizing he did not sound cool at all. Anna responds by saying, "No problem, I'll be back in two minutes."

At this point, Greg is doing cart wheels while raising the flag at the center of Boner-City.

So there he laid waiting for 'the wank'...fucking fantastic. Was she getting special masseuse jerk-off oil? Maybe some special aphrodisiac-aroma thing? Who the fuck knows, who the fuck cares, but Anna Paquin is gonna polish the trombone.

After a few minutes goes by, he hears her gently opening the door........Greg looks over as the door opens, Anna pops her head in and asks, "So are you finished?"

Boner-City was quickly miles away.

Death Race 2000

So I wake up today having not done what I wanted to do all weekend... chill the fuck out. Queen Succubus shanghaied me into helping her pick up our apt. yesterday, which is still showing the effects of the post-move. To add to my dismay, the A/C stopped working Sat. night. This is after we didn't have appropriate hot water flow for a week. After 5 minutes of hot water, it would run out. So we get that fixed just in time to finish picking up the house with no A/C. Fuck it, whatever I think. Half the people around the world don't even have food, water or shelter so a day or two without A/C is not a big deal for me. Except for when I woke up in the morning thinking, man, its hot.

So I get around to calling the owner at lunchtime (I fucked up and totally forgot) and he tells me he'll try to get someone out today. I get a call 10 minutes later from the A/C repair co. saying they can come out at 5PM. Fucking great. That means I have to leave work at 4PM. Not that I mind leaving work early but I don't want to give anyone at work the opportunity to say I'm a getover. So I tell my boss I have to split and she's cool about it.

Every day I drive to work, I am risking my life. No, I am not exaggerating. I live in Florida, the capital of idiotic and clueless driving. Literally, every day ther are multiple accidents on the road. And not simple "rear ended you" type of accidents. I've seen things that you would only see in smash-up derbies, you know, those monster truck shows where cars & trucks crush each other. Well, I see those every day and pray I don't become a statistic.
There are 2 legs to my journey. On the way to work, the first leg is I595. The second leg is I95. Both extremely dangerous. I shit you not.

Now the fun part begins. So I take off from work on a mission. It takes 10 minutes to get to the quarry (employee parking...see earlier post) so I'm already losing time since my ride is about 45 minutes. I haul ass. I get to I95 in about 10 minutes and before I jump on, I do the sign of the cross. "May the force be with me '' I think to myself. The speed limit is 55mph, a sure way to disaster. Average driving speed is 70mph, you'd best stick to that. As I make my way , I am going to cross over a lane to pass this old fart in front of me slowing me down, the only guy in Florida observing the speed limit. Better not, that dude coming up is doing like 90. So I stay in my lane, as the dude Speed Racers past me in the HOV/car pool lane. Asshole, I don't even think he had 2 people in his car.

I somehow survive the first leg and make it to I595. Its 4:30, I have a half hour to go. I'm feeling okay, I'm coming A/C unit. So as I swerve around some cars, pulling into a lane. Oh, oh. That big 18 wheeler is turning into the same lane. Watch out!!! AAGGGHHH!!! I barely survive, with the truck driver honking at me and giving me the finger. Dude, its not my fault your in a humongous truck that moves slow and I was there first anyway. Fuck you!! I continue on my mission and I see traffic. Fucking great. At this point, I am super stressed out because I can't miss the A/C guy. I don't want to hear for the next few days how it sucks with no A/C. I pull off I595 and survive the second leg.

As I get to the traffic light, I see some numbnuts trying to pull a power move on me. (I drive a Chevy Blazer that is 6 years old. It needs a paint job and looks old. Just the way I like it because I intimidate all the fancy shmancy new cars on the road.) He is trying to make a right from the middle lane and guess who's in his way. Me, of course. Hey I don't give a fuck. I speed up and test his resolve. My A/C unit is calling. The fucker tries to cut in front of me. I do my usual, I press the horn and hold it for 5 to 10 seconds as I press on. This dude didn't cut me off and made a crazy turn onto the road, obviously perturbed by my horn. Good, asshole. At this point, I now have about 15 minutes to get home but I'm driving residential. And I see the idiot who tried cut me off up ahead. Lo and behold, the idiot wants to come into my lane to make a right. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS GUYS PROBLEM!!! Get into the lane you need to be in and you won't have to kamikaze every 5 minutes. FUCKING MORON!! So, I do my usual, I DO NOT let the guy in and honk the horn again as I pass him , wishing him a long and painful death. I hope he wraps himself around a pole during one of his stupid moves. I look in the rearview and the guy proceeds to cut across the lane to make his turn. Asshole. I finally get home with 5 minutes to spare.

Well, it is now, 6:15PM and the A/C repairman is still not here. You know whats even grosser than him not being here. When I spoke to the company on the phone, the guy made it a point of saying the repairman needed light to work (the A/C unit is outside)so 5PM is the latest they can get here. Thus my mad rush from work to get here by that time. So basically, I hauled ass like a madman, almost having a coronary because I could not miss the A/C guy for no reason. I left work early and almost died on 2 seperate occasions for no reason. And I can't do a fucking thing until the A/C guy gets here because I'm sure I will have to get involved somehow.
I am so disgusted right now. WHERE IS THE FUCKING A/C GUY???!!!!!
Oh and by the way, its hot like a motherfucker....

Slave Labor

So a couple of days ago I was in line at the post office with a sore neck thinking…

My wife has a small business which I believe may be breaking labor laws. The lone employee she has does website management, finance, shipping, handles customer contact, and any additional duties or errands that may come up at any time. This employee is screamed at and belittled regularly. In addition to all this, this employee does this for no pay at all or even compensation for use of his vehicle. Who, do you ask would put up with such a thing? I‘m sure you’ve guessed by now that it’s yours truly. Just for the record, I also have a more than full time job at the company with all the meetings and am the on command taxi for my 2 teenagers. I also have 2 small dogs that I help care for (that by the way happen to be ripe for future posting material).

After a typical day of useless meetings and the typical complaining and endless e-mails and phone calls from distributors at work, I am safely in my car happily listening to a Howard Stern replay glad to be headed to meet a friend for a couple of drinks. Suddenly my iphone rings with a specific ringtone, which I know is my wife. She informs me that a bunch of orders need to ship out today before the Post Office closes, 7pm, or first thing in the morning. She can’t do it since she has to finish work on the next day orders, not that she needs a reason to make me do it. Additionally she tells me to pass by Publix for dinner, as she has no time to cook. She also mentions that my son is at his friend’s house and probably needs be to picked-up. I sadly call my friend and tell him that I’m out for happy hour. It’s like 6pm, but I plan to use the automatic shipping machine for the packages which is available past closing so I don’t have to get up extra early in the morning. I get a text from my son about the ride he needs, I call back that I’m on the way after getting dinner. My daughter calls me that she needs to go to Barnes and Nobles to get a book for school. Chill time is getting further away.

I get to Publix, avoiding the 10 items or less lane ( see my past post on this), and find a lane with 2 guys looking like they are also in a hurry and even with one of the guys getting a credit card rejection, I got out of there fairly quickly. I get to my son’s friend house and the kid’s dad is the driveway. I know him and he’s a good guy so we chat a bit and he invites me in for a drink. I sadly tell him I have food in the car and can’t stay. My son gets in the car, greets me, turns on the ipod and begins his usual texting frenzy. I them remember that there is a new English style pub by the Barnes and Nobles where I could have a couple of drinks while my daughter takes her sweet time at the books store. I get home, slap together a few ham croquet Cuban bread sandwiches from the stuff I got in Publix and everyone stuffs their faces. I change clothes quickly as I’m still in that the lame “business casual” costume I wear to work.

My daughter and I are then off to Barnes and Nobles and my drinks, packages to ship loaded up in the car for after the bookstore. Once I park, I tell her to call me when she’s done and we split up, she calls back at me saying she said she needs $20.00 for the books. I then realize I forgot my wallet in my work costume, but do have some cash on me. I count up a couple of 5’s and singles..$21.00. I give my daughter the money and sadly return to the car my drink plans foiled once again. I turn on the Howard replay again and the fagberry rings, ugh, work. This idiot keeps me on the phone for like 30 minutes about a meaningless excel sheet and reminds me that we have an early meeting. I hope he gets a fucking flat tire in the morning. A few minutes later, my daughter strolls out of the store with the books and faguccino coffee thing from the fagbucks that is inside the bookstore paid with the money leftover, about a Jack and Cokes worth of change, I calculate.

Since I forgot my wallet I have to go home before I go to the post office. We get home and I recover the wallet and off to the post office. I will have a drink when I get back home I think. As I pull in the Post Office parking lot, I can see from the outside there is no line at the machine. The Enterprise red alert goes off and it’s my wife. This call is not related to her business, but I have to go to the pharmacy to get milk. I hang up and my daughter calls me two seconds later and tells me she needs Elmer’s Glue for school.

Since I have like 14 packages, I first go to the lobby and get one of the carts that are available at this post office and go back to my car to get the packages. I load them up and head back to the lobby and notice a lady now headed in. Damn. As I walk in she is at the machine, stands there and leaves. Hmmm. She walks past me as I head to the machine and says nothing. I arrive at the machine and the screen reads—temporarily out of service. I felt like Charlie Brown when Lucy pulls the football away. I then go to the pharmacy and get the milk, making sure it’s 2% so I don’t get yelled at, and the Elmer’s glue. I get to the line. One slow cashier and like 7 people in line. 20 minutes of Hell. I get home, settle in and get instructions from the wife and kids about what I need to do for them tomorrow. Finally, relax time is here. I make a nice Jack and Coke take a small sip, sit on my recliner, put the drink on the coffee table and put on ESPN HD. I must have dozed off…at 6am I abruptly wake up to one of my dogs yapping loudly in my ear.

I had fallen asleep with my neck in a fucked up position. I look over at the table and see my Jack and Coke, ice long ago melted, now being sniffed and examined by the dog. I remember that I have to rush as I have to get to the Post Office (who knows what awaits me there) and an early meeting at work. Damn, was my neck sore. I am the Robotman.

Dream Crusher...

I woke up this morning and I had a dream. I thought, man I'm going to relax all day.

I got out of work last night at about 9:45 PM (not a normal occurrence) but nontheless, that still sucked. Especially, due to co-worker irresponsibility and inefficiency. If not for this, I probably would have finished at 7:30 - 8:00, but I digress. Then I had to trek about another half hour to meet my buddy at the 420 club. Hung for a bit to unwind. So after driving throughout S. Florida, I finally get home. A sixpack later, its 1:30AM. I think to myself, tomorrow, I'm going to seriously chill. Not to be such a pussy, I've had an extremely tiring week with work (which I'm starting to hate) and life.

I wake up today and I'm pretty exhausted. Queen Succubus had told me her parents were coming over today, which is fine. Her dad, who happens to be a super cool dude, was coming over to put together some cast iron little patio set, which we have been lugging arund for 10 YEARS. Yeah believe it. Hey, makes me fucking ecstatic. Less money to burn on shit I could give a crap about. About noon, I ordered a pie, which I proceeded to scarf down as soon as it arrived. I sit down with a beer and set up 2 online poker tourneys, ready to continue some serious hanging loose and chilling.

At this point the Queen's parents arrive. Everyone exchanges pleasantries and I continue chilling. Although it can be slightly distracting to play good poker like this, I have been itching to play because I just finished moving and missed a week of internet access due to gross monopolies of electric, phone & cable in FL. Anyway, as soon as I start playing, Queen Succubus tells me " Go help my father with the table". When she said that, I turned to her and shot her a look.
- If I were Superman, I would've burned her with my x-ray vision.
- If I were Bulls-eye, 2 knives would have flown out of my hands instinctively.

Personally, I hate arguing, esp in front of parental units. So, what do you think I did??
Exit chilling stage right. Enter door 2, gross work. To make matters worse, she proceeds to play my games while I work, and does good. I mean, I appreciate that she is covering for me, but I really wanted to kick ass. UURRGGGHH!!! Eventually, we finish an hour later. Its now about 3PM and the dream is dead. They are now putting up these blinds to cover this thin slit of window in our new front door so no one can peer in and see me walking around in my naked glory. I play for 15 minutes and lose, playing really bad. Great, this particular tourney was decently big and I can't even make the second break. So much for peace and fucking relaxation. To make matter worse, there is now a problem putting up the blinds and I'm out of beer. FUCK THAT. BEER RUN....

Ultimately, I get back home and they are gone. Some time has passed and it is now 6:30PM. My desktop keyboard broke (I guess) and I have posted this whole shit with my defective laptop, you know the one with the o button that doesn't work. Call me Joe cut and paste.
Yeah, welcome to my life. Like I said, intially, I had a dream.....

The Enabler

As I look down at the bottom of pants and see how they have become wet and messy from going through a puddle, I think to myself: Sometimes you just gotta take a step back and look at yourself. I have been beaten down so hard by marriage that at times I think I am a different person.
I used to be a rebel, I would challenged authority every chance I got. Not only was I looking to push my own limits, but I tried to lead those around me to push their own. I was aggressive and would take chances. I strived to be different and lived for the moment.
Now....now I am satisfied if I can play my videogame once a week. I spend my time making sure I do not get my wife angry, whatever decision can keep relations going smoothly, count me in. Even if it is something I disagree with, I will do it for peace at the home. How fucking lame is that??!?! Typically we rant on things we have very little control of, but here, I rant on my self as I AM AN ENABLER!
If I say 'one plus one equals two', and my wife says 'No it doesn't it equals three!' My response is, 'OK, I am wrong it equals three'.
Even though I know that it does equal two, that information is not relevant. The only detail that does matter, is that she believes it equals three. The fact that I know something is utterly meaningless. But that is me--the enabler--agreeing to anything if it can end a disagreement. Even as I write this I can not believe how fucking weak that is. It puts me in shitty situations......like having the bottom of my pants all wet and messy.

You see, one day while shopping with my wife she forces me to purchase some clothing. Let me say that it is a good thing she forces me to purchase clothes, as it is not something I look to do. So I need some pants for work, and fortunately I know my exact length. I have not really grown in 20 years, so I know my pants are a 32" length. So I grab two pairs of pants and say 'I am ready, let's go.' Not so fast........she insists on analyzing the situation. Ugh. I just want to go home. Then she checks them, uh oh, she points out that the ones I picked out are the wrong size, I would need at least a 34" length. I tell her I need a 32", she explains how her brother is shorter than I am and he always wears a 32" length, so I need to have something longer. I try to explain how her brother will wear his pants in a wigger-like fashion and I do not. Even though all of her jeans fit great, this explanation does not go over to well so I am faced with a situation: 1)either argue about the length of pants or 2)take the much too long pants, have no arguement, go home, and suffer through having pants that are too long.

So I confess, I am an enabler........and my pants are too long.

Meetings about Meetings

They really love to have meetings where I work. I work for a fairly large foreign company with offices all over the world, and don’t know 100% if it’s particular to them, same in Corporate USA, or it’s just company culture but they really, really, like to have meetings. Budget meetings, product meetings, inventory meetings, HR meetings, formal meetings, informal meetings, video conference meetings, security meetings, staff meetings, birthday cake meetings, the list is just really endless. There are hundreds of different types of meetings. There are smaller meetings to plan for the bigger meetings. It’s truly a miracle any work even gets done with all these meetings. This doesn’t even include major company events, which requires multiple meetings that are held about the upcoming event. Basically it all boils down to….we manufacture products and want to sell them…. not treading any new ground by any stretch of the imagination.

There are also these really weird meetings called "brainstorming meetings”, if you have never been to one, I hope you never do, and if you have, I’m so very sorry. Usually the guys that need a punch in the face talk the most at these, and annoying chicks that talk fast also like these meetings very much. (My company USA HQ in NJ, so there is no shortage of the latter). At the HQ in Jersey all they do is have meetings. The whole fucking place, like 800 people including top brass can be eliminated and substituted by a weekly e-mail from Tokyo. The company would save millions. I have yet to openly suggest this at a meeting. I’m biding my time on that one.

As I mentioned, I’m not sure if this is all companies and industries, as the only other job I ever had was in the Air Force and things were very, very different, I might as well have worked on fucking Deep Space Nine it was so different. Meetings were at the beginning of shift and fairly quick and to the point. Unless of course you where in some kind of trouble and some goofball First Sergeant had to pick you up stone drunk at a Korean whorehouse at 3am…but I digress…

Sometimes, when you are not a main participant of the meeting it can be difficult to stay awake, the droning, multiple languages, repeated bullshit, video conference technical hassles, etc. Everyone in that super annoying “official meeting voice”, fucking sickening. Tic Tacs are essential in this situation, between the light shaking sounds of the container and a refreshing Tic Tac in your mouth at all times, it’s much harder to fall asleep, especially at the meetings where you shouldn’t be plugging away at the laptop or fagberry and at least feign interest and attention. Some people just bring a gallon of coffee, but caffeine is really not my thing. I’m more of a THC man myself, and that certainly is not permitted at the meetings. So it’s Tic Tacs and cold water for me while praying that the next motherfucker that says “synergy” gets hit by a bolt of lightning and slapped by Odin himself. Any and every grown man sounds gay when he says that word, ”synergy”. Try it. If I was a gay pop star I would change my name to Synergy.

I was at my most recent meeting, wintergreen Tic Tacs and fagberry in hand (personally, I have an iphone, which I love and will write about how much I love it sometime, but also have a work issued Blackberry, which unlike everyone else on earth, I hate and will also write about how much I hate it sometime). It was a Building and Cubicle Security and Safety meeting with a guest speaker old lady reading a power point presentation out loud word for word, like I can’t read. Fucking Romper Room. If I didn’t know personally, I would think this was a fictional event. We had a pre-meeting for this with the whole office like 2 days before and had a team of 4 people, which thankfully I was not on, have of a bunch of prep meetings for this fucking thing. Seems having a case of bottled water, doughnuts and a projector is fucking mission impossible. As I was looking around the room, dizzy from the incessant cackle of this old hag, I noticed the HR girl and the finance guy who are banging each other on the DL (everyone knows they are, and they know that everyone knows, and everyone knows they know that everyone knows but everyone still acts like they don’t know) seem to be giving each other some cold shoulder high school nonsense, hehe, could there be trouble in corporate paradise? I was sure the big-mouth receptionist would fill me in and later I found out finance boy was tapping some finance girl up at the Atlanta office on his trip last week. I’m surprised the blabbermouth network took that long to get the message here. People don’t learn, you can’t tell anyone any personal shit in this pussified, no sense of honor, kiss-ass, henpecked corporate world. That was one thing about the military, men were men, a guy could cheat on his wife or girlfriend or whatever and know their buddies had their back. You could ... gasp … shudder … trust someone.

Sometimes we have in-office catered lunches at the all day meetings, and believe it or not, guess what some people want to talk about during lunchtime? The damned freaking meeting! I kid you not. I know it sounds preposterous and incredible to regular people, but may George Carlin come back from the dead and stick a red hot poker up my ass if I am lying. I don’t even have a name for freaks like this. It’s just very odd and bizarre behavior, fucking cult-like. Me and another guy or two, try to stray away to talk about sports, movies, tits, you know regular stuff, but mostly resistance is futile and we get sucked in. A lot of times I skip the catered lunch and just say I have an errand to run and just eat fastfood crap while thinking that I really should have learned to play guitar or something.

Well, guess what? I have to go to a product meeting in five minutes, some new product that does the same shit as the last one. Gotta pay that mortgage somehow. I am the Robotman.