There’s this boss. Let’s change around the name to obscure it just enough so his fat ass doesn’t try to sue my toned one… so his name is F.F.  This guy parks in the closest space to the office – it’s reserved for him. It is his company. He backs in his predictable black beemer (he boasts that he got the first charcoal grey 911S in the U.S for his car’s model year. Whatever… he also got the first all green shit stain in his tagless fruit of the looms when they came out too.

During the annual convention to Las Vegas, he sits in first class, all else in coach. He stays at Bellagio, all others at Imperial Palace (it’s a dump, the comforters have a highly uneasy relationships with black light).

He reimburses at 25 cents a mile – while the I.R.S. allows 55.5. Take it as a loss on your tax return he bellows. “Try sticking your head in your ass” I don’t bellow.

The same day he announced no holiday bonuses and no cost of living increases for the second year in a row (December 23 – holy Scrooge McFat), he has a Lotus delivered to the office for a test drive while everyone else watched.

Christmas party… lasagna in the break room. Lasagna for Christmas? If you’re Tony Soprano I suppose, but not for D.P. And Tony wouldn’t host it in the break room of The Bing – that’s reserved for good things like tits and steely glances from Sil.

If he demands a lunch meeting, it’s Dutch – and I don’t mean we wear wooden clogs, say “Yaah” a lot, and drink Heineken. I make it a point to only order water, not that I can’t afford lunch, but as a symbolic gesture of a sickly lack of appetite, like anyone would have when sitting across from such a troglodyte-ish mouth breather.

Last time called into office for a meeting – 25% pay cut. Although I am doing “fantastic work, it’s just that the company’s struggling right now.” I guess that’s why you didn’t buy the Lotus. I do feel bad for you, you would have looked like James Bond – if James bond swallowed an entire sheet cake with Miss Moneypenney as a chaser. I did negotiate to just 20 percent.

I am not just writing to vent because my name is up next week to clean the men’s room each day. I’m an analyst. Hmmm… not an ANALyst. I shouldn’t be responsible for what comes out of one’s anus, in other words.

F.F., your office is where good intentions and imaginative thought go to get pancreatic cancer. You interrupt people in 100% of meetings and shake your head in disgust as if the interrupted party just puked on the speakerphone. You use the words “stupid” and “dumb” yet you also use terms such as “supposebly” and “for all intensive purposes.” I saw you use the word “chiken” referring to a type of fowl when sending one of your college educated staff on your lunch run. BTW – it’s “supposedly,” “for intents and purposes,” and, for the love of footed-pajamas “chicken.”

I know what you’re saying intrepid readers – I get to go to Vegas once a year, you have a job when so many others don’t, have a break room with pasta – you should be living it up. Not. No other way to put it. But I am declaring June 21, 2012 as “Take some dogshit with a plastic bag and smear it under the door handle of your bad boss’s car day!” If you don’t have a dog, ask a friend if you can borrow some of their extra dogshit. That ought to get a pretty fucked reaction and alone, worth the price of reading this.

C’mon… to all my oppressed, under-employed, proletarian brothers and sisters, join in and make June 21, 2012 the 1st ever dogshit-smearing day. I doubt it will become a big holiday, but then again, look at Valentine’s Day. I know a lot of people who feel like dogshit on every February 14. But that’s a post for another time.

My experience using Craigslist for dating during a 6 month span if being woefully single:

More spam than in the dented can aisle at the supermarket and more flakes than on the studio floor of a Head & Shoulders commercial.

Here are some spam responses, exactly as they were – not altered in any way – with some commentary in [brackets], and far-far-far from all of the spam:

• I dream to get acquainted with good, serious person and make best relationships. Repite, I am searching for serious relations only!

• I reached up and ran my fingers through my lover’s sweaty

• i have a husband so i am not heading to be doing with out a single way or the other .

• how about meeting up at Karol’s eating house in the city centre? what is the coloring of your hair style? [Karol’s eating house is one of my fave eating houses and city centre is the best part of Austin, in my opinion]

• gloat arles yore wham drafted purveyed modelist.antlike diptychs sceptral mogul premoral vanillas natter honing bastiles dormancy rouleau fugging

• Downtown Austin My Dear, I am Waiting for you ! moof ftmo mtnrfxa fmbm kobnfod

• or soon to be) Do you live in or soon to be

• terefah but mis lacerate ivies truer betaine.barters moulter rune swatted lase choregi untwine yowler triumph linsangs jowl isagogic

• #Fun# #girl# #from# #City#

• providing you are not a scammer, ducky, would you please mssge

• i am clean and std free of charge. i like tatoos and am really fond of older males 60 ! you provide a location to play, such as hire a space

• I’m afraid you sir a defrauding spamster.

• im looking for a guy who can fulfill my sexual needs. i love giving h*ad. I also love going bowling with my friends. [WHO THE FUCK would choose bowling?]

–> Now, of some of the real people who I actually met (or planned to meet anyhow), here are some of the results:

L – thanks for going out to lunch and ordering water and no food. Admittedly the tap water at Pacific Star is delicious.

C – thanks for standing me up at the date you set up at the Melting Pot (at least the bartender took pity on me and bought me a cocktail) then 2 days later sending a text explaining you didn’t feel like eating cheese that night.

T – thanks for planning the whole shebang (dinner, walk by the lake, then your friend’s band at a downtown club) then leaving Z-Tejas after 50 minutes claiming you had to work in the morning (it was a Friday evening and you work in an office).

A – thanks for saying you have to get on the road for your long drive home (you did come from past New Braunfels) then running into you at a random bar on 6th two hours later.

H – Thanks for getting so pissed off when I asked you why you moved from your country to the U.S. I admit that was rude. But you had really bad breath – also rude. Would you have been more calm if I asked you if you had eaten a garlic and shit omelet for breakfast that morning?

T2 – thanks for sending your cousin’s photo. Was there any scenario you envisioned where that move didn’t hugely backfire? When I met you my first thought was “great, I spent the last 10 days masturbating for this?”

J – It wasn’t a dinner date, but you insisted. I said I wasn’t hungry, but you ordered the appetizer plate for two. Then an entree. Then a dessert. This was surreal. Then again, you did weight 265 lbs – which is odd for a self-described “7 day a week tennis junkie.”

A2 – thanks for texting about looking for a parking spot then pulling a straight-up-and-down no-show. Maybe parking is just a super hassle at a private club in a small town on a Tuesday night.

C2 – thanks for, on our second date, suggesting meeting up the next weekend at ACL then selling me that ACL ticket during that date. Too bad the ticket was bogus – I didn’t love the lineup that much anyway. The ticket was below face value, so thanks for the good deal, kind of. Clever setup actually, in a fully illegal sort of way.

C3 – thanks for being mind-numbingly beautiful (for real), then sending me that email thanking me profusely for our awesome date and expressing what a “breath of fresh air it was” then not responding to one email and one text over the next 4 days. Yes, you did finally respond – that you had moved to Italy.

K – thanks for agreeing to dinner (after two lunch dates) and canceling for a funeral, then inviting me over for dinner to make up for it, then canceling again in lieu of another funeral (I’m truly sorry if anyone actually died), then stopping contact. It’s probably good that you did, cause if you were telling the truth, the next guy would probably get canceled on for MY funeral – it seems like people are dropping dead all around you.

Guess it’s back to the lurking around the produce section of the supermarket for dates. Maybe I’ll join e-harmony. Except all the couples they advertise as real-life success stories are ugly.  If any attractive, single women are reading this and want to meet, know this: Repite, I am searching for serious relations only!

Yesterday, at Lone Star Bakery (yo, yo – Round Rock, TX – top of the food chain!) a land manatee next in line, while filling her car-door sized basket with lard laden goodness – and taking her good ole sweet time to choose (I was picturing one of those blown-in foam insulation hoses, but shooting donut shrapnel right into her festering gob as a far more effective means of satisfying the end), asking the counter person if the cinnamon rolls have cinnamon in them. A squeeze me? A baking powder? A quick scan of the web reveals that a full pound of quality ground cinnamon is about 7 bucks. So YES, it’s real cinnamon. If it wasn’t would that have meant you were only going to eat 2 of them?

While a person of any stature could have acted in this manner, only a person with asymmetrical ass cheeks could do it as a fat (but lovable) chick. I hope you enjoyed your duffel bag of baked goods. Love BSq.

Sometimes their arms are not long enough to maneuver around the flabalanche and effectively wipe. Being in possession of near constant dingleberries is emotionally painful.