I come here to work every single weekday that isn’t a holiday or a day I’ve taken off, and just sit here and stare at the walls. It’s because someone broke in and drew graffiti on the walls. I think it was Banksy, or that rip-off guy Creditunionsy. It’s hard to tell because my eyes are closed. I could open them, but that would ruin the mystery. I hate ruining the mystery, because then Scooby Doo doesn’t have anything to solve. Ruh-roh!

The guy across the aisle (I’m in a grocery store) (not really, I’m at work) (I don’t work at a grocery store) (well I do, but as an escort) has a well-stocked pantry at his desk. He’s got food all over the place. Chips, and raw fish, and protein bars, and Christmas candy, just everywhere. Why am I telling you this? Because I don’t want to talk about my window.

My window is covered by blinds right now. We had an active shooter drill, and during one of those, you’re supposed to close the blinds so someone walking down the street with a gun doesn’t shoot you, but you can still shoot them. I think that’s why. They haven’t really sent out information about it, but I’m heavily armed just in case. Well, not really heavily – I have two arms, just like nearly everyone else.

I don’t mean to be a total fucking asshole, but I once worked at a Starbucks in a district where a manager at another store had only one full arm, and one that ended at the elbow. She was very beautiful, but was arrested for stealing money from the store and covering it with the barista tips. She was a one-armed bandit. See? Why did I have to do that just for a cheap fucking terrible pun? However, the story is true. Her name was Denise. As far as I know, it’s still Denise to this very day.

Speaking of that (not really), my family started complaining about my obsession with the show Friends. In fact, the person who has the biggest problem with my Friends obsession is my son, Monica. He fucking hates that show. My daughter Gunther isn’t too keen on it either. Whatever that means. Keen on it? Yeah, no idea.

When is this stupid fucking post going to end? Ugh. I hate this guy’s blog. I mean, the poetry is all cryptic and morbidly depressing, and then he writes some dumb shit like this and you can’t see the point of it. It’s like he just writes in a sort of stream-of-consciousness style with no regard for fucks or giving fucks whatsoever. Does he hate his readers? I don’t know. I’ll ask him…..

After the break.

What break? See? He just inserts random references to Ryan Seacrest and no one watches that show (The X Factor). Who’s going to get the reference? The librarian? I asked her for an autobibliography like 45 minutes ago, and she said there was no such thing. She was kind of hot, so I was like, well then how about we go behind the stacks and shag? She said ‘Sir! This is a library!’ So I whispered ‘how about we go behind the stacks and shag?’ She said ‘shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhure’. We made sweet love. I was expecting Dewey Decimal System. I wasn’t prepared for her Library of Congress. I stuck my atlas in her travel section, and then she got on top of my biology. That’s hot, right? I checked her out many times, renewing to the limit, until we finally had to return it.

I can tell she enjoyed it. She said she loved my big dictionary.