Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Why Do Fat Chicks Always Wear Black?

I was visiting a client yesterday and he had one of his sales reps from another company meet me. I got there before she did and had no clue what to expect, but I always like to meet sales reps because they’re usually (a) female and (b) good looking. Not the case here.

As soon as she squeezed through the door I knew it was her. Probably about 250 pounds and decked out in all black. I always find it funny when fat chicks wear black because they think it makes them look skinny. Come on, what the fuck do you girls smoke that makes you think that? I mean, if you’re 250, I don’t care what color you wear, you’re still 250. Do you think our eyes magically erase anything we see that’s black? The funniest thing is that they think they can squeeze into something 3 sizes smaller because it’s black. Sorry honey, now you just look like 10 pounds of sausages stuffed into a 5 pound bag.

Now for the best part. This chick said she needed to meet up with me to go over some stuff, so I suggested a bar. I could tell she was interested in me (I swear fat chicks can sense my willingness to fuck anything) so I wanted to suggest we meet somewhere that had lots of alcohol, because I’m going to need it. I scheduled our meeting a little ways out because she looked like she had pink-eye. Maybe it was just a piece of ham stuck to her face, who knows. I’ll be sure and post the after-meeting happenings at a later time.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

West Coast Blitzed

A few years ago I used to work in sales. Since the company I worked for was on the East coast, it was always tough to call the West coast clients because of the time differential. My boss at the time came up with a plan…a West coast blitz.

The idea was a good one. Sales reps would come in late one day, around 1pm, and work until 9pm. To make it fun for the employees there were prizes that reps could win if they got a sale the evening of the blitz. Sounds easy enough, right?

Well at the time, one of my coworkers and I were in a pool (billiards) league that had matches at night. All of our matches were played in local bars, so we always drank the whole time. This one night before we were scheduled for the West coast blitz we decided we could get really drunk since we could sleep in. After all, who couldn’t make it to work by 1:00 in the afternoon? We shot pool all night, put back some beers, and did a bunch of shots until we were stumbling drunks.

After the pool league is a blur to me…I couldn’t tell you what happened. All I know is that I woke up the next morning around 6am, and I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I opened my eyes and saw trees. I felt my dog licking my face. When I sat up, I realized I was in the middle of my lawn. I stood up, puked a few times, and then went into the house to crawl into my bed.

I woke from my morning nap around 11am and continued to throw up. I just sat on the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet, and tried to think of how I was going to call in sick. At this point in my career I had my boss pretty well wrapped around my finger, so I took a chance and just went back to bed. I woke up again, this time from a very short nap, and realized that I couldn’t just not show up for work. There was no way in hell I was calling my boss to say I was late, because I knew she would be pissed. She knew we had our pool league the night before and specifically told us not to drink too much. Instead I called my friend who I worked with and who had to be in at the same time I was. I left him a few voicemails and asked him to cover for me.

I finally made it into work around 2:00, an hour late. I went to my buddy’s desk and asked him what was up. He quickly told me that he just got there about 10 minutes earlier and he tried to shoo me away so our boss didn’t see us talking. What I didn’t know was that my friend had left me a voicemail to cover for him. We were both hurting bad, and our boss was about to rip us new ones. We always had a good time while working, but this day we were nervously glued to the desks hoping the boss wouldn’t say anything. Every time she came out of her office she just glared at us like she was going to kill us. The only thing I thought to do to put her at ease was to get a sale in, so I did…and it was the biggest sale ever for that department.

I held onto the contract for a bit in case she decided she wanted to ream me, and that time inevitably came around 7pm. She said she wanted to see me in her office, and I walked in there with my new sale contract. “Before you begin,” I said, “I want to give you this contract I just got in”. She grabbed it, put it aside after peeking at the amount, and then said “shut the door”.  I got my ass chewed out for a good half hour. I was threatened about being fired, given the old “don’t come into work hungover” speech, you name it. When she finally told me to get out of her office and sell some more I had the nerve to ask her what my prize was for getting that sale in. I wish I could have taken a picture of her face when I asked that, because it was priceless, and she just pointed out the door. At the end of the day I was given an umbrella…what a fucking gift for a $25k sale.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Should I Call 911 or Bleed to Death with Dignity?

Last year I had what I thought was a near death experience, thanks to pure stupidity on my part. You see, I had a girl living with me at the time who I’ve known for a long time. I can do anything in front of her and not be embarrassed, but this was an exception.

I was getting ready to take a shower to help my hangover and really had to go to the bathroom. I had just eaten a big, greasy breakfast after a long night of drinking, and it wanted out. Before I sat on the toilet I walked by the mirror and noticed I needed to shave my face. I’ve never been a fan of normal razors, so I just use hair clippers without the guard on. Seems to cut my facial hair short enough, but doesn’t give me the “baby face” that I hate. Standing in front of the mirror naked, I ran the clippers across my face and noticed they seemed to be getting a little dull. I had these particular clippers for a couple years now, so it was finally time for some new ones. I finished up, and as I shut them off I looked down and figured “what the hell”…I could use a little trim “down there” around the frank and beans.

Normally the thought of blades near your goods would scare anyone away. Not this idiot. I turned the clippers back on and decided to give myself a trim before I threw out the old clippers. I was being very careful for obvious reasons. Not getting too close to anything and going slow. At one point I was lifting the frank up to get to the part between the frank and beans, and I don’t know how it happened, but I heard the hum of the clippers suddenly change to a lower pitch like I had tried to cut a piece of aluminum siding. I let out a scream, and when I looked down there was already a small pool of blood on the floor.

I must have used the mini-chainsaw by accident
When someone gets scared, you always hear people say they turn “white as a ghost”. Since I was in front of the mirror I can now vouch for this. I had cut my frenulum, the little piece of skin on the underside of the frank that my friend refers to as the “chicken skin”. I had clearly hit an artery because blood was just gushing out. “Fuck” I said to myself, what should I do? Being trained in first aid I immediately grabbed my junk as hard as I could, like I was trying to turn a lump of coal into a diamond. Blood just kept coming out and dripping on the floor, and I was about to pass out. I had to sit down on the edge of the tub so I didn’t fall over and nail my head on the floor. I’m sitting there, frank in my fist, wondering which is better…to call 9-1-1 and go through the most embarrassing ordeal of my life, or to risk bleeding to death. I chose the latter. If I was going out, I was going out in a blaze (or blade) of glory. I called for my roommate and she came running into the bathroom wondering what happened. The look on her face was priceless…seeing a grown man naked with his dick in his hand and blood all over the place. I asked her to give me a cold cloth to put on my forehead which she did. I told her what happened and she wanted to call the ambulance, but I was able to talk her out of it. She left the bathroom to leave me alone again.

When the adrenaline finally kicked in and I felt like I wasn’t going to pass out I realized I still had to take a shit. “Oh man, how the hell am I going to pull this one off” is what went through my mind. Of all times to have to go, why now? Still with my junk in my fist, I tried to sit down on the toilet, and it was very awkward. I took care of business without letting go.

I got in the shower, and the hot water on my fresh cut felt like battery acid. I let out another yell and the roommate came back in. “Jesus, what’s that fucking smell?” she asked. I said “when you gotta go, you gotta go, now get out of here”. I managed to wash up in the shower through the excruciating pain and toweled myself off with one hand, and the other still hadn’t let go.

The rest of the day was spent with me sitting naked in my living room recliner, a towel underneath me, and a wash cloth wrapped around my junk with me squeezing it. The roommate kept telling me she thought we should call the ambulance, and I kept saying I’d rather bleed to death. She spent hours researching medical websites and reading her findings to me. One site said this sort of cut could cause permanent loss of sensation and erectile dysfunction. That comment got me thinking: “Shit, what’s going to happen when I get a hard-on in my sleep? Am I going to wake up in a pool of blood screaming?”  Luckily there were no major consequences.  I told the roommate that she was NEVER to tell anyone about this experience, but the next time I was out with friends I had to tell the story. Now the entire world knows.

Things You Should Find Out Sooner When Sleeping with Someone

A few years ago I had the “summer of love”. I had a pretty good run at girls that summer, and one in particular sticks out.

A girl I worked with was always a little quiet. She seemed pretty cool and I could tell she had a wild side, so I asked her out one night. I had a few drinks at my place and she said she didn’t drink. She wanted to go for a walk, so we left out the back door and started across the parking lot. She told me to hold on a second because she had to piss. I thought she was kidding at first, but we were no more than 50 feet from my back door, and all of a sudden she drops her pants, squats, and pisses in the parking lot, right next to a dumpster. Quite the lady I must say. Pretending like it was nothing, we continued on our walk which lasted a few hours.

We eventually got back to my place and ended up in bed. We started going at it almost immediately, and then she dropped a bomb on me: she was pregnant. By instinct I immediately said “it can’t be mine”. “No shit dumbass, we haven’t even slept together yet” she replied. She told me she recently got out of rehab for drugs, and she got pregnant when she was in there. She went on to tell me that the guy she slept with was the same guy who was in the news at the time for raping some girl a few months earlier. Cue the condom.

I ended up having sex with her and couldn’t help but imagine a fetus dodging my shit with every stroke. Kind of disturbing, but hell, I’ve done a lot of disturbing things…why stop with pregnant chicks?

The funny thing about this girl was that not only would she be my first (only) pregnant chick, but she invited me to go out on her dad’s boat. I went out, hesitant to meet the family so soon, but figured I could have a good time anyway. As soon as I stepped onto the boat I realized her dad looked familiar. I’m thinking of the girls last name, and then trying to place her dad’s face with the same last name…”Holy shit!”  Her dad was the mayor of the city.