Long Story Short ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pan Fried Cat and Yeasty Funkleberries One of the options for lunch today was Pan Fried Cat. On second glance I realized that it read like this
PAN FRIED CAT
FISH
Oh. I got the salad bar anyway. Just in case. I'm reading the Onion and I realized that I just can't get into the whole Jude Law craze. He looks like a British alien to me - not illegal alien but outerspace alien. All buggy and smooth and fine-boned and dainty. I don't know what he looks like in real life but I'd bet at least ten bucks that he's 5'6". Or shorter. Not my type at all. Although if you gave him longer hair he could kind of be Gavin Rossdale. Garg. Remember my whole "Mary is so nice!" thing regarding her reaction to Professor K losing his job? Yeah, well, tell me this: how come people I work with are coming up to me and asking about Professor K's job search? I have told two people that I work with, one of which is a very trustworthy keep-it-to-herself type of person, the other is Mary. Mary prides herself on being the first to know about gossip and bad news is her forte. I imagine it was only a matter of minutes after I handed her my paperwork when she started spreading the news around the office. It's not like I'm embarrassed or anything but I'm certainly not the type to go blabbing my business to all my coworkers. I never would have told Mary EVER if I didn't need her to process the paperwork. In keeping with that theme, Mary smells like absolute dog shit today. And I know from where - her poon. I've always suspected as much but finally have confirmation. I mean I didn't bury my face in there or anything. She was bent over a drawer right next to my desk and I had to walk around her backside to get to my chair. And her stench had increased at least ten fold in that position. It's not an ass smell either, like bad gas or dingleberries. It's straight up yeasty funkleberries. My theory is a) she was raised in a strict Catholic household that taught her to NEVER, NEVER, under ANY circumstances, touch herself down there. So even late in life she cannot bring herself to even clean that part of her body. Another theory is b) she has never had a doctor's appointment since I've worked here, which is over a year. Perhaps she has some kind of funktastic disease that is spreading and slowly eating away at her voluminous lady folds? My final theory, which my boss and I developed today, is c) that she only takes baths. And combining theory a and theory b, perhaps she plunks her stank-ridden body down in a warm puddle of stagnant water and just steams herself, thus assuming herself to be clean. Meanwhile the funk remains. And that would explain the musty tinge to her stink as well. Perhaps I'm giving this too much thought? 12:50 p.m. - 2005-02-24 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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