A Sampling of Fine Gentlemen I Encoutered Whilst in San Francisco

I will begin with the bums, because as everyone knows, I loves me some bums.

Showin They Assholes Bum
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On our way to the Mortified show, we got off the Muni to wait for Kevin, a hilarious gay guy who works at Salesforce, as we were leaving the station I first noticed him and his large red duffel bag with a big bucket protruding out of it. Then as we waited around he began to draw nearer. This guy had a sweet fucking jeri curl and as I later noticed a bright green press on nail on his pinky (for snorting coke) As he got closer, my bum magnetism kicked in and I could feel him begin to focus on me. He finally began speaking, to no one in particular, "THEY SHOWIN THEY FUCKIN ASSHOLES IN THE WINDOW" He followed up this statement by locking eyes with me and then repeating it again just in case I had missed it. He moved a little closer and then began to engage just me. The conversation went something like this:

Asshole Hating Bum - MAN THEY SHOWIN THEY FUCKIN ASSHOLES IN THE WINDOW

Me - who is showing their assholes?

AHB - THEY SHOWIN THEY ASSHOLES IN THE WINDOW DONT THEY KNOW THERE ARE LADIES WITH KIDS OUT HERE

Me - ok man

AHB - GO HALF A BLOCK DOWN AND LOOK THEY JUST SHOWIN THEY ASSHOLES. I MEAN IM GAY TOO BUT THAT AINT RIGHT YOU CANT JUST BE SHOWIN YO ASSHOLE

Me - Yeah you shouldnt be showin your asshole

AHB - THATS WHY THEY GETTIN THEY ASS BEAT. PEOPLE COME DOWN HERE AND BEAT THEY ASS NOW CAUSE THEY SHOWIN THEY ASSHOLES

Me - ...

AHB - YOU KNOW ABOUT THE GUARDIAN ANGELS RIGHT?

Me - yeah, sure

AHB - WELL WHY THE FUCK YOU THINK THEY HERE ITS CAUSE PEOPLE GETTIN THEY ASS KILLED BECAUSE THEY DOIN THIS SHIT. SHIT AINT RIGHT MAN. I MEAN IM GAY TOO BUT IT AINT RIGHT

Me - Yeah they shouldnt be doing that type of stuff out in the open like that.

AHB - YEAH, YOU KNOW I HAD A FRIEND GET KILLED LAST NIGHT IN RIVERDALE

Me - really?

AHB - YEAH HE WENT HOME WITH SOME DUDE THEN THEY KILLED HIM AND SLIT HIS THROAT

During this exchange he kept getting closer and closer to me and more and more aggitated. It was almost like he was mad at me and I was one of the people SHOWIN THEY ASSHOLE.
Eventually the conversation tapered off and after several handshakes he told me that he was going to go get a burger.


COMPLIMENT BUM
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The whole time I was there kyle kept telling me about this bum in their neighborhood who instead of directly asking for change just complimented passersby. After days of not encountering him I was disappointed. Finally on my last night, Easter, he showed himself. The plan was for me to try and destroy his world by giving him the most elaborate compliment ever before he could compliment me. When I did something similar to my co-worker at HD, he had a stroke. I began crafting compliments in my head in preparation and finally approached. Before he said anything, I informed him that he was a "fine looking gentleman who looked like the kind of guy the world smiles upon." His response "Happy Easter." Fucker didn't even compliment me back. Kyle thinks that its because it was a holiday and even bums take holidays off.

DOGSPOTTING THE GAME SWEEPING THE NATION

At some point in the last month I somewhere read something about this "game" called DOGSPOTTING. While it is quite a simple game, the charm is that it can be played whenever and wherever. The object of the game is to spot people walking dogs.

THE FUCKING RULES AND TERMINOLOGY.

SINGLE DOG -1 point - A person walking one dog.

DOUBLE DOG - 3 POINTS - One person walking 2 dogs. It only counts as a double dog if one person has the leash for both dogs. 2 people who are each walking 1 dog counts as 2 SINGLE DOGS and not a double dog.

TRIPLE DOG - 5 - One person walking 3 dogs.

etc etc

the basic formula for points is ((NUMBER OF DOGS BEING WALKED BY THE SAME PERSON) X 2) - 1

So if you are a retard that means a QUAD DOG is 7 points.

I dominated this game in san fran destroying both spritz and allen. (Allen is awful at dogspotting, he didn't spot a single fucking dog.)

Since I left, apparently Spritz and Allen have played again and Allen once again failed to score even a single point.

NON DOG SPOTTING RELATED INFO BEGINS BELOW THIS LINE
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So about 15 minutes ago I went downstairs to get my paycheck out of my car. As I approached the drivers door I started hearing this odd rustling and clicking sound from behind two big bags of water softener salt. "Must be a mouse caught in one of the mousetraps," I thought. But as I began to unlock the door and open it the sound became louder and more furious. I was tempted to move the bags of salt and find out exactly what the hell was making that sound. Right before going to the garage, I had been reading one of Nate's diary entries referencing the demon orangutan in a suit from babe 2: pig in the city. This noise somehow brought out thoughts of the demon ape. I imagined him hiding in a little cove behind the bags of salt in his horrifying suit, which I imagine to be a cotton blend. 75% terror and 25% cotton, dry clean only. He would be back there making noise to draw my attention and get me to move the bags only to be greeted with his grinning countenance. Needless to say this ended any plans on moving the bags. I fucking hate that Ape.

Breaking Deli Drama Update

For those of you who read my earlier post describing a couple of my co-workers, you will already be familiar with Little D, the slowest guy ever, and Sarah, the insane married 16 year old. Well upon returning from San Fran I was greeted with some fabulous news. While I was gone, Little D and Sarah fucked, and now she is pregnant with his kid. Her husband is obviously not happy about this and now they are getting divorced. So now she will just be a divorced 16 year old without a GED who has a kid and is pregnant with another. Little D however will also have his plate full as he has another "baby momma" who is 3 months pregnant right now. It's depressing to think that people that dumb are allowed to breed at all, let alone with another terminally stupid person. You are supposed to breed to pass on GOOD traits. Being a stereotypical Jerry Spring guest is NOT a good trait.

The Aisle of Shame

Recently I was sitting in the little waiting area of the nearby Wallgreens waiting to get my prescription for bumps re-filled and noticed something amazing. Whoever did the floorplan for the store is a fucking genius. They took all of the most embarrassing products, put them together, and then put that area in what is probably the most watched part of the store.

My description of the "Aisle of Shame," as I have dubbed it, starts with the prominent endcaps. One of the endcaps is a fabulous display of adult diapers and the many different sizes, shapes and fits that they come in. "Hey granny worried about shitting your pants at dinner but are worried about bulky diapers, NO PROBLEM TRY THE SLIM FIT." They have separate styles for men and women, even though by the time you are using adult diapers your dick is probably completely shriveled, they still have a nice little crotch satchel*. "Hey gramps wanna pop a viagra but you're worried about your boner dislodging the adhesive fasteners resulting in a large diaper full of shit and piss slowly snaking its way through your pants? Not a problem, these have extra room so you can enjoy your rare boners without worry. Feels good man."

The other endcap consists of shit related products. Randomly spraying shit out of your ass like a fire hose, then buy this all fucking natural Metamucil fiber powder guaranteed to make you shit rock hard turds. This very same display offers products for people who can't shit no matter how hard they try. I just imagine two random shoppers meeting in front of the display, one reaching for diarrhea pills and the other clutching an economy-size container of fiber, each one jealous of the others situation.

This area would be shameful enough on its own, but OH NO GOOD FRIENDS, thats just the beginning.

The actual aisle itself is where it really gets awesome. The aisle begins with a veritable cornucopia of douches, sanitary wipes and any other imaginable product used to clean out the ole baby maker. And some of them are even scented, which is perplexing because how many people are really gonna be jamming their nose in there as far as they can to get a wiff.

Right after the douches etc. you come upon the yeast infection treatment depot. This area, I would imagine, would apply more to women who failed to notice the previously mentioned feminine hygiene section. This placement must be perfect for douche sales. While you are standing there looking at what cream you are gonna rub all over your gash to get it to stop discharging cottage cheese, you can see the vast array of products that might have helped to prevent this, and it just might inspire some ladies to change their ways and begin cleaning that festering hole.

Next up in the Aisle of Shame is the pregnancy tests. Nothing classier than the generic walgreens brand test to see if you are playing host to a demon seed. The other item of note mixed in here is the $89 paternity test. Don't ask me how it works or what kind of half-assed lab you send it to, but it can't be that great. What happened to the good ole days of going on Maury or Montel and having a "WHO MY BABBY DADDY" show.

This area is right next to the condoms. If you were too stupid to figure out where the condoms were before and now you wanna see if you got knocked up, well now you know. Much like the douche/yeast cream area this has a prevention/treatment motif.

Now buying any of those products could be considered embarrassing, but the beauty of this aisle is the intermixing of target consumers. You've got an old man buying diapers and fiber because he keeps shitting himself, mixed with some old lady who hasn't shit in years, a 16 year old girl buying a pregnancy test, a middle aged woman shopping for douches and an early-20s guy buying some condoms. Each person cloaked in shame and trying desperately to find an appropriate product and get the fuck away from that aisle before anyone they know sees them.

It makes me want to install some sort of spycam that just monitors the aisle of shame 24/7. Perhaps an investment in an x10 (X10 GOES ANYWHERE) is in order.

*(SIDENOTE: During the writing of this, for some reason word kept trying to get me to use synonyms for satchel like "diddie" and "grub-bag" I think John Mellencamp should get into the adult diaper promoting biz. Imagine him singing "Here's a little diddie (pointz to dilznick in diaper) about Jack and Diane. I think grub-bag is hilariously fitting though and I should probably start using that term as much as possible.)

It is apathy oh no it's just fever

I have created a new person that I oft adopt at work called "BIG RONNIE" Big Ronnie is basically a white trash nascar lovin dude who thinks larry the cable guy is the best. It all started when I was joking with one of the managers about how I was going to start calling in on my time off with a southern accent and heckle him. Seeing as how the kitchen staff is made up mostly of thugish black guys, I didn't plan on it being a reoccurring thing. But then the managers started calling me BIG RON and basically encouraging me to do it constantly. I was pretty confused, is it some sort of trap to get me to say something racist as big ron and fire me??? Turns out no they just seem to think it is the funniest thing ever. The one younger manager, Dan, fucking loves it. Whenever I come in he asks me how if I had anyone over to my double-wide the night before and how much PBR I drank. Now pretty much all of the managers joke about it. The head manager who is usually really stern and gruff made a joke about Big Ronnie chugging a sixer of PBR on my lunch break.

I'm actually fairly certain I could start drinking at work or before work now if I wanted to. Last Saturday, I was only scheduled to work 10-5. When one of the other workers "Cortez" called from JAIL to say he was in JAIL, Dan asked me if I wanted to stay until 11 instead of 5. The prospect of working 6 more hours and having to do dishes and close didn't really interest me, so rather than just say no, I lied. I told dirty Dan that I was planning on going home and getting hammered and then joked "If I can get real fucking drunk here then maybe I'll stay" Almost instantly he said "Yeah I don't fucking care as long as you can still get your shit done."

That was definitely not the response I had expected, so stunned, I somewhat backtracked and told him that I might come back in later when I was drunk. It's weird and really hard to gauge what the actual stance is on drinking at work. Since I am the first person to be trained to cover every position in the back of the house, I am currently the most useful employee in the fucking joint. I think the managers actually realize that I am probably way too intelligent to be working in a deli and its obvious that they REALLY don't want me to quit.

My second full week of work I was supposed to go in one day, but woke up hungover and decided not to show up. Rather than getting fired like at least 5 other people I know of, when I came in for my next shift they just said hey what happened Wednesday are you alright? I just told them I thought I had the day off and nothing else was ever said of it.

The problem with me knowing how much they want me to keep working there is that I know myself, and I fucking love to take advantage of shit as much as possible. When I worked at Home Depot, I didn't know shit about lumber or cement and could be easily replace, and as such I showed up on time and did my work right out of fear of being fired. But if you put me in a situation where I'm not so expendable and I slowly but surely test the waters of how much shit I can get away with until I inevitably cross that line.

I'm not too worried about the prospect of actually being fired from work at some point in the future so much as I'm slowly starting to realize that if I continue the trend of achieving as little as possible at work that it will eventually bleed over into the rest of my life. Maybe it already has.

On a lighter note, I booked my plane tickets for SF during spring break. So for a 10 days I will be able to fuck around.

So far this entire entry has been a tangent from my original motive. I was working wednesday when I started feeling kind of "wavy" or maybe "untethered" is a better word. I soon began to realize that something was certainly not right. I talked to a manager and came home early. By the time I had gotten home the fever was in full force. Even with pants and a long sleeve shirt on underneath every layer of covers on my bed, I was shivering like a mothafucka. Realizing that I was quite sick now, I only wanted to sleep. But one thing stood in the way of my repose. I had to take a massive dump.

Now taking a shit normally can be sort of cold. Feet on cold tile floor. Bare ass on cold porcelain. Pants pulled down etc. But in my feverish state this was basically the worst thing on earth. I was shivering and shaking and my teeth chattering as I desperately tried to jettison whatever I had eaten the day before. If taking a shit with a high fever is uncomfortable then I can't imagine what freezing to death would be like.

****FAST FORWARD 35 YEARS ****

Old Smacko: OH FUCK THAT RETARD PAPERBOY THREW MY SHIT IN THE SHRUB AGAIN.
(Walks outside in Bath Robe with slippers. Glass of scotch on the rocks in one hand.)
OS: How come that fucker can't throw it on the goddamn driveway for once in his life. I swear I'm gonna give him an envelope full of anthrax as a tip this Christmas.
(Makes his way towards the shrubbery covered in a thick layer of snow)
OS: God my fucking balls itch.
(Reaches down to scratch the worlds most famous sack)
OS: OHASDHHDSDH
(Slips on some ice and falls into a shrub)
OS: shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit
(dies an awful slow death and is found frozen to death on his front lawn with a turd halfway out his ass and a 2 finger salute to the frozen tundra that surrounds him)

Being sick is bad enough, but now you have to be tortured more just so someone else can fucking tell you that "HEY YOU SICK"

My mother suggested that I go to the doctor so I could get some new miracle flue cure pill. What she neglected to tell me was that in order to receive this wonder drug you had to be clinically diagnosed with the flu. This means getting this fancy new swab that tells the doctor within about 2 minutes if you have the flu or not. The downside of this swab is its administration. It's not a throat swab or mouth swab, oh no it's a fucking SINUS SWAB. They take this small weird q-tip like thing and ram it up your nose until it almost punctures your brain then they MOVE IT ABOUT and remove it.

After my swabbed turned pink, the obvious was confirmed, I HAD THE FUCKING FLU. A prescription was written for wonder drug and filled. I must admit I had my doubts about this shit, but it's not fucking joke. I went from laying in bed all day wanting to die to waking up and spending all day playing a Charles Barkley RPG.

The downside of not being violently ill is that I no longer have fever dreams. I had one memorable one which centered around a grade school classmate dying. It featured at the FUNERAL ALONE, an on stage sex show, a street motorcycle stunt tribute, a sing-a-long, and plates of free shrimp.