Take That, Toilet

I'll write about this first because I'm pissed about it. How hard is it to take a fucking order? The answer is not hard, and I can tell you that first hand because I've been taking orders in various businesses for over 4 years. So when some dumbass night manager completely fucks my order up, it makes me angry. It's bad enough that he put things on that I requested to be left out and took things off that are supposed to come on it. What makes it even worse is that I go there quite often, and he knows who I am, where I work, and I order the same fuckin thing every time. There you have it, quick and simple, that guy's a douche.

Now on to the meat of the update. I went to McDonald's last night, and I don't know what they put in my mcchicken but I was punishing the Biggby's bathroom today. I laughed for a while as I was negotiating the release of chocolate hostages, then I remembered I was working and I had the clean the bathrooms and I got a really sad look on my face. I hope nobody loses any respect for me because of that comment, but if you come up to me and try and tell me you've never shit fire because of fast food I probably won't respect you either.

Have you ever gotten a zit right where there's a sewed area on your clothes? It's really painful and annoying, right? Oh, that's never happened to you? Umm... yeah, me neither.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you an entry from the Kipp Caron archives. That's right, this entry is from March 19th, 2005. It's been over three years, and this paragraph has had time to age, like a fine wine, or old moldy cheese.

"An interesting thing happened today, where I flexed my leg after sitting uncomfortably for a while, and my ankle cracked. Normal occurance, you're saying. Well, you're wrong. Bitch. Shortly after the crack, it didn't hurt. This is because my entire leg went numb. Then, like a balloon filled with acid launched from a trebuchet, it hit me. Pain. Unimaginable pain. After experiencing this, I am about 80% sure I know what childbirth feels like. That being if you were to have a child through your ankle. Sound painful? It was, my friends. It was crippling. If I wasn't still able to walk, I would have been positive that my ankle had broken in that moment of torture. Not some pussy stress fracture. Oh no. My ankle felt as though it had exploded into several thousand pieces. Have you ever seen a fireworks factory explode? That's what it was like. I'm surprised it didn't make that high pitched whining sound that Roman Candles make when they go off. In any case, I was momentarily blinded and all I could think about was how I was dying. My life flashed before my eyes. I wondered where I went wrong. How I would re-live the last few hours of my life if I'd known what was coming. Around that moment of pontification, it stopped hurting. So, I pretty much forgot everything I had been thinking about."

To close out the update with a bang, I present you with an old photo I found. I spent a night drinking with my good friends a long time ago, and when I woke up I found this.


Apparently, I thought it would be an awesome idea to draw a man with a cape jumping flames with a skateboard, all while expressing my love for funk.

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