Wakey-Wakey.
3:00 a.m. Splash down into consciousness. First order of business brush the scum off mouth and off those dreams. Temper the tungsten tongue for another whiz-bang day lock and load the factory installed interactive feature (kindness). Check digital manipulation works great. Soft voice modules set on moderate, if not broken by bullshit, and remember to appear to give a crap about others, at all cost (well, for anything over a hundred bucks). Ah, Star Bucks you bless it $10.00 dollar egotistical garrote fundamentalist (please accept me as an artist or business man) cup of java. Your possibilities warms the cockles and penetrates into my Picasso painted intestines, it helps me grunt a too give a crap attitude.4:00 a.m., Set frequency modulation to Freudian slip for full array of coverage, working here at assholes are us is brutal, everyone else is volunteering for colonoscopy procedures with the boss, as I hide under my desk, rear end facing in naturally. Butt, I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time before someone stiffs me with a spiked batter mix, making me feel warm or possibly fuzzy with this creepy scene.
6:00 a.m., Still prior to first stage separation, maintaining infelicitous status, spotted two sets of hydroponic pants moving towards me, I try to divert into the intellectual lounge, then realize non existent, diverted course quickly, but strait ahead two Jerry Garcia fans, God I’m trapped, I take the ninety degree turn but I swear I have solar kites for my propulsion, cant get away quick enough.
9:00 a.m., this is bad I’m begging you, please, please, save me from the mundane eating my brain. The boss has sent a couple encephalitis parasitic pythons with tight pants to fetch me; one’s wearing a Donny Osmond shirt, the other is a sixty-five year old punk rocker with an NBC Logo with a picture of Conan O’Brian with slicked back black hair. Received notification on heads up display, interactive kindness feature is about to expire or possible explosion may occur momentarily.
10:00 a.m., Short-short-short. Long-long-long. Short-short-short. I think I’ve reached ten on the freaky meter, caught self doing the moon walk with geek in break room, probably confused by room name. This is it, the boss speaks to me in a broken montage of Indian, I haven’t the foggiest idea what he has said of me, it might have been a jingle, maybe a jangle, maybe a bangle. I stare at him with my best Betty Davis eyes but to no avail, he still kisses me on the mouth, and my first thought is “wow an Indian mans mouth with South of the Border sauce. My second thought is my God! why is that my first thought. Kill me quick I’ve been religiously converted to Hinduism with a kiss. But no, thank goodness I’m getting a raise, and no not because of my kissing technique, but get this, I yes I “apparently” stay at my work station unlike Donny and Conan. Turns out, every morning is not always a piece of crap. Sometimes its twenty five cents an hour take more bullshit, but with a kiss. Where else can a man find a job like this?
11:45 a.m., a Florida car dealership on T.V. just announced a free gun with the purchase of a pick-up truck. I don’t imagine you get the gun prior to closing the deal.
12:45 a.m., going home for more pond scum time, on the way out the doors I pulled my calculator out, I try to figure out how long, I would have to work here, with the twenty five cent per hour raise, before as a strait man, I would stop feeling cheap, from you know! That previous foreign exchange encounter.
