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Worker #3116

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Ghost Writer [Dec. 10th, 2003|03:33 pm]
Worker #3116
Here are some ideas for novels that I think a novelist should write:

* A man is the sole survivor of a plane crash in the Andes mountains. Confronted with both the dangers of starvation and the horror of solitude, he eats his own arm, which he believes to be the arm of a seventeen foot tall Hindu god that constantly mocks him. When he is finally rescued and returns to society he becomes the drummer for a popular Def Leppard cover band, appropriately named Sugar.

* A teenage vampire discovers that the taste of human blood is not so sweet when it pulses in the veins of Jack, the dreamy captain of the football team. She will learn the meaning of responsibility and remorse when she has to spend prom night dateless and under the scrutinous eye of Detective Jaspers, a lone wolf on an otherwise corrupt police force. Both exposes the contradictions beneath the veneer of modern suburban life and accurately depicts the mental and emotional life of midwestern teenage vampires.

* Three law students make a pact that they will kill themselves on their fortieth birthdays. Now, the men are successful, with families and enviable careers, the suicide pact all but forgotten. So, it comes as a real surprise to two of the friends when they learn that Ian, the most affable, popular, and seemingly content of the three is found dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the face on the morning of his fortieth birthday. They must now decide whether to fulfill their ends of the bargain, or to hunt down the buried treasure that Ian hinted at in his suicide note.

* Two lesbians who really just need a good man in their lives spend days and days passionately fucking each other just the way I like, until one of them hires a well-built gardener named Orpheus. (Possibly a novella).

* A writer is murdered in his Upper West Side duplex. He finds, though, that he is much more successful as a ghost writer than he ever was freelancing and teaching correspondence courses at CUNY.

* Worker #3116 wastes his youth in a cubicle, working for people he does not respect, for laughable wages, as his looks and wits leave him like so much sand in an hourglass. With comedy and tragedy, his life becomes a parable for us all about the beauty that can be discovered in hating everything about your life. To be based loosely on the real life escapades of Worker #3116.
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Prozaic [Dec. 10th, 2003|03:15 pm]
Worker #3116
It is amazing what not listening to NPR all day can do to lift your mood.
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You Never Write [Dec. 10th, 2003|01:15 pm]
Worker #3116
Want to know how many times you can refresh your Yahoo email account hoping that a message has just arrived in the two seconds since you last refreshed your Yahoo email account?

Soooo mannnyyy tiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmesssssss
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A Message to Sotheby's [Dec. 10th, 2003|10:44 am]
Worker #3116
I got a confirmation email today that my copy of Ghettopoly will be arriving soon. This is the game made famous by idiots who successfully lobbied the banning of the game due to perceived racist content. Never mind the deleterious nature of most music videos on MTV, or all of the programming on BET, or the hit TV show Cops, or your local news carrier. Apparently a gag gift carried by Urban Outfitters is spreading the seeds of low-self-esteem among black youths, disallowing them to realize their full potential.

Before I am lambasted for ordering this game, I will say that I would not have bought Ghettopoly on the merits of its ability to make my life more fun. I suppose I'll play it at least once, but the game is more importantly a strong addition to my collection of Banned Toys. When it arrives, I will have two items in my collection. The other is called Forward Command Post. A maker of doll houses decided they wanted to make a doll house that could be marketed to boys, and so Forward Command Post was born. It is a regular looking doll house, except for the holes left in the walls by bullet strafing, and the two soldiers (one black, one white, a real United Colors of Benetton moment) poring over maps in the dining room and setting up surface to air missile launchers in the peonies. This is an awesome toy, perhaps the most awesome toy ever created. One day, I will not live in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and will actually be able to set it up and play with it.

In addition to receiving my confirmation email from the makers of Ghettopoly, there was an article in the New York Times today about a New York based outcry against the Playstation 2 game Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Apparently, there is a section in the game in which you are instructed to "kill all the Haitians." Now the Haitians are angry, and demand that Rockstar Games change it or remove the product from stores. Rockstar Games has allegedly agreed to take out the "kill the Haitians" section in future printings, so now I have to go buy Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for my collection. I will not spend too much time on the subject, but I would like to mention that if the section of the game said "kill all the white people" there would not be any problem.

There is one other toy that I know of that belongs in my collection. It is the Midge doll, produced by the makers of Barbie (Mattel?). Midge is with child. The toy has been banned in America, most likely at the request of people who want little girls to know that being pregnant is the very worst possible thing that could ever happen in a woman's life. But Midge is still sold in Canada (sells quite well, I hear), so I'll have to figure out a way to order it. I have found no evidence that Midge is married, although I think there is some sort of male counterpart who comes with a baby stroller. He's probably named Stephen, a homosexual friend of Midge's who shares her passion for mohair and sex-on-the-beaches.

If you know of any banned toys, please let me know. Also, if you take my idea and start a collection of Banned Toys of your own, I will hunt you down and kill you, and then I will kill your family, and blow up their house, Forward Command Post style.
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Woop [Dec. 10th, 2003|09:34 am]
Worker #3116
Is it just me, or does Howard Dean look like a life-sized Weeble Wobble?
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It's 9 a.m. and All is Well [Dec. 10th, 2003|08:53 am]
Worker #3116
My alarm didn't go off, so I woke up ten minutes before I was supposed to be at work.
Then I got to ride my bicycle in the rain.

So my attitude this morning is pretty well summed up in the expression "I'm sorry, did you get in my fucking way?" followed by an Ox Jaw to the neck.
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Name Change [Dec. 9th, 2003|03:32 pm]
Worker #3116
I suppose that if the current trend continues, I will probably have to change the title of my awards ceremony to either the Corporate Casual Headline of the Day Sponsored by salon.com, or the Corporate Casual Associated Press Headline of the Day. But I'm not ready for all of the fiscal responsibilities that would come with such a change, so for now we will let sleeping dogs (and by sleeping dogs I mean the title of Corporate Casual Headline of the Day, as it has always been) lie.

"Dog Rescued from 40 Tons of Waste"
(taken from salon.com)

Although this headline is funny, which is usually what makes a headline a winner on this blog ready by ones, literally ones of people, it is also sad. Don't you think? It was a pretty slow news day, to be honest, but let's take a look inside, shall we:

"A dog from Middlesex County is probably feeling like a lucky pooch -- though she smelled like trash, after being rescued from among 40 tons of household waste in the back of a garbage trailer."

This is the opening paragraph and it just screams WRONG WRONG WRONG. It's bad enough that the writer used the word "pooch," which I thought had gone out of style right about the time Jimmy Cagney's teenage son first told him he was a "square". Then she goes on to describe the dog as feeling lucky, an emotion that dogs CANNOT feel (as a canine scientist I know this for a fact), despite smelling like trash!!!! What is this, fucking Animal Farm? Was this "pooch" a diplomat from the animal kingdom, here to learn about our biped ways? No. Dogs do not mind smelling like trash, and if they could feel lucky, which we have already confirmed they cannot, it would not be in spite of smelling like trash but because of it.

(NOTE: I am also assuming that she was using the word trash as a synonym for garbage, rather than as a simple descriptive of her own cheap perfume.)

"A landfill worker who found the dog described seeing it in 5 feet of garbage at the back edge of the truck and moments from being dropped 7 feet into the dump."

Really? Don't be surprised if I feel a bit skeptical that a sanitation worker, after a long day on the job, estimated the number of feet of trash the dog was buried in as compared to the number of feet it would be dropped. "The dog was fuckin' in there, and then it like, woulda fuckin' fell the fuck out if I hadn'ta stopped that shit."

"The pooch is leery of people, but she has taken to one resident of the kennel: a one-eyed pit bull."

There's that goddamned 'pooch' again. And I have never seen a more blatant case of doggy discrimination in the press. What is so surprising about befriending a one-eyed pit bull? Especially if you're another dog? And don't go telling me that it couldn't possibly have been discrimination because you have a friend who's a one-eyed pit bull.

"Blumig said it's too early to tell when the dog will be available for adoption. Anyone who is interested can put their name on a waiting list, she said."

A waiting list! What's the point of a waiting list for one dog? Like, if you're not the first person on the list you'll have to wait for the rescue of another trash dog? I fear this--to borrow a phrase--pooch's life is going to be turned into a party gag. "Check it out man, I adopted that trash dog from the newspaper. Yeah man, this dog was up to its ass in trash, and now it's here, in my fuckin' house, I can't barely even fuckin' believe it man."
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Trauma-rama [Dec. 9th, 2003|11:29 am]
Worker #3116
For those of you who subscribe to Seventeen magazine, you might remember a popular feature titled "Trauma-rama" in which readers sent in letters describing embarrassing moments. Usually it was their unexpected heavy-flow period staining their new white bikini with deep red polka-dots right in front of their totally secret superhot crush. Mine is a bit more adult, and, I think, a bit more original, since I suspect that most months it was up to the staff of Seventeen to come up with fake embarrassing moments for an otherwise slow mail-month.

So, in the spirit of Trauma-rama, this entry will be written as a letter to you, the fictional Trauma-rama editor at Seventeen.

Dear Seventeen,

When I was in my 20's, I was working in an office as a temp for, like, no money, and it was totally lame-o! The people were nice enough, for the most part, but they were booooring. Mostly I just sat at my desk and pretended to be doing something other than nothing, which is what I was actually doing, all day long.

One day, everyone was laughing and joking together on the other side of my cubicle wall as if I couldn't totally hear them. Finally, someone came over and said they wanted me in the conference room for a staff photo. On the one hand, I was, like, super totally embarrassed, because I didn't know they would be taking a photo of me on that day and I, like, totally wore a maroon button-down shirt and had just shaved so my face was all way superpale and I had a zit on my forehead that looked like a mean third eye and so it was totally not a good day for a picture, like at all. But on the other hand, it was nice to feel included, and my heart felt happy because I thought that maybe they would give me a real job, and me and the boy of my dreams, Health Insurance, would finally be together. They took a couple pictures in the conference room, which I'm, like, totally sure will be so ugly I'll die. Then, and here's the part that makes me want to curl up in bed with a copy of your magazine (wink wink) and a box of tissues and just totally like cry. They took another group photo just without me!!! OMG can you believe it!!! What was the point of taking a group photo with me? Was it just for my benefit? Were they going to send me that one with the negatives so I could remember my shitty job there, while they showed everybody else the one without me and put it on their website? Would me and my dream date, Health Insurance, remain separated like the two greatest lovers of all time, Romeo and Juliet? They kept laughing like it was the most fun in the world, and then I went back to my desk, which wasn't even mine, because I was a temp.

I was like, so pissed.

Sincerely,
Worker #3116
(subscriber since 1993, on my *fifteenth* birthday, wink wink, I was always mature for my age, lol)
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Job Description [Dec. 9th, 2003|10:32 am]
Worker #3116
I guess it would be accurate to say that right now I am being paid not to quit in frustration and go home to bed.
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Politics Are Fun(ny) [Dec. 9th, 2003|08:59 am]
Worker #3116
I would just like to say that I am a big fan of Al Gore's public endorsement of Howard Dean. Personally, I'm not sure what I think about Dean, he might be too much of an under-biter to be President of the United States of America, the Greatest Country on Earth. But I do know what I think about Joseph Lieberman, and what I think is that he is a disgusting muppet, left on the cutting room floor when Dark Crystal entered post-production. His wife is named Hadassah! Hadassah! A Jew! I'm sure their penurious ways could help cure our fiscal troubles, but do you really want to have a tour of the White House by menorah-light? Are we supposed to shut down the country on Friday at sundown?

Also, everyone is always talking about how General Wesley Clark is a republican in democrat clothing. But Lieberman is a self-righteous republican in humble Gollum clothing! He's almost as far right as you can get in the Democratic party (not to mention Middle Earth), with the possible exception of Texas' congressional democrats whose only liberal belief is that fags and pregnant teenagers is goin' to hell.

Thank you, Mr. Gore, for making Mr. Lieberman, a.k.a. Felty, almost cry on this morning's Today Show.
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