day t-1

i'm a cucumber!
i'm a cucumber!
i'm a cucumber!
i'm a cucumber!

i'm a cucumber!
i'm a cucumber!
please don't take me to the pi-i-ckle farm! yeh!

day T-4

I turned a check in.


Oh yes, and slept like a corpse with hypersomnia.

late Day T-5

Aurora has a lot of Chinese eateries. I imagine dining out to be cheaper than before. Also, Wendy's sammich is made of love and breaad and lovebread an turkey. schhhhhhamack me if yaaaaaa nheeed me.

early Day T-5

sleep. sleep! sleeeeep! c'mon, work already!

belated Day T-6

Backup plans on job plans! realization of the modern costs of appliances! the fact that I will shoehorn minifridges into every nook and cranny! root beer! sleep.

Expanded Day T-8 and Partial Day T-7

Yesterday, I was ready. Got the haircut, got the clothes, got the paperwork, got the groove on. I showed up early and checked myself in a bathroom for final-stage action. And all of it got batted out of the sky before the interview. See, I got a bit muddled on the time frame on which infractions are removed from one's Motor Vehicle Record. The job had a 4-point max tolerance, and I had 8. Let us thank the quota-filling hill-camping retard with a badge back in '01 for that.

But hark! Jobmaster David took pity on my stupidity, and so directed me to DIAjobs, the local job dispatch center. They in turn directed me to AirServ, a fine organization that doesn't require bumbling idiots to have appointments. I got in, got asked questions (aie!) and was told to come back Thursday at 8am for a sort of introductory meeting, after which a test would be distributed, and should I ace it, they offer me the job, which would be that of Part-Time Compartment Cleaner. I would organize the magazines, make sure each seat had their "o fuck we're gonna die" instructions, etc. No idea as to the pay or the hours, but I don't care.

I should pack.

Day T-8

I would've gotten cancer from breathing all those car fumes anywho.

Another job interview tomorrow! This time I may even get asked a question! :D

Day T-9

I feel like a shorn sheep. A shorn sheep that has to defeat Jobmaster David, King of the Dialots. A sheep with the Armor of the Bull's Eye, the mystical Card of Extroverted Protection, and the Rogue's Throwing Dagger That Doesn't Kill So Much As It Leaves a Tiny Black Dot That's Somewhat Annoying To Wash Off. All that is left are the Records of the Motar V'hikal. With these in hand, Moof the Sheep will win the day and become...

THE LICENSE PLATE INVENTORY CLERK OF DIALOT!

"Baaaah, motherfucker!" *KABOOM*


and if I don't, then I'll sell the story to Hollywood.

The Day that Flipped Out and Killed a Town of Ninjas.

Some days are just too predictable. Today was not one of them. And ten days from now, it will be a whole new reality.

Doug's got his towel, all's right with the world.

I'd Far Rather Be Happy than Right Anyday.

It starts in elementary school.

When I was a wee dork, there were two important traits present in my psychomalogical makeup:

1) I read like a weiner dog; that is, if books were meaty shins.
2) I suffered from extensive innocence that I am still recovering from to this day.

And with these twin bits of fate running about, I discovered a book series that would change my life, despite the fact that it really shouldn't have: The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Towels as nigh-omnipotent tools! The answer to our existence is 42! Extraordinary and silly planets that rarely get mentioned again! It was too insanely great NOT to latch onto as truth.

(No, I am not saying I believed the events in the book happened. I'm saying I believe(d) in it in the same fashion as your average churchgoer; it has numerous elements of a greater wisdom, but is not, by most standards, an absolute reality.)

Now this is the point where I sidle up to my point and pounce on it. I have a fetal job interview later today, which is to say I need to call a guy I emailed my resume to. Should I play my cards right, I should easily get a job interview and a shot at the job itself. The key words in that last sentence are "play my cards right." Yep. I, a non-linearly-minded* creative type, must prove to a random stranger that I am worthy NAY, DESTINED to be their license plate inventory clerk.


I'ma gonna need sleep first.

Wonder why I post mostly when I'm tired...
Wonder what the first part of this post has to do with the end...
bah.




*For proof of this, read the comic/story.