Random Mumblings from a Frayed Man

Aaah, the weekend. A time of such wonderous wonderment. An ode of unimaginable beauty sang by the workaday masses now swathed in the golden light of freedom! Pastoral poetry leaping from the page into throbbing reality! A fire lit in the bosom of man and woman; who suffer little death and feel more alive than ever before! Orgiastic melodies climaxing in harmony with the Gods themselves!

At what point does subtext become text?

While bored out of my gourd Saturday evening I found a program that could quite possibly change your life.
It'll make you new friends, and make your current friends worship the ground you walk on. Wo/men will throw themselves at your feet and beg to be your love slaves in pressurized lingerie. Governments will topple at your very whim. Well, actually, all it does is turn text to speech, but it's a fun diversion nonetheless. Just imagine, you can enter the text from this blog and it'll be exactly like I'm there reading it to you! Minus the smell, of course. Interested parties can click here.

Joel's Conversation with a Customer

Customer: Election's on Monday.
Joel: Yep. Who you thinking about voting for?
Customer: Conservative. Martin ran a dirty campaign, I'm not voting for him.
Joel: If that's your only reason, are you aware that are three other parties in our riding? And that you're not directly voting for a prime minister?
Customer: ...uh... gimmee my cigarettes. [mumbling]

Why does it seem like the popular goal of politics now is keeping somebody horrible out of office instead of voting somebody worthwhile in?

The boss is currently telling his dog Riley in a screechy voice that if he doesn't start helping to put the stock away, he's going to have him put to sleep. When I told him that he sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West, he started cackling evilly and shouting "I'm wicked! Do you hear that Riley? I'm wicked!" Just one of the perks of working at the Rolf store: your boss is a complete looney. Actually, it's a good thing he showed up this morning because it helped to put me in a better mood; which is one of those rare instances when an employee is happy to see his boss. It's been rather interesting; I found out that the boss associates the NDP party with communism. When I pressed him to elaborate he told me to shut up and go back to work. So much for the dialectic. But really, it was a highly immature and relaxed morning. To start off the day I chased around Riley with my electric razor. We put empty cases of pop on our head. The boss referred to himself as a drunken monkey numerous times; parroting what I'd called him some time ago. The definite highlight - although to a mind that isn't on the brink it will seem rather odd - was a store announcement I made with the help of the aforementioned 2nd Speech Center. I won't bother transcribing it, but if you're interested you can obtain a copy here. Suffice to say that when I played it over the stereo when customers were in the store I could hear Rolf doubling over with laughter in the stock room.

The bizarre apex of the weekend came late Sunday evening, when a gigantic lady and her beleaguered teenage son came in for some slush. Upon entering the store she quietly commanded her son to not be an idiot, and they came up to the counter to get some cups. After paying for them she glanced behind the counter, then asked me if happened to be Rolf. I replied in the negative then pointed him out, as he was pricing something on top of the ice cream freezer nearby. She got his attention, and then in the most heartfelt manner possible said, "Thank you. THANK you for keeping your pornography magazines behind the counter and away from the prying eyes of children like my son." Rolf didn't know quite what to say to this, so he simply nodded his assent. At this point I was about to lose it. After they went to the machines I had to duck down and stifle my chuckles before they saw me. When they finally left I ran to the stock room and burst out laughing. Thank you? For that? What the fuck?! I don't know where to begin on this, so maybe it's best I don't start in the first place. Anyways, when the kid had filled his cup he had to ask what lid went with the smallest slush. Oh, I don't know; the smallest lid, maybe? You have to feel sorry for him, though. Let's see, he most likely has - or will have - mother issues impossible to fathom. It appears that there's an unimpenetrable aura of shame surrounding anything sexual in his household. Yep, looks like we got ourselves a serial killer in training here...

Attention all stoners: when you're reading our flavours of ice cream you will notice one named Heavenly Hash. The relevance this has to your daily life is apparent to anybody within ten feet of you; therefore you do NOT need to point this out. Thank you.

Two fifteen hour work days have taken a five dollar man and made change. I need a hug.