Run from the mouse...RUN!!!

 

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I have an old friend I call Roach, I call him Roach because he was a little hyper Mexican that jumped around like a cockroach, he's calmed down considerably since he's gotten older. We've been friends since high school and he was here in California for two weeks before heading back to Texas where he lives now. We've been running together in the mornings but last night he was having a little get together with some friends before he headed back to Texas with his family.

I walk up to the door and knock happily and the door swings open and there is Roach. "Hey T! Come on in!" I walk in and my jaw immediately hits the floor as standing in front of me was Fievel. I have successfully avoided Fievel for the past 7 years since I've been out of high school. I called her Fievel because she looks like the mouse, Fievel Mousekewits, from the movie The American Tail.

I have avoided her all these years because frankly, I don't like her. She had a huge crush on me in high school and would rub up against me in swim class while we swam. She violated me during those swim classes, and I never appreciated it. She had the same exact zit on her chin for all four years of high school. I never understood why...maybe it was because she appeared to never take a shower....I think she was getting her hair nice and greasy so she could wring it out for oil to keep her car running.

All these years that I have successfully avoided her and there she stood....that zit on her chin has now moved to her forehead and she still looks like Fievel. Here I thought people looked older after 7 years of high school...more mature looking, but no....not Fievel....she still looks the same except the zit has moved.

After all night trying to hide my cell phone so I wouldn't have to give up my number, or give her my favorite Chinese Restaurant number pretending it was mine, everyone said their goodbyes to Roach and off we went. I lived down the street from him so I walked. Now I wish I had driven so I could speed off and loose Fievel so she wouldn't be able to trap me and ask for my contact info.

I started walking quickly as I heard her truck start up. I start going faster and faster until I'm actually running in my flip-flops down the street so she can't pull up beside me and start talking to me. Now I'm in a full fledge sprint to keep away from her and as her headlights turn onto the street I'm running on, I make a quick cut to my right and cut into an old little church that has been closed for years now. I hide in the bushes as she slowly drives by.

I stare at the ground so we don't make eye contact. I was completely hidden, but I know that if our eyes met she would see me there in the dark hiding from her Fievel like face.

She drove off never seeing me and this is something I'm not to proud of. I mean, she is a person...she has feelings behind that zit. I almost felt as low as when I wanted a Minivan for like 4 seconds before slapping myself, but wanting a Minivan even for 4 seconds is way worst than avoiding a human being.

I mean really...a Minivan?

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Love Her Like A Tomato


I'm in cyber love with Pisser. She smells like shit, she chases her felines to chop off and save dingleberries, and she likes to fist her meerkat on a regular basis. She can't talk enough about her fine ass and she loves a great gas station sandwich.

Even Hitler would love this Jew.

She amazes me...she has worked at more jobs than Robert Downey Jr. has been sent to rehab. Wish I could do that, wish I could be so talented to work multiple jobs instead of having my skills limited to a desk at my current job....cause I hate my job. Except a short stint at a bank, I've only worked for Law Firms. I hate working with attorneys....I've been lucky though as the ones that I have worked for have actually been great bosses and not your stereotypical, arrogant, I want to stab you in the face with a dull pencil for butt fucking me financially without the Goddamn courtesy to use any lube, attorney type.

Every year I get a high school intern working for me. I'm always hoping to get a Pisser Jr. so maybe I'll come across their blog about their internship working for my firm talking about their totally cool & rad boss. That never happens though.

I felt my age yesterday....I had to show my intern what a typewriter is. I had to show her how to use a typewriter. I had to tell her that there is no delete key or backspace key, but rather a "correction" key. I had to show her how the tiny green writing under each letter is a code that can be used when simultaneously pushed with the "code" key on the typewriter.

When I asked her if she knew who Scott Baio was....she replied with a simple, "No".

**weeps silently to himself**

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To Pay, Or Not To Pay...?

This may be my last post people.

You might never hear from me again.

I know, I know - difficult to swallow...grab a tissue for your tears as I explain why. Awhile ago, like 3 months ago, I wrote about a ticket I received from a cop...not just an ordinary cop, a highway patrol. They don't take shit from no one. Not even a cop's son who has a Clark Gable smile.

I was going 10 mph over the speed limit on the freeway. Yes, I was going approximately 75 mph. Well, my ticket came due on May 24 for $123....now I forgot I had this ticket and what do you do when you don't remember you have a bill?

That's right....You don't pay it.

Well, May 24 came and went like one of Charlie Sheen's hookers and I didn't pay my ticket. So on Wednesday I get a new notice that I now owe $403.

HOLY MOTHER OF MOLESTED PRIESTHOOD BOYS!

Fuck that shit...a $300 delinquent fee?????? What the fuck! Well I don't want to pay that...so I rummage through my recycle bin and low and behold I find my originally ticket for $123.

I grin devilishly as I write a check out for $123, make it out to "Clerk of the Superior Court" and pop it in the mail. Muahahahahaha

We'll see what happens.

Most likely I'll be eating dinner one night when all of a sudden a small plastic explosive will launch my front door back by 10 feet which then will be proceed with a swat team of 6. A two man team will come swooping down from a helicopter flying over head and bust through my window.

I'm Mexican so they'll probably just shoot me on the spot, cause they know us Mexicans can run like a midget banshee. I mean seriously, how do you think so many of us little fuckers got across the boarder anyways? That and we can fit like 37 people into a hood of a 1978 Volkswagen bug. They have classes on how to contort your body to use minimal space in a tiny space while breathing through a straw in Mexico. I saw it on National Geographics. I was so proud to be Mexican after seeing that.

Anyways...if my posting stops mysteriously, I'm either dead or making license plates while butt bumping Big Bubba.