Y Kant Katt Read?

I am a writer, obviously. That is, if you can suspend disbelief for a minute and accept that the title also encompasses half-assed bloggers who only write when they have something to bitch about. And I have always thought I am a decent writer, when I actually apply myself. But the truth is, there are a lot of folks out there who would laugh me right out of cyberspace for even thinking something so ludicrous. Why? Because I don't like to read.

Burn them smart-ass books.

And now for something so scary you'll plotz...

Happy Halloween Schizophiles! I had plans for a series of Halloween related posts, but I'm running a bit low on inspiration these days and might in fact take some time off to build up a backlog of material for those times my brain decides it's tired of doing the brain thing. In the meantime, check out the chilling and allegedly true tale of the ill-fated Dutch freighter Ourang Medan. If you're wondering what Grampa Simpson all dolled up in his Cabaret finest has to do with this, it turns out **SPOILER ALERT** they were having a Big Gay Party on board and so God had to smite their homersexual asses right off the face of the fucking planet. True facts. Ask the Westboro Baptist Church.

Gas Station Story

She was fond of a saying her father once used on her as a teenager, if only for the irony: "Only two types of people are out after midnight; cops and hookers. So until you have a badge, your ass will be in this house by 11:59." It was currently 12:17, but she needed cigarettes and the gas station was a block away.

She went out through the bathroom window

Author's Note: The following story is true. Names have been changed to protect the dim-witted. Because if they were fucking stupid enough to lose their clothes then they almost certainly couldn't handle a day in court.

A few summers ago I lived near a little dive bar out in BFE southern Indiana. Those of you who have actually been here can easily picture what kind of place I'm talking about. At any rate it was the only halfway entertaining place for miles and had good drink specials, so sweet. I spent a lot of time over there during the first few months and quickly made friends with the regulars and the employees. I use the term "friends" loosely; most of these guys believed that an awkward boob grab was a suitable greeting. I suspect that paint huffing during pregnancy was endemic in this area, but I digress.

It really sucks: A Kirby vacuum salesperson's story

As an HR major (update: former HR major - ed.) and generally distrustful person, I have learned over time how to recognize bogus job opportunities. The rule of thumb is, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Work from home scams are notorious for this and usually the easiest to spot. Maybe it's the cynic in me, but anything promising a large payoff for minimal effort just makes me roll my eyes. Sure, in a perfect world we could make a thousand bucks a month by working a couple hours a day. And in said perfect world beer would be good for us and animals would shit diamonds instead of scented land mines. I can happily say I've never fallen for a work from home scam, but I did fall for something just as bad, if not worse. For three days I was a Kirby vacuum cleaner salesperson.