Only limited posts this week....sorry, shlubbies
They're killing me at work. Killing me, I tell you. Goddammit. After I have my daily homeward heading fight on the freeway, gobble groceries, consume three of four fingers of fine single malt, then take 30 seconds of personal time (you know, to "beat the bishop"/"strangle Stavros"/"wallop Walter")...why, it's all I've got left to drag my ugly carcass to bed and fart my way to sleep.What's a middle aged waiting-for-a-heart-attack-to-happen guy gonna do?
posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 1:53 PM
6 Comments:
So, what DO you do?
For some bizzare, freakish reason I thought you worked at an undertakers.
Maybe you do - 'Transporting' dead guys (and gals, hmmmm, dead girls don't say NO, but they do say 'frrrrrttttttt thrup! thrup! squelch' occasionally, then you have to get a new one).
I am an embalmer, handling those chemicals, ya see. People are just dying to have me work on them. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH....deep breath....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Sorry.
The hard part about what I do is getting rid of the smell.
Efer tug one over a fit girlie corpse?
Nah.
Pale, cold, and lying there stiff as a board? That describes both my ex-wives. Why would I want to re-live that horror?
Besides, I have respect for the deads. It's the livings I can't stand.
Good point, well presented!
hmmmm.
what an interesting thread...
B-|
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