Last Day on the Job

I once worked with this guy. We'll call him Bozman, cause that's what I call him. He was one that looked like he had been carved out of cream cheese. However, for as pretty as he was, he was equally stupid--as all the big pretty ones are.

I never minded working with him though; because as stupid and slow as he was, he was a nice enough guy and he racked up tips from all the fifty year old bourgeois bitches with bad face lifts who harbored fantasies of taking him home and making him their pool boy.

One day some younger girls came in and they were large. Large to the point that I feared for the bar stools' safety. Naturally I let Bozman wait on them, thinking he could do his usual Rico Suave crap and milk a good tip out of them. But on this occasion I noticed that he wasn't doing the routine like he normally did. So I pulled him aside, "Come on Bozman, work it a little. The fatty ho's money will feel the same in your pocket as the fifty ho's money will."

He looked at me with a sort of shocked stare. I thought maybe he hadn't understood me (as he was so exceptionally stupid.)

"What?" I said, "It will!"

After a long pause he responded, "Those are my sisters."

So...What are you wearing?

Today I did a mental run down of everything that I had on. I realized that on top with the classic mommy sweats, I was also wearing the following;

blood
sweat
tears
snot
vomit
piss
shit
breastmilk

drool (lots and lots of drool)

Sexy hmm. Now some may find this very maternal. I however think it's sort of refreshing that I still find it disgusting.

WARNING

Here's the thing.

I was putting Christmas lights up on the balcony the other day and I was reading the directions, something I never used to do, but since having a kid find myself doing on the simplest of products, ones you would think are pretty self-explanatory and need no instruction.

I think this stems from putting baby toys together, realizing an hour later when I finally finish that I've put it together all wrong and if I put Jr. in it like that he would surely go orbiting into oblivion. (Another form of bits.)

At any rate I came across something really puzzling (even more puzzling than the fact that Christmas lights come with instructions):

Printed on the side of the box there were warnings. Most were just the typical warnings:

Don't let baby chew on lights while pluged in.

Don't wrap lights tightly around neck.

Don't take lights in the shower with you when pluged-in (but otherwise OK.)

But the one I found truly enigmatic was this:

WARNING: FOR INDOOR OR OUTDOOR USE ONLY.

Now that's a thinker.