Garbage Man
First Off, “Housekeeping” is their official title, so when they
start bitching about how they don’t like “Taking out the Trash” or
“Cleaning Up After People” you know that they have to go. I’ve got
news for you, there are people that get paid less for doing far fouler
things than you, and they are Called GARBAGE MEN. The next time
someone who is paid to “housekeep”� bitches about having to clean
up TWO trashcans is when I call up Garbageman Joe and tell him to come
up here and show you people exactly how to “take out the trash,” if
you catch my drift. Yes, I’m implying that these crazy bastards need a
few bottles of JD smashed across their foreheads to bring them back
into any semblance of coherenece.
Keep In Mind, I have nothing
against anyone whose soul occupation is cleaning up after people, or
that society deems to be a glorified janitor. I just think that when
you’re getting paid for “cleaning up” you should be able to remove two
trashcans once a week.� The saddest part of this whole scenario
is that some poor sap had to rummage through a garbage can of
urine-soaked, vomit saturated, rotting-pizza-riddled garbage to find
the evidence necessary to accuse us of a crime. All in all, I feel
sorry for this massive tool of JMU Bureaucracy, but at least they
were willing to touch the garbage that the housekeepers fear
more than a flaming Satan statue with goat blood spouting from it’s
eye sockets that is capable of consuming your soul using it’s demonic
powers.
So I say, Batter Up JMU! You want to dance with the devil?
You want to rock the Casbah of Eternal Damnation? Boo to the Yah!
———-
On a lighter Note, Steve and I had a racquetball audience
today. Why? Perhaps they thought us so amazing that they deemed us
watchable. Now that I think about it, we were having an amazing game.
I was playing racquetball like a man possessed, and Steve was running
around the court like a Drunken Indian with his pants on fire.
|
�
Man, this guy is ON FIRE! |
�
In Other News:
– Cadbury Mini Eggs =
Sweetness
– No More Suite TV, Were already packing up and won’t be
living together anymore. Tears.
– Song Du Jour is Phil Collins – I
Wish It Would Rain Down
I don’t think I want to know a six-year-old who
isn’t a dreamer, or a sillyheart. And I sure don’t want to know one
who takes their student career seriously. I don’t have a college
degree. I don’t even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one.
Because they’re ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like
you drag them down and convince them they’re no good. You so much as
scowl at my niece, or any other kid in this school, and I hear about
it, and I’m coming looking for you! Take this quarter, go downtown,
and have a rat gnaw that thing
[Anita’s mole] off your face! Good day to
you, madam.
– “Uncle Buck“