I was intending for my next blog entry to be about how much I hate christians, but I just don't feel like spouting hatred today. You see, it's my birthday weekend. I took the day off of work today just for the hell of it, and I've never even done that once in the year and a half that I've had my current job. I've never even called in sick. I used to have this real shitty job when I was living in San Diego taking catalog orders for "International Male" which in case you don't know, is like Victoria's Secret for gay men, uh, no comment on that besides the fact that it made me want to throw up. For the life of me, I can't figure out gay men. nor can I figure out heterosexual women but lucky for me at least they work in my benefit. OK, OK, OK I know this is getting totally incoherent. I just want you to have to wonder what in the fuck it is that I'm trying to say. It's kind of like poetry which by the way I fucking hate. I wanna round up every poet in the whole entire world and slice their fucking throats. I can't think of much more that offends me other than poetry. Spit it the fuck out, asshole!!!!! What in the fuck is it that you're trying to say, motherfucker!!!!! I don't have time to sit here and try to pay attention to your meaningless, insincere bullshit while you try to bedazzle me with fancy lad bullshit wordage!!!!!!! OK well anyways, I had this job and they would try make me come in on Sundays which I hated. I didn't even care about clocking in hours because my girlfriend at the time was loaded. I'm despicable, huh? So, I would always call in sick, and my boss, I fucking hated her, . . . She was this middle aged, white, suburban like woman. That's not necesarily why I hated her though. I probably hated her because she didn't feel loved. You know the way that people act when they don't get enough love? They're not very nice. not very nice to be around. So, I would always call in sick, and finally, she started to ask me what was wrong with me, and I started getting very inventive. First, it was "explosive diarreah" Then, I moved on to "a really bad case of genital warts" and "harsh symptoms of rectal itching". "A plugged urethra" started to go sort of far. She suggested that I go see a doctor. I refused, but the next week when I told her that I was vomiting something that "smelled like feces", she insisted that I must bring in a doctor's note if I was to miss any more days. I was surprised that she was tolerant enough to even let it last that long. Oh man, that was such a weird period of my life. Me and my girlfriend at the time were living in this really fancy condo a couple of blocks from the beach. It was three stories tall. Our bedroom was on the top story and it had a balcony that you could see the beach from. It was so fancy, . . . by far the fanciest place that I've ever lived in to date. There was four bathrooms, and i made it a point to take a shit in a different toilet every day. I was really into heroine back then too. I remember I would always get it from this shoe shiner in Tijuana. He would shine my shoes and sell me heroine. To this day, I can't smell shined shoes without thinking of heroine. Those were pretty sweet days of my life, But here was the catch: they were trying to sell the condo while we were living there. So, we would totally be sitting there in our home having like a personal moment, and there'ld be these obnoxious perfume wearing yuppies with a loudmouth real estate agent walking through the room pointing out features or the condo like we weren't there. I would always come home from work, take off my shirt, let my hair down, and drink beer and smoke cigarettes, and they'ld always tell me not to smoke in the house, but I did anyway because I hate rich people. They can go to hell. Maybe, I'm just jealous, i don't know. They'ld walk through the room, both husband and wife seperately talking to other people or who knows? maybe each other? on their fucking cell phones, which is another thing that offends me. I bet 95f people on my space have cell phones. wouldn't you say that that was probaly accurate? So, anyways, on two different occasions, with two different real estate agents, they caught me and Starlette having sex. It was strange too because we were in the same exact position each time: I was standing on the floor right up near the edge of the bed fucking her while she was lying on her back with her legs up in the air. It was pretty sexy stuff. It's turning me on just thinking about it, but anyway, I digress. The first time, I couldn't get too mad about it because we had left the bedroom door open, but still it was strange: it's like the real estate agent knew exactly what she was looking for: I heard the front door slam, I heard foot steps coming up the stairwell, down the hall, and right into our room. I'm not exactly sure even what she was looking for. We all made eye contact, and then she turned around, walked down the hall, and down the steps. I heard the front door slam again and I continued fucking Starlette. So, after that, I made sure to always close the bedroom door when we were doing it. But another time, it was the exact same thing: me standing on the floor next to the bed, Starlette laying on her back with her legs in the air; me fucking the shit out of her, and then again I heard the front door slam, i heard footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall, and then the fucking bedroom swung open, and oh my fucking gosh, there was another real estate agent standing there with her mouth wide open! She looked like the other one's sister: preppy with blond hair and a lot of make up and shit. I'ld slice her fucking throat if I knew I could get away with it, but anyway, I digress, she said out loud, "I'm sorry" closed the door, and went back outside. I swear to gosh, she came looking for us. I had a lock installed on the door. It was against the rules but I did it anyway. They kept on trying to come in, but the lock kept them out. Those were interesting times. Me and Starlette, all we did was fuck and argue; really pointless, I'll admit. Well, I'm'nna go and practice the drums now.