Today’s Forecast: It is going to be fucking hot today, with a chance of swamp ass. Wednesday: Hotter than a freshly-raped fox in a forest fire*. Sport-wipe necessary when you finally get to your office, as swamp-ass is guaranteed. Thursday: Hotter than a nun’s cunt in the African Marathon. Pack an additional outfit to change into at the office because Thursday’s swamp ass laughs maniacally at your sport wipe. Friday: Who fucking gives a shit anyway? Chicago’s weather is the biggest bullshit in China. All extremes, all the time. Never pleasant and comfortable more than a day at a time. And what really gives me a red ass is the fact that due to these extremes, the weather dick always gets to say “We’ve had an average _____________ “. Yeah, because 4 99′s and 26 57′s statistically average out to a “Normal” June. Fuck you Skilling. As soon as someone calls me on the phone out of the blue and offers me a high paying job in San Diego-despite the fact I’ve never even looked for a job there-I’ll move so fast your mom’s head will spin. What I do have is some random floater Coors Lights in the fridge at home. If I just merely open one, will that frosty cool train barrel through my condo? Or do I have to actually acquire some paint and draw a tunnel or other access point for the train first? I’m unsure of proper protocol.
*My first ever “real job” after college was at an old-timey publishing company in Boston. This phrase landed me right in the HR office for some reeducation. I was a total fish out of water in that job. Freshly out of state school in Ohio where anything goes, I land in a very prim and proper publishing firm with a ton of private/boarding/girl’s school types. Not a great mix. Don’t get me wrong, many of these people were quite to very cool, and I am friends with several to this day. However, there were many who wouldn’t know a good time or a joke if either walked up and took a shit right on their face. So I’m in this tiny little office “collating” (which means you are NOT a very important person at the company, given this job is now done by copying machines) a shitload of documents with others in my position level, and a slew of temps. No circulation in there, and we are shagging ass trying to get ready for the national sales meeting. Without thinking twice, I drop “It’s hotter than a freshly raped fox in a forest fire in here”. Record screeches to a halt. Crickets chirping. Tumbleweed blew by. A look from this one private school chick like I’d just been arrested for kiddie porn or something (and I know it was her that dropped the dime on me, I’ll swear that to my grave). Boom, day later and I’m in the HR office being grilled like I just quit my job, sold my house, grew a long beard, started wearing a long robe and moved to Dearborn, Michigan. My boy Ron (who was a cool guy, just doing his job) starts up with the “So Zachary, tell me in what context you think rape is funny?” and “Do you condone rape?”. I mean shit, I’ve heard that phrase a half dozen times while working on a roofing job during the summer in central Ohio. Nobody said bully to anyone uttering that phrase on the roof, so why is it any different at a stodgy publishing firm in the heart of the pretentious Northeast? Bullshit in my opinion. No Ron, I don’t condone raping people. However, I do think the idea of a somehow raped fox (by whom or why? that is part of the awesomeness) racing wildly about in the midst of a forest fire is pretty goddamned funny. Well, I learned that day what is funny on a roof in the Midwest is not necessarily funny at Simmons or Smith College in Boston, MA. And now I know, and knowing is half the battle.