Bang a gong and drop your thongs, ’cause it’s Friday!!! Slap up a prostitute and start a fire in your office building, ‘;cause it’s Friday!!! Eat some cottage cheese and rape the neighbor’s dog, ’cause it’s FRIIIIIDDDAAAAYYYY!!! Snort some coke and drive your car off a cliff with your cunt mother-in-law locked in it, ’cause it’s FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-*gasp*-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!
No wait. Don’t do any of that. That’s horrible and a very stupid plan. Instead, how about a nice evening out with friends and loved ones followed by a few cocktails and listen to the ol’ stories on the jukebox, yeah? Sure. But first…
Thing I found of the week:
Due to some interesting circumstances, I have ended up with a “Prize Drawer” in my cube at work. Well… the circumstances aren’t that interesting. That was my attempt at spicing this up, but it really doesn’t need it. I order the Graveyard Mall’s version of Woot’s “Bag O Crap” and got a bunch of weird shit. In case you’re wondering, yes that is a handheld body messager, yes it did come in that package, no it did not come in box of its own, and no I’m not certain it isn’t used. Yuck. Anyway, some of the stuff was kinda cool or useful. Like those stick that you put in a jar that make your house not smell like farts and your neighbor’s shitty cooking. I took stuff like that home and offered the rest to whomever was in my cube. After that, it all went into this drawer. Now if I have some kind of contest, I actually have prizes for it. Pretty rad, right? No? Yeah well, fuck off.
I gots none! I’m still busy and tired as shit. I’ve peeled off the five pounds I gained and it’s back to trying to steadily get down to “person size”. I’m working on some content that you’ll see sooner or later and some of the stuff I promised a while ago is actually close to being complete. But not yet. So let’s just get to what you come here for on Friday’s anyway. This stuff doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Just call it “Jones” or “Smith” or something.
My Extended Bootycall Forecast: