CAKE FOR ROOMMATE

This week a giant sinkhole appeared out of nowhere in Mid-Town Manhattan. The city is at a lost to why the sinkhole appeared, although here are some theories:

- Economy so bad, even the streets are depressed.

- Street workers in bright neon green caution vests were running out of stuff to stand and point at.

- Like many other New Yorkers this summer, Manhattan decided it too would hit the streets with an exposed crack.

- Hole actually just publicity stunt for new show ‘The Real Housewives of the Underground Mole People’.

- I guess this city isn’t as ‘constant-heavy-traffic-garbage-and-weird-liquids-flowing-through-the-street’ proof as we thought.

- Hole in city part of mayor’s plan to make New York more ‘aerodynamic’.

- Just a city scar from another epic battle between Godzilla and Snookie.

- This is what happens when you buy one of those cheap knock-off roads in China-Town.

- Hole created to make visitors from New Jersey feel more at home.

- Looks like Jimmy Hoffa finally escaped!

On Friday May 6th 2011, while at the The Improv in Addison Texas, I received a wrong number text message from a person who will be referred to here on out as ‘HIM’. This was our correspondence. Typos have been left in for maximum enjoyment.

8:53pm HIM: “So when. We get paid you get paid lastnight so when do o get paid”

9:02pm HIM: “So you not going to pay me”

9:33pm ME: “I pay u, but its Friday nite, and I gost to spend some of this cheese on skirts and eyewear if Im going to look good for Father”

9:45pm HIM: “What you not pay me”

9:48pm HIM: “Ok i will just call and tell them that the holes is not done right”

9:55pm ME: “The holes were fine, its the solid matter around the holes that were all out of whackadoodle”

10:00pm HIM: “I will call them tomm and tell them that the job is not done right i need to get paid”

10:07pm HIM: “So when do i get paid”

10:12pm ME: “When the time is right, and its ladies night, and everyone is up for getting down.”

10:16pm HIM: “OK i will have the cops there tomm”

10:25pm ME: “Dude, i AM the cops”

10:28pm HIM: “Ok what wver”

10:30pm HIM: “Ok what ever I will put in the news paper not to call you to move homes”

10:32pm ME: “okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay whatever you do don’t put me in a home and tell me not to move newspapers”

10:36pm HIM: “Ok I am asking is when I get paid”

***at this point I decided to start giving HIM hints***

11:28pm ME: “Money is nothing more than numbers man”

11:31pm HIM: I need it to pay my class

11:38pm ME: “You need to get your numbers straight if you’re ever going to get paid”

11:41pm HIM: “What you mind by that”

11:42pm ME: “Mean your own business”

11:45pm ME: “Numbers man, how much I owe u?”

11:45pm HIM: “What”

11:46pm ME: “HOW MUCH I OWE YOU?”

11:48pm HIM: “We worked 3 weeks and i own you 60”

11:50pm ME: “You own where ? With how when ¿ “

11:53pm HIM “What”

11:54pm ME: “U own me 60”

11:56pm HIM: “Yes”

11:59pm HIM: “Ok what you own me for the 3 weeks i worked”

12:04am ME: “I think instead of ‘U own me 60’ u mean ‘owed’. ‘Owed own me 60’

12:08am HIM: “What”

***more hints, the following is my phone number stated as a price***

12:12am ME: “U saying u own me $57,326,825.38”

12:12am HIM: “No”

12:17am ME: “So you’re saying that none of those letters and numbers are right?”

1:10am ME: “Dude, I love that you’re going to school. And I love that you’re working to pay for it. But if you really want to get somewhere in life, you have to get your phone numbers and verbs right.”

***the next day***

8:46am HIM: “So can i get paid today plizs”

9:13am HIM: “So not going to pay me today”

9:18am HIM: “I what to work for you butt i need to get paid so i can pay my bills to i need money to go to court tusday. To fight for my babys. So will you plizs pay me.

11:51am HIM: “So you not going to talk to me today”

3:33pm ME: “Don’t tell me about babies. I USED TO BE A BABY! Listen man, I cant be any more blunt, you’re texting the wrong number”

3:36pm HIM: “Ok see you in court that you do not what to pay me”

3:43pm HIM: “All i was asking is to get paid for the time i worked. And you will not pay me”

3:47pm ME: “Seriously, you have the wrong number. I am some weird guy in Addison Texas.”

3:52pm HIM: “What”

***HIM then called me, I let it go to my voicemail so I could record him, but HIM did not leave a message***

4:52pm ME: “Good luck with everything. Next semester take a class on texting. Thanks for the good time, I own you one.”

This clip tell me three things;

one: There are great plays in Soccer, but only when its foggy.

two: Other countries' announcers love soccer more than United States annoucners have ever loved anything in their life.

three: Sometimes the other team is made up entirely of referees.

Dine and Dash

Audience laughs at Jeff Foxworthy giving practical advice.

I can't believe that other countries hate us.

For anyone who missed Conan's first comedian on his show; John Dore. Pretty great stuff!!!

STING SINGS ABOUT THE UPSIDE TO STAYING IN A CRAP MOTEL

The Inner Monologue of a High School Shit head

My boss came up to me the other day and accused me of stealing. He said the other day my drawer was off and that he thinks that I’m the one who keeps eating shrimp off the line. I’ve never been more insulted in my life. He ‘thinks’ it was me? THINKS?!?!? Yeah, of course it was fucking me. Are you kidding? I’m in high school and I work at a fucking fish and chips restaurant. Of course I steal. I’m a shithead. It took me a month of working here before I realized that chips means fries. I’m dense. I’m in my own little world. The only reason I got this job is so I had an alibi on Thursday nights to leave the house when I wanted to go get drunk and high with my buddies down by the quarry. (The quarry by the way, perhaps the worst place for high school kids to hangout because the only things that ever happen at the quarry are the recovery of dead bodies, mafia deals, and plot lines from Scooby Doo.) Of course I steal. Although for the most part I’m a fucking moron, I have figured out that a large soda with tax is $2.06. And if that’s all a customer orders and they pay with cash, I can pocket that shit because it’s impossible to keep an accurate inventory of fountain soda. I steal money out of the register and I eat food when you’re not looking. And that’s nothing compared to the free food I give to my buddies on the days that you’re not there. You know I steal. We all steal. Everyone who works in the food industry steals. Bussers to general managers. I make five bucks an hour plus whatever I steal in tartar packets which I take home and can’t put on anything because the only thing tartar sauce goes on is fish, which is the last thing I want to eat after stealing and eating it at your restaurant all day. I am an awkward teenager that hates the world. You know that. You knew I would steal when you hired me. You factored that in when you agreed to give me my shit wage. I have no morals. I have no ethics. Why do I steal? I have no idea. I am a confused adolescent. I don’t know why I do half the shit I do. So far this week I’ve sniffed airplane glue, done lawn jobs in a geo metro and stuck my dick in a vacuum cleaner. I know I hate you. I know I hate this fucking job. Maybe I steal because you made me work on homecoming weekend. Maybe it’s because you keep calling me ‘Chief’. Maybe it’s because you fired that slutty hot chick that worked here thus ruining my only immediate replacement of dates with a vacuum cleaner. I work with five dudes that are worse pot heads than me, an old creepy guy with kids who’s always wanting to hang out with us after work, and one Rick Moranis looking freak who actually loves working here. So much so that you made him ‘Shift Manager’ the biggest nothing title awarded to the one person who shows up on time in every restaurant. All ‘Shift Manager’ means is that you make ten cents more an hour than everyone else to wear a bigger name tag and and do the boss’s shit job of making the schedule. Although every now and then, if the ‘Shift manager’ is a real anal uptight prick, the boss will let them handle guest complaints. Which handling guest complaints in the food service industry just means offering them free dessert. That’s the restaurant business’ solution to everything, free dessert.
“Sir our food was cold.”
“How ‘bout some free dessert?”
“We felt that our waiter was rude.”
“How about some dessert, on the house.”
“I think my wife is a having an allergic reaction to her dessert.”
“I think some free dessert ought to fix that.”
I steal. And I’m going to keep on stealing, just like you stole when you were a teenager. I’m going to steal, and I’m going to talk shit behind your back. I going to tell everyone that one of these days, during a rush, when it’s real fucking busy, I’m just going to walk out in the middle of a shift. And I’ll do it too. And while I’m doing it, the whole time I’ll be thinking how I can’t wait to tell my buddies that I just fucking walked out. Then I’ll get another job. And I’ll think it’ll be cool for awhile because it has different food, different people, and the pay is a bit more. But then after about three weeks I’ll hate that place too. A customer will order a triple cheese burger with chili cheese fries, a side of onion rings with mayonnaise and a diet soda. I’ll ask who the fuck she’s kidding ordering a diet soda. I’ll get fired. I’ll go on to the next job and the next job, hating each one more and more till before I know it’s thirty years later and I wished my job and life was as simple as it was when I worked at the fish and chip restaurant. So much so that I’ll actually say fuck it and get a job there. I’ll want to hang out with the kids that work there to get a little reminder of my long lost youth, but they’ll just look at me as some creepy dude with kids of his own wondering what the fuck I’m doing working at a fish and chip restaurant. No matter who’s working for you, they’re going to be stealing. Why not just let it be me? I don’t piss in the lemonade or do crank in the bathroom, I steal. Ask yourself this though, in the whole scheme of things, is it really going to ruin anybody to let a teenage total fucknut have a little extra money to take the wrong girl out on an awkward date. Is it really going to bankrupt this million dollar restaurant chain if a little high school piece of shit, has a three hour old dried up piece of shrimp? Fuck you! Anarchy Forever!