Thinkvoice vs. Smellslunch / Betty Glory

Saul Thinkvoice walks into the elevator. “Walking into elevator”, he declares. A minute later he’s walking down the hallway to his office. “Gonna turn on my computer and check my email in a minute or so”, he states to no one in particular. Sitting at his desk Saul yells, “turning on computer!”

Remy Smellslunch marches straight to Saul's desk. "A little early for chicken wings, isn't it?" he asks.

"I have no chicken wings. I wish this guy would quit asking me for food I do not have."

"No chicken wings you say? I could've sworn I caught a whiff of vinegary bbq goodness coming from this direction. Sloppy Joes perhaps?"

"I need to remember to schedule a fake conference call every morning at 9:00 sharp so I can close my door and keep this whack job out of my office."

"Ha! Good one pal. Listen, you wanna swing by Jocelyn's cube and get in on that brownie action? Smells like they're right out of the oven!"

"Perhaps if I humor this clown and walk with him to Jocelyn's desk he'll leave me alone for the rest of the day."

Saul stands and makes his way past Remy who is standing in the doorway to his office but not before accidentally brushing his left hand across Remy's crotch. "Whoops, accidentally touched Remy's dick. Hope he doesn't think I'm some kind of fag or something" Saul yells. A few moments later Saul and Remy are standing at Jocelyn NoBra's desk.

"Where you hiding 'em Jocelyn?" asks Remy Smellslunch.

"Hiding what?" replies Jocelyn as she swings her swivel chair around to address her visitors, causing her unharnessed breasts to swing ever so briefly as well.

"She probably thinks you're talking about her tits" thinks/says Saul.

"Brownies. I definitely smell brownies. You bake them yourself?"

"Does it look like I got brownies or any other goodies hidden from you guys?"

Saul blurts out "Try not to look down her shirt! Refrain from peeking down her shirt you pervert! I wonder if she knows that I think she's talking about her boobs when she says 'hidden goodies'? I can't believe she's dating that douchebag Danny Douchebag. God the things I would do to her if I ever -"

"Popcorn!" exclaims Remy, inadvertently breaking the tension and allowing all three to return to their day.

Career day / Sherman Billiams

It can all be so difficult sometimes, can’t it? I mean you know what has to be done as well as the logical first steps to take that would ignite the whole mechanism that is progression. But even that first step has a first step to it. If the first step is ordering Chinese food then the first step of that is getting to your phone, of which the first step is getting off the couch, of which the first step is flexing your quadriceps. So even the most mundane of tasks ends up being a two hundred-step process.

I don’t know about you guys but that’s a pretty daunting dose of reality to be faced with every morning. Enough to make you want to say “fuck it all” and stay in bed. But obviously we can’t do that, can we? We need to, at the very least, maintain this façade of self-improvement, of the perpetual pursuit of happiness. We need to do this not because it’s attainable, because let's make on thing clear, it’s not. Sure you’re going to meet a lot of “happy” people out there who will tell you to “keep your nose to the grindstone” and “if at first you don’t succeed blah blah blah”. I’ll tell you something right now folks. And please feel free to jot this down: Those people may look happy to you but when they go home at night and look in the mirror they ball their eyes out like the rest of us. Guaran-fucking-teed. No, we need to fake like real progress is just a resume tweak away so we can participate as members of society. Buying into this bullshit, even if you’re just pretending to, is the only thing separating us from urine soaked nut jobs babbling about the Holy Spirit on the subway platform. Christ, they’re probably the only ones that have it really figured out. Pissing on yourself might not be much of a life but I’d argue that at least it’s a life worth living. I'm just saying is all. . .

So don't be afraid to take your time and think things through before making any sort of decision whatsoever. Hell, you can become the resident expert on theories, on ideas, so that in the rare event that you do make it out of the house to socialize, folks will marvel at your ability to describe elaborate plans that, of pursued, would no doubt bear ripe and delicious fruits of labor.

Well, I see your teacher in the back there motioning for me to wrap things up so I’ll leave you all with this. No matter how much shit you’ve got piled up that hasn’t been dealt with, whether that be solidifying relationships, pursuing creative endeavors, or providing yourself with life’s basic building blocks, the fact that you're burdening your minds with the very prospect of making progress. . . well that counts for something. . . even if you end up wasting your days playing with your privates, contemplating action.

Thanks for your time.

Things to do while waiting for the C train / Gertrude Nebula

-Grow the world's longest finger nails

-Meet an attractive member of the opposite sex, date a few times, have intercourse, argue over your official "status", reconcile, have intercourse again, break up, and agree to stay friends but not really mean it

-Design a more punctual subway, get funding approved, revise the specs, break ground, finish digging the tunnels, and lay about half of the track

-Find God

-Grow a pony tail

-Raise a pony

-Eat, digest, and defecate your lunch

-Observe the forrest eventually overtake the urban infrastructure

-Intermittently take a photograph of the middle aged woman sitting next to you so that when you look at the photographs in rapid succession you can watch her grow old and die

-See how many wall tiles you can count in an hour then try to break that record

-Grow 1/8 of an inch

-Sorta forget what your mom looks like

-Some blow

Highs at Lowe's / Corey Bedlam

Iron pipes of varying lengths and numerous brackets to secure them, such is my shopping list this evening. 'Shopping' seems an ill-suited term for the task at hand. It's more of a mission. An excursion. 'Shopping' implies perusing music drenched, carpeted aisles for bath mats, dress shoes, pulp free orange juice and the like. 'Shopping' is for bitches.

The pipe I need is an inch and half in diameter, around four or five feet long. It really should be five feet long but, if asked, I'm prepared to say "around four or five feet long" because I want to convey an air of complaisance - that I could be provided with any length of iron pipe and make it work. Just point me in the general direction of the 1 1/2 inch diameter pipes and I can take it from there. If too short I'll fucking weld two pipes together. If too long I'll cut that fucker to the exact measurements I require using some sort of high-powered dangerous saw that will create a barrage sparks which would most certainly sear the retinas of any less experienced saw man if they weren't to don safety goggles which I most assuredly will not.

My cock feels heavier than usual, swinging in my old cargo shorts as I strut down nondescript concrete lanes, each side stacked ceiling high with metal, polyurethane, and untreated lumber.

I know the pipe needs to be an inch and a half in diameter because I brought a sample pipe with me. The sample pipe is about 18 inches long. I carry it in my right hand scoping the terrain for my raw materials, ready to strike at a moment's notice. There's a small hole in the sample pipe that happens to fit my index finger perfectly, giving me the feel of a custom made grip ideal for bludgeoning someone's head in. I briefly entertain beating the next man I see to death because I can. I have that ability. That mentality is right there at my forefront.

My left hand is crudely bandaged with a fist full of gauze and some electrical tape. I cut it trying to slice some aged Parmigiano Reggiano the night before but, if asked, I'm prepared to say I cut it while mounting a rig saw to a saw horse. Or something like that.

I flex my injured hand so I can feel the pain and I pretend my dick is also an inch and a half in diameter.

Soon enough I find my pipe. It was in aisle 47. It's exactly 5 feet long. It's an ugly bastard. It's already got some rust on it. Nothing a little equal parts vegetable oil and salt can't take care of.

Now for those goddamned brackets. I spit on the floor and make my way to aisle 11.

How do you like your eggs? / Truman Lifeblood

If there was a bright side it was that he no longer worried about not getting any sleep. Not to say that peaceful slumber wasn’t needed. No, he had to be in the office in exactly 3 ½ hours to turn on the phones lest Bill Dwyer happen to call and get the automated ‘call us back during business hours’ recording. It’s just that once 5am rolls around the panic of facing the upcoming day in a zombie-like stupor subsides and in its place a calm wave of acceptance washes over. Of course whatever sliver of consciousness that had been fretting over the clock now congealed with the rest of his mind in firing off questions of the most crucial kind – the kind that needed to be addressed if he were to ever

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Plight of the angler fish / Melvin Karnage

What a gyp.

Talk about your shitty lot in life. I'm a goaddamned angler fish. You ever seen one of those? Big 'ole toothy pie hole with a fucking appendage shooting out of my forehead like a goddamned freak flag pole. If that's not bad enough the good Lord saw it fit to attach a grotesque little luminous nub at the end to help me find disgusting shit to eat. It just hangs there, glowing, like some godforsaken christmas dingle berry. Always there just at the top of my line of site, lighting the way through my pathetic path.

The one thing that might help keep my mind off things would be some like-minded friends. Misery loves company as they say. Someone to swap sad stories with and such. You think I'd be so lucky? Not in your life mister. You know how many other fish I've seen in my life? Four. My mother, a gulper eel, and two blob fish. Five if you include the sea sponge. I usually don't. Not exactly a stellar line up.

Add to that the fact that I've never seen this sky you speak of. Oh sure I could swim on up and take a gander but my internal organs are a gelatinous mass with a density less than water such that the dramatic change of pressure would cause my body to swell and explode long before I ever made it to the surface. So I got that going for me.

I often imagine that I lost out on some living creature lottery of the grandest scale. That God had this long lost of of all the beings and one day decided what kind of animal each would be. When He picked Bob Kranz He said "Salamander" and just like that Bob was a salamander. Not bad Bob. Salamanders are some pretty slick creatures. When He picked Sally Martin He said "Flamingo" and just like that Sally was a flamingo. Kudos Sally, you could do a lot worse. When He came to your name he said "Human" and here you are today.

Lucky motherfucker.

You hit the jack pot and didn't even know it, did you? So go ahead and bitch about your cell phone bills, your rainy weekends, and your conference calls. I'll be down here in the dark, waiting for some sort of worm thing to try to nibble on my phosphorescent forehead.

Good times.

Fifteen great lunch ideas for August 7th, 2009 in order of recommendation / Charlene Feelings

15. beef stew
14. coffee ice cream
13. whatever Karl is having
12. chowder (clam or corn)
11. chicken cordon bleu
10. soup
9. hard-boiled egg
8. corn muffin
7. pizza burger
6. waffles
5. leftovers from dinner last night
4. Lunchables
3. cob salad
2. McDonald's Fillet-O-Fish sandwich
1. quesadilla

Three athlete retrospectives courtesy of my father / Biff Margins

On the career of Carl Lewis, American track and field Olympian:

If you ask me Carl Lewis was the greatest athlete of our time. I wouldn't be surprised if we don't see anyone match what he was able to do for many many years. You don't see guys nowadays compete in the 100, 200, and long jump and be that good at all three. I don't know exactly how many gold medals he won but let's just say that it was a lot. And the thing is he was never that cocky about it. He seems to be to be a very nice and kind man. I remember the race in Calgary in 1988, the 100 yard dash, where Ben Johnson broke the world record but later got caught for using steroids. Well Carl Lewis was second in that race and he would've broke the world record too. You see Carl Lewis never used steroids and I've always respected him for that. I wonder what he's doing nowadays. It's odd that you don't hear too much about him anymore. What an athlete. Man!

On the career of Brett Favre, Legendary NFL Quarterback:

Probably the greatest quarterback of all time. It was amazing how he could just gun the ball in there. Fshhhhew!! Right on target. And the number of games he played in a row was just incredible. Something like 16 straight seasons. I mean I'd be surprised if we ever saw anyone top that. What people don't remember is how bad the Packers were before he came along. I mean they were pathetic. But once he and Holmgren came to town they turned things around pretty quick. I think Favre and Holmgren had a special bond. Sometimes Brett would rifle a few passes that maybe he shouldn't have and I think Holmgren knew how to put him in his place. I still don't understand why they didn't bring him back last year. Heck he's the whole team!! I saw this show the other day and they were saying that he was a real goof ball in the locker room sometimes. For as long as he played you gotta say that he's one of the greatest athletes of our time.

On the career of Lance Armstrong, 7 time Tour de France winner:

This guy is unbelievable. I used to think Greg LeMond was the greatest cyclist ever but heck Lance Armstrong was something else. And to think he did it all when he had testicular cancer is just incredible. The way he'd just tackle those mountains - that was his strength. That's where he really excelled. The other bikers just couldn't keep up with him. Ha! I mean the shape that guys must be in is something else. Not an ounce of fat on that guy. And I imagine his thighs are like tree trunks to be able to attack those hills. Some people probably think he's on steroids or something but I don't think so. He's probably the greatest athlete of our time. I know he came up with that whole "Live Strong" bracelet thing which I think helped a lot of people and rose a lot of money for people with cancer. I wouldn't mind owning one of those. What an inspiration!