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Cunty McBitchface
Written on 2001-07-12, at 4:03 a.m.
So let me share what I've eaten today.

3 slices of Papa Johns "All meats" pizza which I wrote a bad check for.

1 Venti Tazoberry and Cream from Starbucks.

1/3 (16 squares) of a Cadbury's Dairy Milk.

7 Rolos.

2 Cigarettes.

I don't know that the cigarettes really count as food, but it makes me happy to look at the fact that I've only had 2 cigarettes today.

Nevermind the fact that I woke up at 5:45pm. It's still good.

With these piss poor eating habits, nicotine intake, odd sleep hours, and a fetish for Cinabons, it's a very good thing that I work out.

And by work out, of course I mean living on the second floor.


I noticed something the other day that I fear I may be guilty of. People judge you by how you look, and nothing else sometimes. I usually look fairly decent when I'm out and about, and when I'm at work. I think so at least. However, the other day I was up the road at another mall helping them prepare for the opening of am enormous new store. A friend of mine works in that same mall, so on my lunch I decided to go visit him. Now, this is a tuxedo store...really nice clothes, all that. I had been sweating, and unpacking dirty boxes all day, so my white shirt was filthy, my hair was askew, I was unshaven...

For all intents and purposes, I looked like Liza after a four day binge at Studio 54.

Anyway, I walk into the store, and the woman (I use the term loosely, because she looked like Tom Selleck in a wig. Not the Selleck of today, but the "Magnum, P.I. days. With the big moustache.) who is hereafter known as "Cunty McBitchface" looks up at me, looks back down at the desk, and ignores me. I stand there for a second or two, or 300, and when she realizes I'm not going anywhere, she looks up with a "Did you need something, sir?" Now, the "sir" part was spit out like someone had just told you the Beef you were eating was fresh from the UK. "Um, is Carlos here?" I asked.


Not, "Not yet, he'll be in at noon." not "No, sorry, can I give him a message for you?". Nothing. Just "No."

Now, ignoring the wild sensation I had to staple her hair to the back of her knees, I said, "Ok, thanks". God only knows why I thanked her, maybe it was because I'd now have time to grab a Cinnabon. But to equate Cunty McBitchface with a Cinnabon, even in a small way, is quite sacreligious.


What if toll-takers had no pants on? We'd never know.


I went to the movies the other day. The ticket taker said "Enjoy the movie". I said "You too". Why did I say that?

Yes, you enjoy my movie as well.

I really hope you enjoy this movie that apparently I have invited you to see with me.

I am going to come act out the movie when it is done, so that you can enjoy it.

I do that a lot, I say it to servers all the time..."Here's your food, careful, it's hot! (why do they say that now? They never used to, and it never really is hot.) Enjoy your meal!"...."Thanks, you too."

You also enjoy my meal.

Here, take some of my chicken fingers, I want you to enjoy it.

I don't know why I do it...and everytime I do, I make it a point to make it known what I've done. Sort of my way to humiliate myself into personal submission.


I have school in about 7 hours. "Survey of World Religions". I'm still not sure what the "Survey" part is supposed to mean..."Excuse me, Judaism, I'm taking a survey, how did you like the Pork Chops?". We're presenting group projects the next 2 weeks. I have to go with my group on Tuesday, the 17th, and have not done anything for it. I really hope no one from my group stumbles onto this, because the other day I chided them for not being on the ball.

It's 4:20.

I'm not a pothead, but I wanted to be nice to my readers who may be. They can just read this entry and say, "Hey! It's 4:20, man!" I added the "man" so that you, the reader would be able to easily form a dialectical picture of someone who would say that.

I'm so proud of myself for making up the word "dialectical".

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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