Back into Whoopi Goldberg's Butthole

Well, since money isn't free, it looks like I'll probably have to go back to Red Lobster (Whoopi Goldberg's Butthole) and try to see if the new GM will hire me. When I quit before, I had to quit because I couldn't work the schedule they wanted because I had school. Everything was left fine, but since I left, only three months ago, every manager that ever knew me is gone. So, now I've got to go to this new GM, who I've heard isn't exactly the poster child for nice ladies, but, coincidentally, is the actual poster child for the new disease sweeping the nation, Hepatitis Orange. I'm not sure what Hepatitis Orange is, but apparently it makes the person who has it a not nice lady.

Anyway, so I guess on Wednesday or Thursday I've got to go down there and make this lady understand that I'm the glue to her shitty, shitty working environment. Unless I magically get a job writing between now and then. It'll be fantastic when I finally start hearing back from those agencies who I want to send my screenplay to because then I'll feel so Hollywood. That's when I'm going to start calling people things like, "Babe," and saying things like, "Ciao" and "How much does it cost to have sex with you and you pretend like you're a dragon."

Hollywood's going to be awesome.

Alas, I sit with my nine thumbs up my ass, opening my wallet over and over again hoping money will appear there. I'm guilty of doing the same thing with my refrigerator when I'm hungry; it never works there, but I figure maybe money's different. If you want to send me money, feel free. It would be best, though, if you sent me various other items as I, unlike most of the world, deal in barter and trade. The other day I got two butter churners, nine cattle, and my third wife for helping with a barn raising.

I can't wait until I have money again because then I can buy that monocle I've always wanted.

Interesting thought of the day:
Ten out of Ten dentists are dentists.

I swear to God, if you all don't start commenting on this page (and it has to be people I don't know, I don't want my pity friend comments --I talk to you all the time), I'm going to start hunting each of you down and making you eat a bag of mystery poop. I call it mystery poop because you know it's poop, you just don't know where it's from. Or, if you want to give me money or items with which I can procure other items or abilities of another person, you can email me.