Monday, May 21, 2012

Like the Zamboni Operator who can’t Ride his Lawn Mower after Work

Damn it! I swore the anonymity of Bieber on a Unicorn would inspire the kinds of prolific ramblings my old site produced, but the truth is? I’m narcolepsy-status fried-dazzled by the end of the day.

It’s hard to blow nine straight hours writing exclamatory banner ads and editing jargon-laden, 40-page tech briefs only to come home and log in to Word again.

Good God, I’m like the overworked gynecologist who’s so burnt out on probing poontangs all day he can’t have sex with his hot trophy wife.

I’m sorry, Word, but I just can’t bone you tonight. Don’t look at me like that. We can still cuddle. You need a little handy? You want me to cup your nut satchel?

Well maybe you should have thought of that before you gave my typing finger "carpool" tunnel syndrome with that last virtualization white paper, you smug little paperclip-mascot bitch. You googly-eyed cartoon freak. Stop dancing at me, paperclip!

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