I Am Teh Honored

Yes, the spelling mistake is deliberate. It is the gamer way to use teh when addressing something that is just too awesome.

Anyways, my friend and fellow creative writing classmate Elise has asked to use some of my writing for her speech stuff. That’s awesome. I think that’s awesome.

I actually just want to gather all of my creative writing journals and rants into one happy page and let the anger flow away from me. I actually think the whole journaling process has been very healthy for me, since I would otherwise be bottling up all those angry feelings until one day I jumped over the host stand and killed some poor hapless man just inquiring as to where the bathroom was. You know, it’s not like they don’t walk right by it! It’s got a frickin’ neon orange glowy sign that says “RESTROOMS,” but I’m apparently just too observant.

See what I mean?

Is it over yet?

I worked a five hour shift at work yesterday. I usually use this long period of time in which I do nothing to catch up on the news because they always have at least one tv on FOX news. Unfortunately, the news was gripped with the death of Anna Nicole Smith.

It’s living proof–well, I can’t say living proof–that everyone’s a saint when they die. Few speak ill of the dead, but everyone is free game when they’re alive.

How horrible. We should change the old saying.

If you can’t say anything nice, wait until the person’s dead and you’ll think of something.

I like that. Pure genius.

Anyway,  I accomplished my greatest achievement last night in the three months that I’ve been working at Buffalo Wild Wings.

We have a set of pagers, things that vibrate and light up whenever your food or table is ready, and the amount of these pagers has been slowly dwindling. Well, a group of assholes (excuse the colorful language) had been waiting there for twenty minutes to get their food, because we use the pagers primarily for takeout orders. When they got their food, they tried to take the pager in retaliation for having waited so long.

And I chased that bastard down! He got halfway across the parking lot, but I caught him! We only have about 8 pagers left, so I was going to be damned before someone stole another one.

I deserve a raise. None of the other hostesses would have chased that guy across the parking lot just for a pager.

I hope that I will be making $6.50 by the end of next month.

Modern Trash

I hate poetry, but that’s probably because I can’t be bothered to stop long enough to interpret it. To me, everything must just sounds like everything else. Poetry these days is just people trying to imitate poets before them, writing about ordinary things in a style of grammar and language they barely understand.

It’s like modern artists. They beat their faces against a canvas until some interesting smear of blood appears, name it something like “Hunger Pains of a Starving Artist” or “A Field of Sunflowers,” and sell it to some wealthy family in New York looking to decorate their expensive apartment with lavish, modern trash.

There are no more great poets, artists, or orators. There hasn’t been a sane person for years who could shape the world with his speech or demand attention with just a single word. Those who possess this ability obtained it from a pact with Satan who always adds a lust for power and socially disfunctional mental disorders in with his deals. They start cults, fear the government is persecuting them for their religion, fight or take to seclusion, and die before their later years.

Maybe we could have that sane orator if we could actually speak English. This butchered form we call our English language is just word vomit. Stinky, nasty, dirty word puke that clogs the toilet at Buffallo Wild Wings.