Summertime is a time.
Springtime is a time.
Wintertime is certainly a time.
Fall? Fall is not a time. You will not hear someone utter in the months of October, November, or December; "Well Malorie, it's 'falltime' should we muster up some eggsalad sandwiches, hike up to the moutains, breath some crisp 'falltime' air, and shove things into our vaginas, and assholes?"
No.
Not in 'falltime'.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Challenges
So Ian, You've had lots of free time, as of late.
Yes, I have, Ian
So, why have you been neglecting your writing?
Well, I've been busy doing plenty of other things!
Oh ya, Ian, like what?
Well...I...I went to the store and bought olives!
That took you three months, Ian?
Yes.
You're and idiot, sir.
I stand by your assesment.
Good.
Well, Ian, now that you're on the fucking blog, writing the fucking blog itself, at this exact fucking moment, why don't you spend this time coming up with a productive, and witty entry...
Um...Sure, OK, just let me run and get some olive's first.....
Yes, I have, Ian
So, why have you been neglecting your writing?
Well, I've been busy doing plenty of other things!
Oh ya, Ian, like what?
Well...I...I went to the store and bought olives!
That took you three months, Ian?
Yes.
You're and idiot, sir.
I stand by your assesment.
Good.
Well, Ian, now that you're on the fucking blog, writing the fucking blog itself, at this exact fucking moment, why don't you spend this time coming up with a productive, and witty entry...
Um...Sure, OK, just let me run and get some olive's first.....
Thursday, November 12, 2009
More Than a Lady
Dear Diary,
It’s been a while, but I need to get pen to paper. I need this off my chest...How can I resist myself? I’m a 55 year old, married man. My wife, (together 30 years) and I have raised three beautiful children, all have become successful adults. Life has been a Silver Platter, it has been charmed...But still I ask; how can I resist myself?
I hear my thoughts saying to me constantly “Goddamn it Jim, get a hold of yourself”, but I can’t, I just can’t get her out of my mind. It’s getting really bad now, I think about her at work; she’s in my dreams and I am even finding myself less attracted to my wife! Just last night, she was practically begging me for sex, and I wanted nothing to do with it – that’s the first time that has ever happened! Usually, Beth gets me going like a rocket to Mars, but last night, I was cold, I was distracted.
She was in my head again...The way she walks...Her legs – I melt. I just melt.
I first noticed her a few weeks ago. It was 7am, and I was reading the morning paper, before work. She walked by my house, so casually, yet so interested in her surroundings, I could tell she was new to the area. So fit, and trim, clearly, health and fitness were a priority. I knew she was well taken care of... I had half a mind to go out there and introduce myself, but I just felt that it would have been awkward - my true intentions would have been too obvious. I would have been seen through, like a thin sheet in the sun, I mean, I was practically drooling in my coffee. But still, nothing had ever turned my crank like that before, and all it took was a glace, a first walk by. That was it. I was hooked.
It has now become a bit of a tradition in my life, a ritual. I get out of bed every morning like a kid on Christmas; it’s time for a glance! Oh my God, it’s time! I feel so pathetic, but I cannot resist.
A few days ago, 7am came, and just like clockwork there she was. Winter is setting in, and for the first time I saw her wearing a coat, and boots - I was instantly hard. She looked so Goddamned hot, but also cute. It’s like a cute bomb, collided with a sexy rocket, and landed directly on her legs. I was fucking entranced; in fact, in one of my more embarrassing moments, my wife came down from the shower, and caught me with my hand down my pants. Luckily, She was entirely too shocked to say anything, and we both pretended that nothing had happened...Poor Beth, so innocent to the nature of my addiction, yet so worried. She knows something is amiss, but it seems like she is too afraid to ask me what it is...God this is hard for me. My wife truly is a special women, however my hear t is no longer hers, and it is killing me, killing her. I see it in her eyes, I see it in mine.
Today, as I write this, I feel as though my addiction is coming to a head. It’s getting worse. I called in sick to work, a few hours ago...Why? Well, Beth is out of town, on business, and I have an insatiable urge to act on my...My God...On my...Illness...I feel like crying, but at the same time, I’ve never felt so exhilarated.
You should have seen the look on the cashiers face when I rented all those movies. I think he knew something was up. And, the women at the calendar stand? Who buys 15 calendars? But I couldn’t help myself; they were all so provocative in their own way. So many choices...
So here I sit, calendars scattered on the floor, open to meaningless months, high gloss pictures looking up at me...Beethoven, on the DVD, Turner and Hooch on deck, and Lassie, the icing on the cake.
It’s 6:45am; soon she’ll be walking by my window, gracing my life with her presence yet again. All four legs bouncing rhythmically to the beat of my heart...
It’s going be a long day.
It’s going be a long life.
Jim
It’s been a while, but I need to get pen to paper. I need this off my chest...How can I resist myself? I’m a 55 year old, married man. My wife, (together 30 years) and I have raised three beautiful children, all have become successful adults. Life has been a Silver Platter, it has been charmed...But still I ask; how can I resist myself?
I hear my thoughts saying to me constantly “Goddamn it Jim, get a hold of yourself”, but I can’t, I just can’t get her out of my mind. It’s getting really bad now, I think about her at work; she’s in my dreams and I am even finding myself less attracted to my wife! Just last night, she was practically begging me for sex, and I wanted nothing to do with it – that’s the first time that has ever happened! Usually, Beth gets me going like a rocket to Mars, but last night, I was cold, I was distracted.
She was in my head again...The way she walks...Her legs – I melt. I just melt.
I first noticed her a few weeks ago. It was 7am, and I was reading the morning paper, before work. She walked by my house, so casually, yet so interested in her surroundings, I could tell she was new to the area. So fit, and trim, clearly, health and fitness were a priority. I knew she was well taken care of... I had half a mind to go out there and introduce myself, but I just felt that it would have been awkward - my true intentions would have been too obvious. I would have been seen through, like a thin sheet in the sun, I mean, I was practically drooling in my coffee. But still, nothing had ever turned my crank like that before, and all it took was a glace, a first walk by. That was it. I was hooked.
It has now become a bit of a tradition in my life, a ritual. I get out of bed every morning like a kid on Christmas; it’s time for a glance! Oh my God, it’s time! I feel so pathetic, but I cannot resist.
A few days ago, 7am came, and just like clockwork there she was. Winter is setting in, and for the first time I saw her wearing a coat, and boots - I was instantly hard. She looked so Goddamned hot, but also cute. It’s like a cute bomb, collided with a sexy rocket, and landed directly on her legs. I was fucking entranced; in fact, in one of my more embarrassing moments, my wife came down from the shower, and caught me with my hand down my pants. Luckily, She was entirely too shocked to say anything, and we both pretended that nothing had happened...Poor Beth, so innocent to the nature of my addiction, yet so worried. She knows something is amiss, but it seems like she is too afraid to ask me what it is...God this is hard for me. My wife truly is a special women, however my hear t is no longer hers, and it is killing me, killing her. I see it in her eyes, I see it in mine.
Today, as I write this, I feel as though my addiction is coming to a head. It’s getting worse. I called in sick to work, a few hours ago...Why? Well, Beth is out of town, on business, and I have an insatiable urge to act on my...My God...On my...Illness...I feel like crying, but at the same time, I’ve never felt so exhilarated.
You should have seen the look on the cashiers face when I rented all those movies. I think he knew something was up. And, the women at the calendar stand? Who buys 15 calendars? But I couldn’t help myself; they were all so provocative in their own way. So many choices...
So here I sit, calendars scattered on the floor, open to meaningless months, high gloss pictures looking up at me...Beethoven, on the DVD, Turner and Hooch on deck, and Lassie, the icing on the cake.
It’s 6:45am; soon she’ll be walking by my window, gracing my life with her presence yet again. All four legs bouncing rhythmically to the beat of my heart...
It’s going be a long day.
It’s going be a long life.
Jim
Hello M'lady
Hello M’lady,
We met, (well, I stared at you), on the Subway a few days ago. You were sexually attractive, although, it seems like you might need some advice, so I am here to help. Please allow me to refresh your memory:
The other day, I was taking my usual ride to work, southbound on the Fuck-Tube (Subway). I happened to be extremely hung-over, from a raucous night of Scotch Drinking, and Pot Smoking. I was not the least bit happy to be scuffing along - in suit and tie - preparing for another day of "work" (which encompasses me avoiding actual work, by taking 25 minute dumps - frequently).
My spirits were lifted however, when I spotted you. You were seated, with your Mac Laptop open, headphones on, looking rather engaged. Your face was quite stunning, and in my hung-over state, I began to fantasize that you were watching hardcore gangbang pornography, on said Mac. And, in turn, that you would be getting up from your seat very soon, to approach me, and cordially invite me to gape you in the bathroom at Bloor Station.
As I pictured myself flicking my spare change into your stretched-out asshole (my boner, hard as Thor's Hammer), you began to fumble about in your purse for something. I assumed that it was going to be some lube (as Bloor Station was rapidly approaching), and I continued to watch you, with pressing interest.
To my surprise (disgust), you pulled out a circa 1992 yellow Sony walkman. Yes, I am talking about you, you stupid idiot. It seems as though, side one of your Jesus Jones’s Doubt had ended, and you just could not wait for side two! I had assumed that your headphones were hooked up to a device such as an IPod, or perhaps directly to your Laptop, since both of those devices have the capacity to play literately thousands of songs with ease - with no need to stop, and change sides.
Just so you are aware:
Most people do not purchase a Laptop, just so they can balance their typewriter on it.
Most people do not purchase a Car, just so they can have it towed by horses.
Most people are aware that the current year is 2009.
----------------------
Now, I was forced to draw one of two conclusions from this societal folly:
1) You are a Luddite, the computer is stolen, and you have no idea what it does. You were simply so entranced by “Right here, right now”, that you were giving off the impression that you were actually engaged in some sort of techno jibba-jabba, while in actuality the screen was as blank as your feeble mind.
2) You are an ironic whore, who loves cock in the mouth and ass.
If you are 1) write me a letter, as to where and when you want to ass-fuck.
If you are 2) Email me a letter, as to where and when you want to ass-fuck.
Cheerio,
We met, (well, I stared at you), on the Subway a few days ago. You were sexually attractive, although, it seems like you might need some advice, so I am here to help. Please allow me to refresh your memory:
The other day, I was taking my usual ride to work, southbound on the Fuck-Tube (Subway). I happened to be extremely hung-over, from a raucous night of Scotch Drinking, and Pot Smoking. I was not the least bit happy to be scuffing along - in suit and tie - preparing for another day of "work" (which encompasses me avoiding actual work, by taking 25 minute dumps - frequently).
My spirits were lifted however, when I spotted you. You were seated, with your Mac Laptop open, headphones on, looking rather engaged. Your face was quite stunning, and in my hung-over state, I began to fantasize that you were watching hardcore gangbang pornography, on said Mac. And, in turn, that you would be getting up from your seat very soon, to approach me, and cordially invite me to gape you in the bathroom at Bloor Station.
As I pictured myself flicking my spare change into your stretched-out asshole (my boner, hard as Thor's Hammer), you began to fumble about in your purse for something. I assumed that it was going to be some lube (as Bloor Station was rapidly approaching), and I continued to watch you, with pressing interest.
To my surprise (disgust), you pulled out a circa 1992 yellow Sony walkman. Yes, I am talking about you, you stupid idiot. It seems as though, side one of your Jesus Jones’s Doubt had ended, and you just could not wait for side two! I had assumed that your headphones were hooked up to a device such as an IPod, or perhaps directly to your Laptop, since both of those devices have the capacity to play literately thousands of songs with ease - with no need to stop, and change sides.
Just so you are aware:
Most people do not purchase a Laptop, just so they can balance their typewriter on it.
Most people do not purchase a Car, just so they can have it towed by horses.
Most people are aware that the current year is 2009.
----------------------
Now, I was forced to draw one of two conclusions from this societal folly:
1) You are a Luddite, the computer is stolen, and you have no idea what it does. You were simply so entranced by “Right here, right now”, that you were giving off the impression that you were actually engaged in some sort of techno jibba-jabba, while in actuality the screen was as blank as your feeble mind.
2) You are an ironic whore, who loves cock in the mouth and ass.
If you are 1) write me a letter, as to where and when you want to ass-fuck.
If you are 2) Email me a letter, as to where and when you want to ass-fuck.
Cheerio,
Apoeminapoemspoem
Limerick and Haiku, were on their third date
Limerick; a strict young lad, Haiku; a bit of a waif
Still, they were star crossed, their fates entwined
After all, they were both organized lines
They strolled through the park, comma to comma
From a thick wooded area, they heard someone holler
As they approached the brush somewhat cautious
They heard a voice, “these 14 lines are making me nauseous”
They pushed back some brush, and to their surprise
A Sonnet was crying, a dazed look in his eyes
“I am sick of my rhyme scheme, sick of being a ‘little song’”
At once, Limerick and Haiku knew that something was wrong
They offered him advice, “Sonnet, you’re not alone”
“And, no one said it was easy, being a poem”
Together they sat, under a tree
Discussing their fates; patterns, lines, Kireji
Hours passed, and Sonnet began to relax
He saw how his lines were simply the facts
How he was used so wonderfully by Shakespeare
Indeed, Limerick and Haiku had made that quite clear
They said their goodbyes, and went separate ways
Limerick and Haiku, skipping, a trail they blazed
Again comma to comma, they were so entranced
Just then something stopped them right in their tracks
Coming towards them, a smile ear to ear
Was a Pun – with a joke, that promised a jeer
“Oh I can’t Stanza that Guy!” Haiku had cried
“I couldn’t agree more”, and they ran, stride for stride
Limerick; a strict young lad, Haiku; a bit of a waif
Still, they were star crossed, their fates entwined
After all, they were both organized lines
They strolled through the park, comma to comma
From a thick wooded area, they heard someone holler
As they approached the brush somewhat cautious
They heard a voice, “these 14 lines are making me nauseous”
They pushed back some brush, and to their surprise
A Sonnet was crying, a dazed look in his eyes
“I am sick of my rhyme scheme, sick of being a ‘little song’”
At once, Limerick and Haiku knew that something was wrong
They offered him advice, “Sonnet, you’re not alone”
“And, no one said it was easy, being a poem”
Together they sat, under a tree
Discussing their fates; patterns, lines, Kireji
Hours passed, and Sonnet began to relax
He saw how his lines were simply the facts
How he was used so wonderfully by Shakespeare
Indeed, Limerick and Haiku had made that quite clear
They said their goodbyes, and went separate ways
Limerick and Haiku, skipping, a trail they blazed
Again comma to comma, they were so entranced
Just then something stopped them right in their tracks
Coming towards them, a smile ear to ear
Was a Pun – with a joke, that promised a jeer
“Oh I can’t Stanza that Guy!” Haiku had cried
“I couldn’t agree more”, and they ran, stride for stride
Movie Genius
Disaster Movies: A Professional Overview
Characters:
• Rough and Tumble Hero - Perhaps with moustache, perhaps hung over
• Innocent Hero - Who is going to have a very bad day
• Saviour - Someone who helps Hero become violent, and not a sissy
• Villain - Usually Mother Nature (that trollop!), or Aliens (those trollops!)
• Families (Children, Wife) - Who are useless, and need to be saved
• Government Officials - “We need to build a missile and fire it at ‘ _____’”
• FBI Agents - “The Dang Government is gonna build a missile and fire it at ‘____’”
• Police Officers - We do not know much, but we like donuts, and we hate the FBI
• Masses of Humans – “O.K., on the count of 3, let’s all run around screaming! 1...2....”
• News/Media – “I don’t know why I volunteered to report in the midst of the world ending. I suppose I really should be running around screaming, like everyone else”
Locations
• Hospitals – Bad day for Surgery
• Military Bases – Bound to be destroyed in some way or another
• Forrest, or Country – “It was nice out here, until the sodomizing aliens came”
• City, or Urban Sprawl – “It sure is hectic in this hustle-bustle city...Hey, is that a Giant Wave?”
• “The Pentagon” – Dimly lit. Old official barking at Young Radar guy. They both dislike Godzilla.
• Outer Space – “Now is not the time to determine if farts smell worse in space, Jim! Aliens are afoot!”
• The Ocean, or body of water – “Well I’ll be damned! That IS a Giant Squid, riding a surfboard, loading an AK-47!”
• Abandoned something or other – Terrible time to investigate the “Old Farm”, as it is currently the main base for the sodomizing aliens.
Objects/Things
• Guns! Guns! Guns! - Even lasers, and missiles, and whatever else can inflict pain on aliens or stop a tidal wave (although I do not know how a missile would stop a wave)
• Getaway cars – Get to the car, so you can retreat from the rapidly moving lava. Hurry the FUCK up Granny!
• Planes – The world is about to end. Better make it to that giant plane, which is headed for Mars. Will my iPhone work on Mars? Of course it will; Steve Jobs is a Dictator from hell.
• Some sort of wacky “key” or “code” – This, of course, is all that is needed to save the world.
• Radios – You have just got to radio you baby; tell her you love her, before you body is turned into vapour.
Mood
• Tends to be action packed music, with a hero shooting aliens in the face, or pulling a baby from a squids grasp.
Plots and Events
• A wonderfully sunny day, (perhaps with some numerical significance: 7/7/07!!!) perfect for having recreational outdoor park-sex with your friends and family. That is, until a laser toting Godzilla enters into a wrestling match with a giant Moth, in your back yard. Pull up your pants are run for your lives, dorks!
• Johnny-Common-Military has been slacking at this shoot-shoot practice. He is a rebel folks, He is a badass, who does not play by the rules! He definitely does not listen to his superior officer(who is a dork). However, when the Aliens come to town, it is time for him to kiss his wife on the face, and go punch a menacing creature in the dick! Huzzah!
Disaster Movies
• Independence Day
• 2012
• The Day After Tomorrow
• Twister
• Dante’s Peak
• Encino Man
Characters:
• Rough and Tumble Hero - Perhaps with moustache, perhaps hung over
• Innocent Hero - Who is going to have a very bad day
• Saviour - Someone who helps Hero become violent, and not a sissy
• Villain - Usually Mother Nature (that trollop!), or Aliens (those trollops!)
• Families (Children, Wife) - Who are useless, and need to be saved
• Government Officials - “We need to build a missile and fire it at ‘ _____’”
• FBI Agents - “The Dang Government is gonna build a missile and fire it at ‘____’”
• Police Officers - We do not know much, but we like donuts, and we hate the FBI
• Masses of Humans – “O.K., on the count of 3, let’s all run around screaming! 1...2....”
• News/Media – “I don’t know why I volunteered to report in the midst of the world ending. I suppose I really should be running around screaming, like everyone else”
Locations
• Hospitals – Bad day for Surgery
• Military Bases – Bound to be destroyed in some way or another
• Forrest, or Country – “It was nice out here, until the sodomizing aliens came”
• City, or Urban Sprawl – “It sure is hectic in this hustle-bustle city...Hey, is that a Giant Wave?”
• “The Pentagon” – Dimly lit. Old official barking at Young Radar guy. They both dislike Godzilla.
• Outer Space – “Now is not the time to determine if farts smell worse in space, Jim! Aliens are afoot!”
• The Ocean, or body of water – “Well I’ll be damned! That IS a Giant Squid, riding a surfboard, loading an AK-47!”
• Abandoned something or other – Terrible time to investigate the “Old Farm”, as it is currently the main base for the sodomizing aliens.
Objects/Things
• Guns! Guns! Guns! - Even lasers, and missiles, and whatever else can inflict pain on aliens or stop a tidal wave (although I do not know how a missile would stop a wave)
• Getaway cars – Get to the car, so you can retreat from the rapidly moving lava. Hurry the FUCK up Granny!
• Planes – The world is about to end. Better make it to that giant plane, which is headed for Mars. Will my iPhone work on Mars? Of course it will; Steve Jobs is a Dictator from hell.
• Some sort of wacky “key” or “code” – This, of course, is all that is needed to save the world.
• Radios – You have just got to radio you baby; tell her you love her, before you body is turned into vapour.
Mood
• Tends to be action packed music, with a hero shooting aliens in the face, or pulling a baby from a squids grasp.
Plots and Events
• A wonderfully sunny day, (perhaps with some numerical significance: 7/7/07!!!) perfect for having recreational outdoor park-sex with your friends and family. That is, until a laser toting Godzilla enters into a wrestling match with a giant Moth, in your back yard. Pull up your pants are run for your lives, dorks!
• Johnny-Common-Military has been slacking at this shoot-shoot practice. He is a rebel folks, He is a badass, who does not play by the rules! He definitely does not listen to his superior officer(who is a dork). However, when the Aliens come to town, it is time for him to kiss his wife on the face, and go punch a menacing creature in the dick! Huzzah!
Disaster Movies
• Independence Day
• 2012
• The Day After Tomorrow
• Twister
• Dante’s Peak
• Encino Man
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Chocolate Chicken
"Faaak", Jim Calden, sitting alone in his large office, behind an expensive looking oak desk, was at his wits end. His chocolate business; his family's chocolate business, was about to close its doors, and he was about to lose his shirt. The Calden's had been making gourmet style chocolates since the 1950's when his Grandfather Fredrick Calden opened the business, in a tiny little store, on the main strip of Brogberg, Manitoba, a small quaint town of about 1500. Business was always steady for Calden's Chocolatiers, however since he had taken over as President, it had really been booming. With his savvy, he had taken their small store, and built a miniature empire, of sorts. Focusing on their town-famous "Calden's Chocolate Chicks" ('delectable chocolate eggs, filled with an array of flavours, from peanut butter, to mint and all things yummy'), he invested heavily in marketing and advertising, taking these "Chicks" from 'town-famous', to North American phenomenon.
It couldn't have worked out better; a big factory on the outskirts of town, a sexy mansion, and a fleet of cars were his rewards. Oh, and of course a rampant drinking problem, that proved to be his downfall...
"Werre did'a ulll g'wrongggg?", he mused to himself. Looking towards his outstretched hand, which casually grasped what was once a full pint of Drambuie. "Uoooggohya! Thas'werre!", laughing, he climbed onto his desk, and began a slow waltz, shuffling his feet about, knocking items to the floor, with no regard.
Drunker than a Muskie, Jim closed his eyes, and recounted the fateful events that lead to him driving the company in the shitter.
It all started one day, when Jim arrived for work, drunk (as usual), wearing only underwear, with his legs painted bright orange, and declared the need for a contest to, "spice the fuck out of the shit". Confused, and ashamed, his round table of advisers, listened in to what they all knew would undoubtedly be another one of Jim's drunken follies (such as the time he brought in two call-girls and declared it "Hooker Day", or his attempt to banish shoes from the workplace, and replace all of his employees, with empty bottles of vermouth). These drunken tirades had become rather common place, however today's idea seemed even more strange...
Jim began "Owwkay, so we'needa Willy Wonka the fuck outta this friggin place! We need'a contest that'll make people love us chocolate eggs, an'a I gotsit figered, while you jerks were'asleepin'! We need'a magic egg!" ...He paused awkwardly, looking confused, as it he had suddenly lost his train of thought... "Ah! Ahhha!", He continued, "What da chickens have in their eggs? Ug? Eyh? Ennawun? Eggsalas, thatswha! Eggmotherfuckinsalas! One lucky egg'll be full'd up with eggsala', an'a the lucky winner'll getta come here, and have a whiskey-slut party wi' me! Wi Jimma, and his band'a sluts!! Yeaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
After his speech, Jim felt his heart demand for rest, and fell asleep in the boardroom for 6 days. He woke up to his C.F.O., Farley Jenkins wrapping him on the back. The look in Farley's eyes suggested something was indeed wrong.
Mr. Jenkins explained that after his latest drunken exploits, they put his plan into action, and filled one chocolate egg with egg salad. Jim explained how he remembered none of this, and suggested that Farley stop talking to him, as he was very weak, and hungover, and that his urge for McDonald's prevented him from "giving a fuck".
However, Mr. Jenkin's persisted, and what he said next struck fear into the head of Jim's Penis:
Some schmuck had eaten the 'Magic Egg'; that schmuck had been deathly allergic to actual eggs, had dropped dead, and in turn his Family was suing Calden's Choclatier for many millions. Farley then slapped Jim in the testicles (which were flopped outside his underwear), handed in his resignation, and prompted left the boardroom.
Jim began to cry. What had he done? What had he become? Watching the tears trickle, and blend down his still orange legs, he knew he was finished.
That was three days ago. It was night now, and Jim, coming back to reality, fumbled down from his desk, and left his office. He proceeded through the empty factory, looking dreamily at what once was, and outside into the brisk Manitoba winter. He began to solemnly walk down the main road, and after a few minutes, reached his final destination. At the large farm, he entered the Chicken Coop. Those dastardly Chickens! Those wicked egg hatching Nazi's! I see it now, he thought, yes, it was all their fault! It was time he thought, for the Chickens to have their ultimate reward; to take his life. Drunkenly, he lay on the floor of the coop, awaiting the razor sharp beaks, and vicious talons.
The chickens did nothing, but in his state, Jim passed out in the floor of the coop.
His body was found the following morning, frozen solid, and covered in chicken shit.
Fin
It couldn't have worked out better; a big factory on the outskirts of town, a sexy mansion, and a fleet of cars were his rewards. Oh, and of course a rampant drinking problem, that proved to be his downfall...
"Werre did'a ulll g'wrongggg?", he mused to himself. Looking towards his outstretched hand, which casually grasped what was once a full pint of Drambuie. "Uoooggohya! Thas'werre!", laughing, he climbed onto his desk, and began a slow waltz, shuffling his feet about, knocking items to the floor, with no regard.
Drunker than a Muskie, Jim closed his eyes, and recounted the fateful events that lead to him driving the company in the shitter.
It all started one day, when Jim arrived for work, drunk (as usual), wearing only underwear, with his legs painted bright orange, and declared the need for a contest to, "spice the fuck out of the shit". Confused, and ashamed, his round table of advisers, listened in to what they all knew would undoubtedly be another one of Jim's drunken follies (such as the time he brought in two call-girls and declared it "Hooker Day", or his attempt to banish shoes from the workplace, and replace all of his employees, with empty bottles of vermouth). These drunken tirades had become rather common place, however today's idea seemed even more strange...
Jim began "Owwkay, so we'needa Willy Wonka the fuck outta this friggin place! We need'a contest that'll make people love us chocolate eggs, an'a I gotsit figered, while you jerks were'asleepin'! We need'a magic egg!" ...He paused awkwardly, looking confused, as it he had suddenly lost his train of thought... "Ah! Ahhha!", He continued, "What da chickens have in their eggs? Ug? Eyh? Ennawun? Eggsalas, thatswha! Eggmotherfuckinsalas! One lucky egg'll be full'd up with eggsala', an'a the lucky winner'll getta come here, and have a whiskey-slut party wi' me! Wi Jimma, and his band'a sluts!! Yeaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
After his speech, Jim felt his heart demand for rest, and fell asleep in the boardroom for 6 days. He woke up to his C.F.O., Farley Jenkins wrapping him on the back. The look in Farley's eyes suggested something was indeed wrong.
Mr. Jenkins explained that after his latest drunken exploits, they put his plan into action, and filled one chocolate egg with egg salad. Jim explained how he remembered none of this, and suggested that Farley stop talking to him, as he was very weak, and hungover, and that his urge for McDonald's prevented him from "giving a fuck".
However, Mr. Jenkin's persisted, and what he said next struck fear into the head of Jim's Penis:
Some schmuck had eaten the 'Magic Egg'; that schmuck had been deathly allergic to actual eggs, had dropped dead, and in turn his Family was suing Calden's Choclatier for many millions. Farley then slapped Jim in the testicles (which were flopped outside his underwear), handed in his resignation, and prompted left the boardroom.
Jim began to cry. What had he done? What had he become? Watching the tears trickle, and blend down his still orange legs, he knew he was finished.
That was three days ago. It was night now, and Jim, coming back to reality, fumbled down from his desk, and left his office. He proceeded through the empty factory, looking dreamily at what once was, and outside into the brisk Manitoba winter. He began to solemnly walk down the main road, and after a few minutes, reached his final destination. At the large farm, he entered the Chicken Coop. Those dastardly Chickens! Those wicked egg hatching Nazi's! I see it now, he thought, yes, it was all their fault! It was time he thought, for the Chickens to have their ultimate reward; to take his life. Drunkenly, he lay on the floor of the coop, awaiting the razor sharp beaks, and vicious talons.
The chickens did nothing, but in his state, Jim passed out in the floor of the coop.
His body was found the following morning, frozen solid, and covered in chicken shit.
Fin
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