Life just doesn't get much better for a 30-year-old *** than just waking up in the morning. I am already a monk as far as I can tell. The highlight of the day was being at the pizza parlor and getting chewed out for the many screwups I did on my deliveries last night. I have mastered the most courteous responses I will offer that *** of a manager. These include "Yeah, okay" and "Yeah, right." The manager's babe showed up, and that was the last we saw of him. The idiocy just continues and continues. There is no question that I have to break out my shades. This will be my final step to invisibility. My shades are very important because it prohibits any external eye contact. As one's eyes are hidden from view, so is one's soul. Yes, shades ... the greatest invention of all time! I shall refer to my manager as the ***, behind his back, of course, you wouldn't expect me to actually call him that to his face and ruin my career as a pizza delivery boy, do you?
I was expecting the *** to be*** around trying to test my patience, but I guess he gave up with that crap. Little Red did not show up today because he knew that his babe was not going to be at the dumpster today. It must be nice to have to not work for a living, not to mention me as a *** depository. Some guys have it, while some others were meant to be monks. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's because of the ***, but I have noticed that there are some real babes out there. I never noticed them before which, it turns out, was a blessing in disguise. I can't have any of these babes. I'm a loser! Babes only want hunks like the ***. Yes, The ***. He has it all ... the most perfect physique, the looks, the personality, and he's also Big Money Grip. He's a financial wizard, and he's made millions in the stock market and he's not even twenty-five! I drive a beat-up 1998 Chevy Truck, and I live in the Roach Motel. Ugly is a compliment to me! And, my personality ... well, I
have seen more exciting stones. Speaking of stones, this brings up my trademark ... the malformed skull. Have you seen those big stone heads sticking up all over the place on Easter Island? I swear somebody used my head as the model. I wish I knew which one of the natives to sue! All I got goin' on is the rent! And I'm behind on that, since I keep getting my pay docked. When a loser starts thinking about babes, only one thing can happen. Drinking binge? Close. Actually chronic depression comes to mind. It is so much easier to be in the euphoric virtual-life of the Internet. I can see things I have never seen before without having to take the risk of being there. No laughter. No ridicule. If I want to participate (delurk) I can, and nobody will make a judgment about me unless I write something stupid. This is the only thing that saves me.