Munchkins and Timbits

The donut Nazis opened the floodgates today to the lay people through capitalist practices by selling a surplus of spongy sweetened breads at 50 cents a pop. It was uncanny! Insane (inane?)! A mark in our Library’s history. It will rest in the archives of my Outlook calendar forever. While the leader and imperial chancellor has never been known, it falls under the umbrella organization - Kaffee Freikorps (KF) – a group known for its mission-style military tactics. The “washing of the brain” begins right at the inception of employment, when suspiciously pleasant looking “sturdy” people slowly saunter to your desk asking for a nominal fee to support KF. Rejecting membership to this group results in shifty-eyed looks and sneers throughout your employment. Today, however, through declassified documents (and rumors), I learned that the Doughnut Scriptures: Resurrection of Bismarck has been revised after skeptics questioned its divine origin. The new testament, Cruller und Pfannkuchen vereinigt Euch! embraces regional variations, such as the Oliebollen, Sufganiot and Beignet, opening the disputed donut history to the “Free Library World.”

Mochtest etwas Wagner mit deinem kaffee?

God, I love repressed memory therapy! I just remembered that my friend D (aka Johnny Depth) and I used to play the characters “Baron and Baronin von Frothenheimer” for the improvisational mime skits at Starbucks. Well, okay, it wasn’t all mime. We’d also ask customers stuff like “Mochtest du einen kaffee, du dickes schwein?” in this Nazi-esque “espresso” quality voice (use your imagination). We only used the whipped cream as a prop after 9:00 at night (past the family hour). E and K, who also worked there, were both corps singers in the Lyric Opera. Sometimes we would all just break out into one big ugly Wagner Ring Cycle chorus. Nothing like loud, dark and heavy German opera while you’re drinking your latte. Good times, I tell you. Good times.

My friend N, (another former Starbuckian) used to eat these “dirt rolls” that they passed off as “good for you” rolls. She was always rearranging the bakery case. Very anal retentive. She went off to the CIA in Hyde Park and is now a very famous baker in Chicago. Trying to contact her is like trying to get ahold of someone at the other CIA. She promised me long ago that she would name a roll, muffin or something after me, but she never did. I’m still waiting. I wonder if she makes her own version of the dirt roll?

JD told me there is a female casting call for some web porn. Here’s the lowdown:

Qualifications:
- No stretch marks
- No tracks on arms
- No one over 250 lbs.

Responsibilities:
- Fetish scenes like blowjobs or hand jobs
- Straight boy girl scenes or girl/girl scenes, and some masturbation scenes.
- Nothing too deviant though like pissing or extreme pain or anything like that.

Pays $300 per scene. Good for some xxx-tra Christmas cash!

I’ll have a Cambodian non-fat macchiato

The German bought yet another piece of scientific equipment at surplus. Our entire garage and workshop is now the surplus annex. He purchased some type of oven, which he kept referring to as a “muffin” oven, or what I thought was a muffin oven, but then he said you can turn it up to 2000 degrees. This made no sense. He’s planning on melting some type of chemical, but then he said he was going to bake or dry some other something compound. Jesus, I have no idea what’s going on!

Work was a bit better today. Although, I had on a tragic outfit. I was in a hurry this morning, so I threw on my beach terry cloth cover up over jeans, with mountain climbing ice shoes, cubic zirconia earrings and a muffler around my neck. It was fubar! Of course I had a meeting today with my mentor, in this tragically fubar outfit, to go over my retention file that’s due next week. Luckily, she said I was in good shape, but reminded me that this wasn’t a practice in scrapbooking. I’m always prostituting myself for the smallest morsel of recognition that I can throw in my file, so any little scrap of paper or gum wrapper that has a scribbled “thanks” or “thx” (written in taco sauce) I put into a plastic sleeve and categorize it under “letters of support.” I’m just pathetic with my little scrappy notes and soap-opera vocabulary. Maybe I’ll include the following definition under Job Description:

librarian
A chick who seems really sweet and nice and shy when out. But, once you get her alone turns into a raging sexual freak. Generally,they're sadomasochistic, man beating, she-devils from hell. i.e. They freakin rock!

Man that chick I met at the bible group was a total librarian!

Tonight I played the book lover’s edition of Trivial Pursuit with some friends and one of the answers was Cambodia. I don’t even remember what the question was, but we guessed that most students probably think it’s some type of coffee drink from Starbucks. Speaking of Starbucks, I used to work there with my friend D (who is off to W. Va. to shoot a Victorian-period porn piece), in Oak Park. We had loads (not like hot loads) of fun! At night we would go into the window and do "improvisational mime." It was quite entertaining. Sometimes we would incorporate props, such as whipped cream or beans. The folks in the movie theater line loved it. We even got a $20 tip once from that freaky JT. Ah, the good ol days.

I’m a Google Stalker

My writing group revealed something about me today: I’m a Google Stalker. I wonder if I can get arrested for this? I do have a tendency to Google, well, practically everything. I suppose it’s an obsession – kind of like that hand held electronic football game I got when I was 10 (I don’t even like football, but I like pushing buttons). I don’t need that much information - just some tidbits and I’m off. Here’s an example of my “Googlation” (I just made this word up. It’s a combo of Google and fixation):

My friend N was telling me a little bit about her mom one night. Her mom sounded pretty interesting. That’s where the Googlation started. From the few clues I had, I was able to cobble together enough facts to find her mom on Google and put a profile together. I think I made the mistake of telling N yesterday at a fabulous open house party we attended (with the best damn Italian salamis – no, not that kind – known in North America), and she was probably freaked. I mean, who wouldn’t be, especially when you’re Google stalking someone’s mom? I wonder if other librarians suffer from Googlation?

Here are two of my new favorite reference tools of the week:

Street terms for drugs and the drug trade. Published by the Office of National Drug Control Policy: http://www.whitehousedrugpolicy.gov/streetterms/Default.asp (authoritative source).

Examples:
Interplanetary mission – Travel from one crackhouse to another to search for crack
Clocker – entry level crack dealer who sells 24 hours a day
Chocolate ecstasy - Crack made brown by adding chocolate milk during production

Urban dictionary. Published by anyone http://www.urbandictionary.com/
(not an authoritative source).

Example:
a blonder
Someone who enjoys the aroma of his own urine after the consumption of asparagus.
Dude, you're such a blonder!
Source: Cletus, Nov 30, 2003

shook one
Phrase invented by east coast rappers Mobb Deep to signify someone who acts hardcore until they actually have to deal with the reality of "the life of diamonds and guns". A coward who is shaken up by the harshness of innner city life.

"He ain't a crook, son. He just a shook one." - Mobb Deep
Source: Wooten, Jul 10, 2004

I hope you all find this blogalicious!

Comedy porn

"Cute teen interracial pigtailed cheerleader"

This was the subject heading of an email I got today. I didn’t open it, but I was tempted. I think a short story, or at least a film short could be built around this. Lots of potential. I’m sure my friend Johnny Depth could make something out of this. I wonder if there is a genre called “comedy porn.”

My friend H came up with a new word that I’m going to incorporate as my favorite word of the week:

Ubercosmouniverse

Pretty cool, eh?

My toilet overflowed last night right around midnight. What a bloody mess. It seems that every time the German leaves town, some type of smallish disaster occurs. I’m not sure what to make out of this. The last time he was gone, a bat the size of a tyrannosaurus rex flew right into my damn shoulder. It was like some sick and spooked out horror movie of all time. I nearly fainted. Really, I did. Now I sound like Holden Caufield. It’s time for bed.