September 30, 2010
It is another disgusting day on this planet. Just mucky. And per usual, I’m tired and didn’t get much sleep. With all this shittiness, I thought I would talk of a happier days, happier places, happier people and, of course, I’m talking about the TELEVISION! Oh, how I love thee. Let’s talk about what I watch on television.
Thank God for Football. I truly thank the almighty for football. In Judaism during the holiday of Passover, there is a list of things that God has given us. God saved us from bondage, led us through the badlands of Egypt, fed us with manna, gave us our sense of humor, told us Joe Namath would win Superbowl III so we all made a good deal of money off of that. After each thing that is listed is said out loud, we respond with “dayenu”, which roughly translates to “it would have been enough” or “it would have been sufficient”. God didn’t only give Jews football; God gave football to all human beings – nevertheless, it is such a big deal that I think it should be listed in there. Yeah, God saved us from being slaves and gave us the 10 Commandments and led us to the Promised Land and that jazz and then there was this big break where God was thinking up what really the world needed. Saving people from slavery is obvious, but what could really complete the human existence paradox? Professional tackle football, obviously.
Also, what is manna? I’ve been walking this Earth for 27 years and have yet to order “manna” off a restaurant menu once.
Monday’s I watch football. Occasionally, I flip over to Monday Night RAW to see what the professional wrestlers are up to. It’s usually just a pop-in. Just checking in on them.
I was a fan of Sons of Anarchy, but that is waning. I really enjoyed the first season of Sons of Anarchy. I thought it was a solid B+ TV show. The second season had was good – more good than bad. But there were definitely episodes that I really didn’t care for. And the season ended with a storyline that was wild, but at the same time I couldn’t care less about it. This third season has been dreadful. The problem with the show is there is no sense of reality to it anymore. It is just wild and none of it seems to make any sense. With all the murder and gun violence, someone would have to find out about it like a Senator or Governor or the National Guard. I’m just not into it anymore. I’m watching because there isn’t anything else to watch.
Blue Mountain State – I believe this show is starting up with new episodes soon. I love Blue Mountain State. It is on Spike and I believe it is at 11pm, but who knows. I’m not so sure any of you would actually like the show. It really seems like it is for guys and guys who like really ridiculous shit. Also, it is slightly about football.
This past Tuesday, I ended up watching Glee and Dancing with the Stars. What is this world coming to? Glee was fine. I think they could have used Britney more, but maybe she didn’t want to do more. Who knows? I will say that the once girl recreating the “Hit me baby one more time” was really hot and it reminded me why I love Catholic School girl outfits -which I didn’t forget, but who doesn’t love to be reminded about something they love. Do you love free ice cream? Sure. Well, here is some free ice cream. YES! DWTS was odd – I really dug seeing Seal up there for no other reason then because he is Seal and he does what he wants.
Modern Family – obviously. Great show. If you are not watching Modern Family then you are robbing yourself of joyous heartwarming pleasure. That’s all you’re doing to yourself. You are robbing yourself of smiles, laughter, and an overall sentiment that we good people trying to make it in this world despite our flaws. So, if you don’t watch Modern Family you may hate yourself. Just a theory.
Cougar Town – stop laughing, just listen! It is on right after Modern Family and on the same channel. I don’t have a clue what else is on at 9:30pm on a Wednesday, but I do know this is on and I’m not offended by it. I like Busy Phillips and I like the guy who is Courtney Cox’s ex-husband. Courtney Cox isn’t bad on the show either. The show is a lot more sarcastic and filled with dark humor than many would think – especially me.
The Ultimate Fighter – I love The Ultimate Fighter. It is a reality show, but no matter what at the end of the show you someone fight someone, which is excellent. The one thing this is great about The Ultimate Fighter is that if you are a fan of the UFC then it makes so much sense to watch the show because these guys will be on the pay-per-views at some point and some of them may end up being great fighters one day, so why not get in on the ground floor and see where they started. Two past winners of The Ultimate Fighter have gone on to win the Light-Heavyweight Championship and several The Ultimate Fighter alums have fought for belts. This season of The Ultimate Fighter features Josh Koscheck as one of the coaches. He was a competitor on the first season of the show and now has made himself one of the elite Welterweights in the UFC and will fight the Welterweight Champion, Georges St. Pierre, at the end of the show. Of course, if you don’t like the UFC then there is absolutely no reason to watch it.
Inside the NFL – It’s football. I watch it.
Community is arguably the best half-hour on television. It is brilliant. No more needs to be said.
I do watch 30 Rock, but I’m kind of over the show. The season premiere episode was a lot better than a lot of the episodes from last season, so hopefully that continues. I don’t mind the show; it just seems like they get lazy. I get it – Tina Fey doesn’t think she is attractive and she eats weird things. First, who doesn’t eat weird things? I caught myself eating a chicken and cheese sandwich on an everything bagel with a cup of coffee and a bag of cool ranch Doritos. And then I did it again a couple days later. I don’t recommend it. Secondly, Tina Fey is attractive. She’s a good looking broad and nothing is more annoying in this world than listening to a good looking person say they are not good looking.
The Office has become an institution on NBC. It definitely is still better than it is not. I really think Ed Helms saves the show more often than not. Craig Robinson doesn’t get to do too much on the show, but whatever they have him do is great. I think Steve Carell is still excellent on the show, but I am looking forward to seeing what happens when they replace him. I’m also just curious to see who is replacing him. I’ve seen two maybe castings of Harvey Keitel and Rhys Darby. Two very different actors, but two actors that I think could do a great job. Rhys was unreal funny on Flight of the Conchords as Murray and I imagine it would be a similar role for him on The Office. As for Keitel, I’d be interested in seeing what he brings to that character.
I watched that episode of Outsourced and hated it. I really cannot wait until Parks and Recreations replaces that show. This show was the second funniest show on NBC to Community and I was shocked when they put it to mid-season replacement. Just absurd.
Jersey Shore. Yeah, that is enough said right there. That show is fucking gold. Tonight Angelina will fight Snooki and I will love every motherfucking second of it!
It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and The League. I really have not liked the past two Sunny episodes which has been very disconcerting. Tonight’s episode looks wild and I’m very excited to see if they can right this sinking ship. The League is a decent show. It’s far from great, but it is not bad at all. It has some consistently funny characters, it is sort of about football and they do a good job keeping each episode different, but still have that fantasy football thread running through it. So far, both of The League episode have outshined Sunny.
FRIDAY and SATURDAY
Nothing. I’m usually drinking booze or watching movies or college football. But I’m not the biggest fan of college football. I have no team and it just pails in comparison to professional football. A lot of wild stuff happens in college football, but a lot of times that can be chalked up to immaturity of the game and the disparity between players. There is a clear difference in talent from player to player, so the game is uneven.
MOTHERFUCKING FOOTBALL! The NFL resides over my Sunday activities. I watch the 1pm game, the 4pm game and the 8:15 or whatever pm game. I watch as many games as I can and I love them to pieces. Sunday is my favorite day of the week.
Mad Men – I love Mad Men. This season has been really great. I think my favorite two episodes were the night out on the town with Don and Lane, and the episode with Don keeping a diary. Those two episodes were very memorable. It is remarkable what the show has done this season – it added a great deal of humor and humanity to the show. In some regards, past seasons have come across like really well dressed and groomed robots interacting with each other. This season tried to humanize them a lot more and in that there has been both sadness, but a lot of humor. The humor of the show has been really well done with the characters starting their own business and with starting their own business has come office shenanigans.
I think I’m the only person in the world who watches Rubicon and I have stopped watching it. I’ve missed the past two episodes and have them on DVR, but I honestly don’t care about catching up on them. I never understood what was happening on that show and now I never will. I’m fine with that.
Last, but not least – the new HBO line-up:
Boardwalk Empire – it’s OK. I’m really not in love with the show, but I’ll keep watching it. I know there hasn’t been a TV show about Atlantic City during Prohibition, but this show really isn’t anything more than any other gangster movie or TV show. The main guy is doing illegal stuff, but he pretends in public like he isn’t. There are guys who also do illegal stuff who are in a power struggle with him. And the cops are trying to arrest him. Great. Wonderful. I get it. There is blood and nudity on the show and that is enough for most people. I’ve seen the movie The Untouchables and Hoodlum and a bunch of other movies like that, which are all better than Boardwalk Empire. The show isn’t breaking new ground as far as story or action, it is same old same old, but with a different location. Also, I have no reason to root for Steve Buscemi’s character or Michael Pitt’s character at all. There isn’t anything compelling about them minus the fact that the TV show clearly wants you to root for them. Buscemi’s character “Nucky” Thompson is just *shrugs*. There is nothing that he does that sets him apart. There isn’t one great character on that show as far as I’m concerned in these first two episodes and the storyline isn’t breaking the mold, so I’m patiently waiting for it to either lose my attention completely or to maybe surprise me.
Bored to Death – Phenomenal show. Zach Galifianakis and Ted Danson are just wonderful on the show. Especially, Ted Danson. I’m a big fan of Zach already and he has been nailing it with everything he is doing, so that was not surprising. Ted makes great cameos on Curb Your Enthusiasm and who didn’t love Cheers, but Ted has truly reinvented himself on Bored to Death. His character is rich, effeminate, full of wonder, craves intimacy, graceful and just hysterical. And with all that, Jason Schwartzmen does a great job being the lynch-pin that keeps the show together.
Eastbound & Down – OUT OF CONTROL! I fucking love this show. It is the riskiest show on television and there is nothing like it. I really love it and I love everything they do on it. I love that they season takes place in Mexico. I really can’t say much about this show where it doesn’t sound like I’m gushing over it like a love sick teenager. So, I’ll just say I realize it isn’t for everyone, but I’m thankful it is for me.
So there you go. Thank God for the DVR.
Also, there may not be a Friday post, but if you do ask questions I’ll make sure to answer them next week if I can’t get to post tomorrow. I have obligations and they will most likely take up all morning. But crazier things have happened and I could post.
Jeez… 2000 words. I’m tired.
September 29, 2009
Not eating sucks. It really sucks. I don’t know how poor people and all of Africa do it so often and so well. Jokes! Not drinking is much worse, though. The entire time I’m not eating, I think to myself “well I could have a glass of water and I’ll be fine.” BUT I CAN’T DRINK ANY FUCKING WATER! Infuriating. Either way, I’m done with those shenanigans for another year. When I did break my fast, I ate like my stomach had ADHD. It was like I needed to retaste all the foods that were available at that given moment as if I had never had them before. Oh sweet Thor’s hammer, this is wonderful! What is this cleverly delicatable dish called? Bread!?! What a strange name. And it’s sliced!
This is what I’ve gathered from the comments yesterday: your offices are fuck-fests. That’s what I’m getting out of it. Apparently, the idea that a real office environment not having rampant sex is implausible to you all. I’m not judging. I’m not saying whether that is bad or good (it’s good), but it hasn’t happened in this guy’s life. I have had jobs where my bosses openly talked about smoking pot, but that was about as crazy as it got. There weren’t hj’s, bj’s and/or zj’s happening all around me or even to me, no matter how much I prayed to the Lord above and below to make that happen.
I think you can safely guess there is no actual sex in Part 2. Why? Because no one was fucking in that office! I’m not going to throw smut in just because half of you seem to be begging for it. Does this website really need porn literature on it? I feel like that is being covered quite well on these other sites you all mention. This site is for the jokes. Laughter. This is KSWI – Kristen Stewart Wants IT. If I wanted to make a site dedicated to porn fan fiction it would be KSGI – Kristen Stewart Gets IT……… hard.
As for no pictures yesterday, I HAD NOT EATEN ANYTHING! Not a single fucking morsel. Not a sip of fucking water. But but but I did write 2000 plus words of genius comedy, which went completely unappreciated. Because of this heresy, no pictures today either. There were going to be no pictures regardless, for symmetry’s sake – part 1 no pictures, part 2 no pictures. But now it is not only for symmetry, but for spite.
Onto part 2 of Chapter whatever:
Fake-Rob spends his first paid hour at work eating at his desk and trolling the internet. He cycles through the same ten websites he checks every morning and then rechecks after the cycle is finished and then rechecks and rechecks and rechecks and continues to recheck until he believes that God is punishing him for a heinous crime that he must’ve committed in another life. Just when his co-workers begin to arrive, Fake-Rob makes a dash for the sovereign handicap toilet to unleash his insides in a private sanctuary.
Back at his desk, Fake-Rob is greeted to a most unpleasant sight: his cubicle-mate. She is a middle age woman who is mother to an uncountable amount of children who all seemingly have access to telephones throughout the day. Within one minute of Fake-Rob sitting down in his chair, she sneezes. As every other day Fake-Rob has worked at this job, she proceeds to sneeze every 30 – 45 seconds for the entire day. Fake-Rob has no idea how this woman could possibly get anything accomplished in her job with this affliction. Fake-Rob also has not a single clue what her job is or what is expected of her in this job minus daily breaking the Guinness book world record of continuous sneezing.
On Fake-Rob’s first day at this job he said “bless you” when she sneezed. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then she sneezed again and he said “bless you”. Then Fake-Rob thought he was losing his fucking mind that someone could be sneezing this much and be employed at the same time. How did she pass the interview sneezing the whole time? How does she drive a car? How did she make it through the sex that she had to have to have these stupid kids or any of her pregnancies? JUST STOP SNEEZING!!!! But she doesn’t. Despite Fake-Rob’s gentlemanly nature, he has stopped saying “bless you”.
Fake-Rob is rereading the top news stories on CNN for the third time when his supervisor approaches. Fake-Anna Kendrick smiles and Fake-Rob smiles. Good morning Fake-Rob. Good morning Fake-Anna Kendrick. Are you busy? Not really, why? Well I have a little project for you. Fake-Rob smiles and inside his head he says I’ll give you a project. How about you suck on my- Ok, I can do a project. Great. Fake-Rob follows Fake-Anna Kendrick over to a set of filing cabinets on the far side of the office.
These are all the employee files from the past 5 years. They are supposed to be in alphabetical order and arranged by currently employed and fired. Did you meet Jessica? She had your job before you. She was supposed to organize these that way, but didn’t. They are in a completely random order, so could you fix that? Fake-Rob smiles and thinks how about I alphabetize all over that cute face of yours? Fake-Anna Kendrick smiles back and opens up one of the cabinet drawers near the bottom. As she bends over Fake-Rob stares at her ass the entire time and completely zones out. Fake-Anna Kendrick is explaining further how many files there are, how they should be arranged and just about anything Fake-Rob would need to complete this project. But Fake-Rob is solely focused on her butt.
Side note: I’m not sure about this Twilight stuff, but Anna Kendrick is irresistible in Rocket Science.
After Fake-Anna Kendrick’s short dissertation concerning the stacks of employee files and Jessica’s incompetence handling them, she leaves Fake-Rob alone with the massive collection of office cabinets. Fake-Rob opens and closes each cabinet to get a rough estimate of how many files he will need to alphabetize. He makes a safe estimate of there being one million employee files. A modest guess of literally one million files for Fake-Rob to alphabetize. Fake-Rob hypothesizes that the non-profit he currently works for is the largest company to have ever existed. Besides sheer volume, Fake-Rob inspects the order these files are in now. If Jessica had any system at all it would have been to create the most chaos for someone who at a later date would be putting these files in alphabetical order. DAMN YOU JESSICA!
The first 15 minutes of Fake-Rob’s project were spent with him standing and politely bending over when need be. The following half hour Fake-Rob had dropped to his knees prostrating to the complexity of Jessica’s tyranny. One hour later and Fake-Rob is lying on the floor surrounded by files. He is wild eyed and is covered in paper cuts. The piles of employee files are in dozens of stacks around him like a kid’s fort. At this moment the only way to describe how he looks is crazy.
Two hours and change, Fake-Rob is putting the finishing touches on his alphabetical masterpiece. James Zimmerman and, finally, Friedrich Zoltan. Like a baby taking its first steps, Fake-Rob rises to his feet. Shaky, plodding, heavy, but upright. He wants to scream I did it. I beat that bitch Jessica’s mind game. I am a winner! But Fake-Rob knows very well that he is not a winner. Spending another two hours of his life on a meaningless task instead of chasing young ladies in see-thru white togas through fields of gold wheat. I hate my youth. Fake-Rob quietly stumbles away from the cabinets. His only reward is the refreshing feeling of his legs being asleep. PINS AND NEEDLES!
Fake-Rob returns to his desk and everyone else has already left for lunch. He composes a new email to Fake-Anna Kendrick. In his exhaustion, he can only muster three words of explanation: It is finished. Like the grandest most dramatic most exact divorce email, “It is finished” is sent and waits in Fake-Anna Kendrick’s inbox.
It is lunch time. Fake-Rob grabs his cell phone from his desk and exits the building. Admittedly, Fake-Rob loves being in New York City. He loves the pace, the smell in the air, the wind whipping through the streets, the humanity buzzing around him at all times, he loves the choices and the seemingly endlessness of it. He could choose a different place to eat everyday for a whole year and still come nowhere near all the places he could eat in Manhattan alone. With all that, he chooses to walk the same three blocks he has walked since his first day of work and eat at the same sandwich/by-the-pound Chinese food shop.
A chicken sandwich, chips and a huge energy drink filled with caffeine, Fake-Rob sits by himself. It is sad, but it is Manhattan: everyone eats by themselves. Although partially true, it is still sad. People do eat with other people at lunch and Fake-Rob knows it. He simply inhales the chicken sandwich and devours the chips. Now Fake-Rob sips on his caffeine fix. He has only been out of the office for 15 or so minutes so he has time to kill. It is about time for more sexy eyes. He looks around and spots two potentials.
Fake-Elizabeth Reaser is busy talking way too loudly on her cell phone. When Fake-Rob is in public talking on his cell phone it is at a near whisper volume as if he was trading clandestine information in a room full of spies. In complete opposite fashion, Fake-Elizabeth Reaser is nearly screaming out all of her personal information. She is also unitarily focused on staring directly in front of her as if she was projecting to an invisible eating-mate.
Potential target two is a different problem altogether: Fake-Christian Serratos. If Fake-Rob had to guess how old she was he would first say 14 then 22 then 17? He is trying to remember if he walks past any high schools to get to work. Also, he is trying to rationalize why a high school student would be eating at this place. Fake-Rob’s understanding of how the school system in New York City works is minimal. He went to public school in the suburbs. Either way, Fake-Rob does not try to engage in sexy eyes although he keeps looking over at Fake-Christian Serratos to see if there are any more clues to her age and in doing so now has engaged creep eyes. Before the cops are called, Fake-Rob discards his garbage and leaves.
Fake-Rob is back at his desk with seconds, minutes, maybe even another full half hour to spare. He flies through his websites seeing if any Earth shattering news has been reported in the past few hours. Nothing. With everyone else seemingly still at lunch, Fake-Rob ventures to his not so safe for work web board that he posts on. In theory this board is for the discussion of sports. It is an intangible gathering circle where men can discuss the beauty and the complexity of modern sports and to talk hypothetical strategies for — they post a lot of softcore porn and tell dirty jokes. Sure, there are parts of the board that talks about sports. Or at least Fake-Rob believes those sections still exist.
He clicks through new threads like “would you hit it?”, “can I get a name for this hot chick?” and other intellectually stimulating topics. Fake-Rob just needs some levity in his day. Staring at pictures of half-naked women like a boy in a treehouse staring at stolen Victoria’s Secret catalogues is about as much levity as he will get today. Fake-Rob opens a thread cleverly entitled “my favorite pronstars”. After giving a once over to the provided pictures, Fake-Rob feels a need to post. Her name is spelled “Abbey Brooks” not “Abby Brookes”. Also picture number 6 is not a picture of Rachel Starr, instead it is a picture of Rachel Roxxx. Fake-Rob then feels the deep need to kill himself for knowing these glaring mistakes.
At the same time, Fake-Rob knows that looking at these pictures at work is a fireable offense. This is why Fake-Rob is diving for the minimize button every time he hears a pin drop. Eventually, too many pins start to drop and his fun is over for today. He settles into reading the threads dedicated to the commenters talking shit on each other and not posting semi-nude pictures. Fake-Rob wastes the next hour doing this while pretending not to listen in on the mail room and their even more vulgar discussions.
He’s cute, but he just don’t have the *umph* I need. You know I like them big. Fake-Rob does know she likes them big. She has mentioned as such on a few occasions. She also introduced the phrase “titty milk” into the office quite loudly. Fake-Rob finds great amusement in the incredibly inappropriate sexual discussions the mail room has mere feet from the HR/accounting department. As she prepares to go into more explicit detail about how large of a *umph* she needs, Fake-Peter Facinelli interrupts. He is Fake-Robs other supervisor.
Are you busy Fake-Rob? I was wondering if you could help us out. It seems that one of the assistants upstairs left early because she was sick and someone needs to sit at her desk and answer the phones. Could you do that for us? What can Fake-Rob say? No. Fuck no. In actuality, Fake-Rob is very happy about this. He will not only get to leave his sneezing buddy, but the assistant whose desk is right next to where he will sit is Fake-Kristen Stewart.
Fake-Rob leaves immediately. He gets to his new desk in seconds. It is a corner of the office floor where the two assistants’ desks face all incoming traffic. Their backs are to windows, so Fake-Rob can look at any devious websites without anyone being able to sneak up on him. Even better the other assistant is the very alluring Fake-Kristen Stewart. She wants it. Fake-Rob knows it. So do all the guys in the office. So do all the girls in the office. As Fake-Rob approaches, Fake-Kristen Stewart smiles and they both exchange hellos.
Fake-Rob tries to continue this auspicious start with asking how she is doing, has it been busy today, the weather is so nice today and just about any other bland pathetic attempt. At some point, Fake-Rob realizes that this conversation is coming to a close. She smiles a lot, she’s cute, she’s friendly, but what next? We’ve only seen each other this time and that one time in the elevator a month ago. I’m at work, I’m sober, she’s sober. This is a lost cause. So, the conversation dies. Fake-Rob defeated turns back to his computer. There are 3 hours left in his day, but now he has a computer that no one can see what he is looking at. This can only mean one thing: anime.
Fake-Rob dials up a familiar website and spends the next three hours watching one episode after another of his favorite anime shows. Thank God for subtitles. There are no phone calls or at least none that Fake-Rob needs to answer. A phone call once every 20 minutes is easily answered by the executive that person is calling. Fake-Rob just sits in silence watching teenagers swing guillotine swords and shoot lightning out of their hands. Every so often he looks over to Fake-Kristen Stewart who is seemingly knee deep in work. Fake-Rob’s phone is pretty much silent, but hers is ringing none stop. I guess I could ask her if she needed any help. That would look good. I would get to interact with her more. I’d be helping her. She would be so grateful for my help that she would strip me in the Xerox room and… but then I would actually have to help her, right? Helping her do her work would seriously cut into my cartoon watching. Screw it. She seems to be handling everything pretty well.
Outside of the cartoons and the occasional phone call, Fake-Rob’s only other responsibility is to stare down any male suitor trying to chat up Fake-Kristen Stewart. Every so often a male co-worker of varying ages will just so happen to walk past Fake-Kristen Stewart and have some topic on the brain that they think she would love to hear about. She engages each one with big kind energetic eyes and a pleasant smile. Meanwhile Fake-Rob also engages them with his stare of a 1000 deaths. It takes longer for some, but their attention always gets drawn to the stare of a 1000 deaths. Fake-Rob will also give them the head nod of killing intent. Fake-Rob isn’t completely sure that his stare and head nod scare off his opponents out of fear of his fighting prowess or they are creeped out because they think he is gayly hitting on them. Either way, it is more alone time with Fake-Kristen Stewart. If I’m too cowardly to ask her out then no one will ask her out. Brilliant idea Fake-Rob.
It is finally 5pm and time for Fake-Rob to leave. He gives a very faint and half hearted goodbye to Fake-Kristen Stewart which she may or may not have heard since he was running to the elevator when he said it. He shoots out of the building and nearly kills two or three speed walking back to the train station. Once at the station, he runs for his life to catch the early train and just squeezes through the closing doors at the last moment. Fake-Rob’s heart is pounding from that minute of exercise. He collapses into some seats and closes his eyes. He has been beaten by the boredom of his day. He has no energy to do sexy eyes with Fake-Ashley Greene sitting across from him, but he does take a long mental note of her before he closes his eyes.
Another commute back to New Jersey is over. Fake-Rob arrives home and is greeted by his dogs. He lays on the couch playing with the dogs until dinner and then converses with his parents about who had the most uneventful day. In the back of Fake-Rob’s mind is one lingering thought that gets him through all these boring work days: I’m going to get so drunk this weekend.
Eventually, it is bed time. Fake-Rob crams himself back into the sleigh bed. He wraps himself in his comforter like a cocoon and rolls over on his stomach and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh. And then he individually fucks Fake-Nikki Reed, Fake-Anna Kendrick, Fake-Elizabeth Reaser, Fake-Christian Serratos, Fake-Kristen Stewart and Fake-Ashley Greene IN HIS MIND! Happy?
September 28, 2009
Steelers lost. I’m fasting for Yom Kippur. The Steelers better start winning or my new slate of sinning is going to take a 48 hour fast to cure.
I’m no stranger to fanfiction.
I have referenced a few times my love for the ancient artistry of Japanese anime/manga. Generally, these stories focus on early high school aged teenagers jacked up on hormones and super powers. No matter the time era, these kids are our only hope at saving the world from some catastrophic evil entity that they must battle in one-on-one combat as either ninjas, samurai, roller-bladers, pirates, wizards or pilot sixty-foot robots built for war into each other. And in the midst of all that, there are always one or two wildly innocent love subplots and a megaton of wildly perverted subplots.
I’ve seen my fair share of fanfiction based around these anime/mangas. Typically, they are based in the universe that was created by the archetype original series and follows the laws that were set. Until I started this blog and was treated to “The Office”, the thought never occurred to me that one would write fanfiction of your favorite literary characters outside the walls of whatever mystical world they are in. Fanfiction I’ve read is trying to expound on those walls. New enemies, new good guys, new venues for their favorite characters as if they were missing chapters or bonus chapters to what they are already reading. “The Office” is 100% the opposite. It is taking the extraordinary and making it ordinary. It’s the Twilight peeps working shit office jobs, right?
I know they’re fucking. I am going to bring that up. That is the magic in that story. They’re not immortal vampires; they’re bored to death 9-5ers who just so happen to fuck each other’s living brains out every 8 paragraphs. I see that. I’ve seen that. In the fanfiction I’ve seen about the anime/mangas I read, they still are ninjas and they are still fighting evil ninjas and then afterwords they perform the weirdest sex acts on each other. But they’re still ninjas or samurai or robot warriors! Who knows how people unwind after a fireball throwing death fight with a demon on top of a mountain? They may unwind by banging each other’s brains out. I get that. But “The Office”?
I work in an office. I’ve worked in offices for years. The only one getting fucked over here on a regular basis is me and my 401k. Zing! Economics jokes. So today, I am going to write some fanfiction. Some REAL fanfiction. Based on my experiences at office work. This may or may not be nearly identical to what my daily life was several years ago working at a non-profit in their HR department. This is not about my current job. On the off chance someone from my work does read this blog and is just keeping it a secret to themselves. So I’m choosing to write about an old job. And… it will feature the Twilight characters in a manner of speaking. Things are about to get really real.
*BAN* *BAN* *BAN*
Fake-Rob’s cell phone screams like an air raid siren through his REM sleep. A cold rush of panic shoots through his now semi-conscious body. This attack on his system is coupled with the exact same thought this alarm triggers every morning he hears it: I’m still alive and that means I have to go to work. Why can’t God just finish this already? Can’t I just go peacefully in my sleep? But no, Fake-Rob has survived another night of sleep and is now awake. Well sort of awake. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet.
Fake-Rob’s arm rises from underneath the covers blindly and is clumsily drawn to his cell phone’s screech like a marionette on strings. His thumb clicks the “end” button and finally the wails of electronic pain cease. In this quiet, Fake-Rob contemplates quitting his job just so he can sleep in. This is the same negotiating Fake-Rob does every morning at this time and sadly reaches the same conclusion each time. I have to go to work.
Jammed into the sleigh bed his parents bought Fake-Rob when he was 14, he lets out a yawn so powerful that it almost makes him vomit. He sits up and flings his dead legs off his bed onto the floor. Fake-Rob has yet to see the morning with open eyes. This is in part because of how extremely tired he is and partly because there is nothing new to see. Fake-Rob has not updated his childhood room since he was in fact a child. His brief apprenticeship as an interior decorator started and stopped when he was in elementary school. He adorned his walls with sports posters of that moment in time and has never thought a second about updating them.
Sluggishly, Fake-Rob, through sheer muscle memory and not sight, grabs his towel off the back of his door and a pair of underwear off his desk. His underwear, undershirts and socks are in three neat piles on his desk because he maturely refuses to put them away in any dresser drawers.
Now equipped, Fake-Rob walks into the bathroom and starts the shower. At this moment, standing across from the vanity mirror he unhinges his eyelids and allows himself to see for the first time this day: his utterly depressed face. Ugh. Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I wasting my youth at this job? Why couldn’t I have been born in a time and age where my youth was celebrated? Why can’t I just run through fields of golden wheat chasing young beautiful women in revealing white togas? Why can’t I do battle with my enemies using sword and shield? Why can’t I sit around with fellows discussing the answers to the universe in long elaborate hypothetical word problems? Why couldn’t I have been born to a filthy rich family where I got a disgustingly stupid inheritance just for turning 18? Ugh… fucking parents.
Shower, brushed teeth, and first morning piss which is so pleasurable it makes him arch his back and stretch up on his tiptoes. Back in the bedroom, Fake-Rob has dressed himself in a striped button up shirt and a pair of khaki pants. One last look at his lonely too small for him sleigh bed and he heads downstairs.
Instantly, his dogs attack him. As a rogue burglar that they can only kill with wagging tails and licks to the face, he is attacked. They jump at his legs and mark him with their shedded fur. The big one, the golden retriever, stands her full length and hits Fake-Rob hard in the chest sending him into the pantry. She will knock him down for the other smaller dog warriors to get their chance at him. Fake-Rob succumbs for a moment to the dog saliva and dander, but remembers one word: “work”.
He thanks his mother for the finely brewed cup of coffee which he snatches and drinks in one stupid gulp burning the roof of his mouth like every morning. He makes one last check that he has the holy quadrinity on him: cell phone, keys, wallet and iPod. He is out the door in a sprint. He is at his car. He is driving the speed limit through the suburbs of New Jersey to his goal: the New Jersey train stop by his house. He parks. He runs as the train is approaching in the distance and meets the train on the platform just as it arrives.
Once on the train, Fake-Rob slides his headphones on and collapses into the nearest seat. He skips through his gigabytes of music for something that will soothe him and feed into his chronic morning depression: Elliott Smith. He turns the music up so it drowns out all other noises. He removes his monthly train pass from his wallet and places it on his chest. And then he proceeds to try and fall asleep on the train like a young well-dressed hobo. He can’t sleep though. Fake-Rob was never a good public sleeper, so he just hangs in a purgatory for the first leg of his NJ Transit ride.
The train stops at Newark and Fake-Rob exits. He stands on the platform deaf to his surroundings with his iPod turned on high surrounded by the morning rat race heading into New York City . He glances around with his head on a swivel. He is looking for extremely brazen muggers or hot chicks. He spots one. A hot chick, not a mugger. There are no muggers. Newark Penn Station is completely safe. But if you walk two blocks from it you are immediately killed. But back to the hot chick, Fake-Nikki Reed.
Fake-Rob runs his eyes along every curve of her body. Tracing her profile from head to foot. Fake-Rob rubs his face and prepares himself for his best move: “sexy eyes”. Sexy eyes are the same as “creep eyes” depending on the other person’s subjective opinion on them. One move can easily become the other move without Fake-Rob doing anything. It is all about Fake-Nikki Reed’s interpretation of them. Fake-Rob engages sexy eyes. Fake-Nikki Reed minding her on business standing on the same platform 20 feet away looks to her left and catches eyes with Fake-Rob for a moment. Oh it’s on. After that moment, Fake-Rob adverts his eyes making Fake-Nikki Reed question whether or not they intentionally caught eyes. The plan is working perfectly.
The train pulls up and Fake-Rob and Fake-Nikki Reed have shared numerous glances. They both get on the same car of the train. Fake-Nikki Reed is now like a paranoid spy constantly looking over at Fake-Rob to see if he is looking back at her and sometimes he is and sometimes he appears to be just getting a head count of everyone in the car. This eye love affair is about as close as Fake-Rob will get because Fake-Rob has a severe phobia of being rejected in public.
Once in New York City, Fake-Nikki Reed exits the train to the left and Fake-Rob to the right and at that moment Fake-Rob feels his heart in pain. He watches her leave his sight interspersed in the millions of other New York City travelers. Fake-Rob thinks to himself, I would have loved you forever Fake-Nikki Reed. We could have gotten married and had children and we would have been so happy together. I loved you and I will love you forever until this exact thing happens with some other hot chick on the ride home tonight or the next morning or…
After a mile walk through the urban jungle that is Manhattan, Fake-Rob has fallen in and out of love a dozen times. Fake-Rob arrives at the foot of his work building. He turns off his iPod and can now hear the symphony of cursing, car horns, cop whistles and inane cell phone conversations that this wonderful city provides. He buys his second cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese from a street vendor and then enters the building. After a short elevator ride and serpentine walk through the cubicle maze, Fake-Rob is ten minutes early to his desk at a job everyone else shows up an hour late for.
Part II of this epic journey will be posted tomorrow!