I know this town like the back of my hand, which comes in handy when you're delivering packages for Don Jon "The Papa." Tonight was an easy job for easy money, or so I thought. I could tell from the moment I hit the driveway the family was well-to-do, but I didn't know just how well until the mooks that answered the door laid into me like I was the extra-large margherita pizza add sausage no onions. When I came to I was starin' down the most feared man in the city, a fella know only as "The Hut," and I knew I had bitten off more cheesy bread than all the garlic butter in the world could wash down.
"I need you to bring a message," the shadowy figure snarled, "to Papa John."
I could feel her eyes on me from the other end of the bar before I even turned around; those steely grey-blues, always tinged with fury. White-knuckled, she raised the cup to her lips taking quick, angry sips, slupslupslup. The barista trembled like an autumn leaf as she waited for Laura's judgement, not daring to breathe. I counted slowly in my head, refusing to break eye contact. Stay cool, I told myself; but five seconds might as well have been forever. Laura's gaze shifted back to the barista, who shrank under its weight. After an eternity, Laura finally spoke, her voice a deadly whisper "I said no goddamn foam."
No one wants these problems.
I exit my ford tempo and head into my office building for another day of dealing with human garbage, the chilly breeze on the walk an exclamation point on my already dreary attitude. In these rooms there's only one rule, you get out the stains and stay away from the dames. I fill up my mop bucket and roll it out to the entryway. "Hey Jim, how's the kids?" These people live in their fairyland world away from the seedy underside of these desks. Largely because of Jane and her watermelon kick.
GODSPEED JOHN GLENN
Those goons had my food handlers permit revoked and I needed a place to lie low. There was a quiet little joint called Mom's Basement where I knew I could crash until the heat blew over. The thing was, the rent was free but the price...well, the price could be my soul.
There she was. A pair of bright red pumps and legs as high as the eye could see. There he was. A pair of docs and legs as high as the eye could see. There my boss was. New Balances and legs as high as the eye could see. I sighed deeply from underneath the forest green '94 Geo Tracker with the wave decal on the side at the local Jiffy Lube.
Her eyes burned with indignant fire, her hair fell about her shoulders like a mantle, and her ruby lips pursed. A man could get lost in that face. But despite my best efforts to be a gentleman I found my gaze falling to her enormous cans, which were clearly Freshlike, and the coupon she gave me was for Green Giant.
"You lousy no good rat," I spat, my finger quavering on the trigger like a soprano about to hit the high note. "You knew I was planning to go visit my sister and you dropped out of your shift anyway. I ought to send you on a cool vacation somewhere hot."
The air hang heavy in the room. I sighed through my nose and wished I had the courage to quit, before clicking home the trigger and watching as the $2.99 tag rolled onto the can of beans.
Save 10% with a target card.
Who knew that conversation with the clearly stressed mother of three trying to write me a check for $13 worth of holiday decorations was going to lead me down hassle blvd into trouble city. The post-it note in my managers handwriting reminding us to offer it fell off my monitor screen as she slammed the check on the small counter. I don't need to tell you she wasn't interested. "Sorry this isn't enough, it's 30 cents extra for the bags in California now. I need $13.97." I flipped the switch on the side of my station for manager assistance even before I finished the sentence.
Scourgelord Vilius Mandragore gave a speech from our shattered capital on Friday and we are here to fact check his claims about his million year empire.
In our new cat society, things have really gone from bad to purrse.
Reason 9: Ongoing mechanical issues with the internal Superman 64 fog machine.
The Comedy Goldmine examines the funniest and most creative threads from the Something Awful Forums. Although the Comedy Goldmine has changed authors many times over the years, its focus on the Something Awful Forums is still the same. Includes hilarious Photoshops, amusing work stories, parodies, and other types of oddball humor.