I have a masters degree in storytelling

Dear anorexic girl at my gym,
You’re gross. Have you considered that the saggy ass that you have is probably due to A) you not having any assmeat with which to fill your ass skin and B) your body not having enough nutrients to make anything taut? Just throwing that out there. Also, going back and forth from the stairmaster in one room to the elliptical in the next room every hour isn’t fooling anyone. You’re reminding me of decay and the inevitability of death, it’s like working out next to a picture of amy winehouse. I mean, the guy with one arm…I can deal with him on the elliptical machine (it’s really quite a sight) and I can handle seeing that one chick from rock of love there, even though she’s obviously got at least as many problems as you. It’s just that you’re kind of killing yourself right in my face, which is forcing me to have to worry about you, which I really don’t want to do…So come on. Let’s get real: You’re too skinny, you’re dying, you need to eat, and fuck, lady, the exercise is only making you grosser.
Sincerely,
Me

Speaking of anorexia, barfing and disease did anyone watch the new rock of love last night? Holy shit! These hoes are making the hoes from rock of love one look like the hoes from Gone With the Wind (there were hoes in Gone with the Wind, right?) The one girl took a shot out of the other girl’s beaver? On the first day? When she’s trying to impress a suitor? Well, shit. Call me old fashioned, but I didn’t think it was ladylike to do shots on a first date. Huh. Times are a changing. Anyway, that’s enough pop culture for now, back to the jobs I once held:

Okay, so after my stint at McDonalds, I became a camp counselor. I did this with a few of my close friends, including Chris, who you all may know as the other guy in the band I’m in that’s not Neil. Anyway, this job was cool. We were 17 and we were playing sports with jewish 8 year olds. We all tried to bone a few of the female counselors (uh…wendy, who worked with the 5 year olds comes immediately to mind) but we were seventeen and as such, we had very little idea what we were doing, so nothing really materialized there.
The funny thing about this job was the head of the whole camp was this five foot two guy named Jay who had a merciless jewfro, acted like a totally spazzed out Tom Cruise and took every (and I mean EVERY) opportunity to take off his shirt and show off his ripped upper body. And, let’s be fair, he was ripped to the tits, man. But seriously, the day the counselors had to go check out the swimming facility, even though it was well known that no one would be getting in the pool, he changed into his trunks and stood there just flexing while the creepy old Jamaican guy (a WHOLE other story) told us about the dimensions of the pool and shit. Pretty awesome. Also, he was an aspiring film maker and his films all featured him, shirtless, working out. He showed these movies to us on every moment of down time. Dude loved his torso.
Yeah, so you get it, camp job. It was cool. The kids were great, and there’s nothing more humbling than working with an 8 year old who may not know more than you, but who’s definitely more intelligent. Everyone should try it sometime.
After that, I worked at Ben and Jerry’s. This was a while ago when there were only about seven Ben and Jerry’s locations in the whole country, so the place was constantly rocking a line down the street and around the corner all summer long. The job itself was terrible. Parents waited with their impatient kids in lines a block long to get ICECREAMICECREAMICECREAMICECREAM!!!!!!!!!! And by the time they got to me (scooper guy) they (parents) were already worn to the bone. So then they’d finally arrive at the sneeze guard and they’d say “tell the guy what you want” to the over excited six year olds who would all scream incomprehensibly at me at the same time. Now, the MOMENT I got that perplexed look on my face that was inevitable due to the circumstances, the parents, without fail, would begin chastising me like it was MY fault they were loaded up with kids at the Ben and Jerry’s and they had to let go of their dreams of being a dancer or whatever. “HE SAID HE WANTS CHUNKY MONKEY IN A WAFFLE CONE YOU MORON!!!!!” No shit. This is how they’d talk to me. Add to this that the ice cream at Ben and Jerry’s has no softening agent, so my wrist was in a chronic state of misery AND when I’d walk home, mosquitoes would flock to me because I was covered head to toe in sugar. Sweet job. Also the boss was literally a crack head. He had a crack pipe in his office and it always smelled like toxic waste in there. So he was irrational and everything totally sucked, except for a few choice things:
1) Free ice cream all the time. Also, I drank their milkshakes. Heh. Seriously, the ice cream there is awesome.
2) Nitrous- We made our own whipped cream and so there was an endless supply of nitrous oxide on hand. Here’s a little secret. If you’re ever at an ice cream parlor (or a coffee place) and some teenager comes staggering out of the back and slurs something at you and then suddenly regains their composure, they were just sucking nitrous out of the cream canister. It’s a guarantee.
3) I think I mentioned this once before, but when Carlos (manager) fucked Maureen (skanky coworker who wasn’t attractive but who was so skanky that she had that ‘you-could-totally-bang-me-in-the-cooler-up-against-the-icecream-cakes-if-you-wanted-to’ sort of appeal (you know the type) she didn’t find the condom until it finally came out of her three days later. I love this story. It’s one part cautionary tale, one part ugly truth about biology, and one part romance.
So, I quit that job and then I started working at one of the funniest jobs I ever had (and one I left off yesterdays list), the Record Exchange for this crazy, CRAZY bald but be-hairplugged and mustachioed OCD hippy named Gary. But, I’m gonna tell you all about that tomorrow, because I’m fucking starving. So, yeah. Later, dorks.