two pennies

What day is it?
I swear to god one of these days I am going to go completely fucking crazy. I'm talking about padded room trying to eat my own eyeballs crazy. If I have the office workday conversation too many more times I am done. What is the office workday conversation?
It starts like this.

Day 1: Monday
So how are you today? Response: Ugh....God it's Monday.(no shit)
Day 2: Tuesday
How's it going? Response: Well it's not Monday.(Wow a fucking rocket
scientist)
Day 3: Wednesday
So hows your day going? Response: Well we're halfway to
Friday.(Really? I hadn't noticed.)
Day 4: Thursday
Having a good day? Response: Just one more day till Friday.(Holy shit you
must be a mathmetician to figure that shit out.)
Day 5: Friday
What's up? Response: Thank God it's Friday.

I have basically this same conversation every fucking week. Thanks, but I know what day it is. And it doesn't matter who you ask. The cute girl in the elevator, the rent a cop, your boss, the older lady that sells you an everything bagel and a bitter cup of coffee, everyone. I try to change it up a bit myself. Next time you find yourself in the office workday conversation try one of these out.

So, how are you today? Response: Man, I scored some killer blow last night.
This shit will blow your mind. I haven't slept in like, four days.
How's it going? Response: (dropping your pants) Does this look infected to
you? I swear that hooker I got the other night had the skankest pussy
ever.
So hows your day going? Response: My day is total shit. Some fucking punk
kids shot my dog last night and then lit it on fire.
Having a good day? Response: I was, till I realized I would have to talk to
your stupid ass. (best when used with your boss)
What's up? Response: God! You make me want to kill myself!

Have a nice day.

This Blog is a testament it seems to my innability to stick with anything for very long. I am attempting to fix that. I will be updating the blog in a few days. Not that anyone is reading it.
Thank Goodness.

I unfortunately have a hotmail account. They seem to want to whore my e-mail address to absolutely everyone. According to the messages I get their are three things lacking in my life. They are as follows: A) I need more money B) I need a massive cock C) I am in need of a horny blonde who wants to jump my bones every second of every day. What the fuck? Did they hire Sylvia Brown? Accuracy like that needs the finest of psychics, not that tramp Miss Cleo, the Jamaican Voodoo Priestess by way of somewhere not even remotely close to Jamaica. I mean really, those are the three most recurring thoughts when I am going to bed at night. She must have picked up my pattern in the Universal Unconscious and decided to help me with informational web sites designed specifically for my needs. I just thank God that there is someone like her out there looking out for me.