The first email in my in-box this morning was from that giant stench of decaying matter, the Dark you know who, asking me to “download this picture and send to me”. The email subject contained a link directly to the picture in question and he is blissfully ignorant to the fact you can click this. I pasted it into the body of another email and sent it back to him. I’m constantly amazed the man can tie his shoes. In fact, I’m not convinced he doesn’t wear loafers for this very reason. Not “loafers” as in the tremendously flaming, George Michael, white-loafers-and-no-socks sense, although what he does at home is anyone’s guess (my guess is it involves standing in just his tightie whities, gut overhanging spectacularly, swinging a shiny golf club in front of a mirror and pouting a lot - think Ben Stiller in "Zoolander" - and next time he's irritating the baby jeebus out of me, I intend to visualize that scene for my own amusement.)
I spent an hour making hotel reservations for his upcoming round the world business extravaganza. We are a big company and we therefore have special rates at hotels like the Westin, but the Westin does not meet the Dark Überlord’s lofty standards so he has me book Grand Hyatts and the like instead. The travel department then laugh in my face, I convince them that even though they’re way more expensive than we’re allowed, the Überlord is a “very important man” who will take care of the difference if there is a problem, then sit back and watch the great big tool try to convince the CFO that he is special enough to warrant a $500 a night room. It’s better than TV. The Überlord is entitled, damnit.
I am sleepy today due to an abundance of bizarre dreams involving me fleeing some enormous arachnids. I blame this squarely on the fact my friend Maria came round last night to hang out and eat chocolate and we ended up watching a bunch of those disturbing travel/food shows where that little, rotund, bald guy goes around the world eating disgustingly unappetizing, and just plain wrong, things. We sat there horrified as he gnawed on fried tarantulas on a stick, battered worms and goose intestines and our particular favorite - “teriyaki cockroaches” – a large nasty roach, injected with teriyaki sauce and skewered like a kebab. Nom nom nom! They looked just as lovely as they sound I can assure you. And if you heard a giant wail of distress around 10pm last night, that was just my soul dying. Seriously, what traumatic event happens to a person in their life, so dreadful that they wake up one day and go, “You know what? Screw that mashed potato and gravy, I think what I want is a fried cockroach!”
Well I seemed to have eradicated that giant hunger I had five minutes ago, how about you? Having trouble sticking to your diet? Call the Guv’ner!
And no, the title had nothing to do with the post. I'm mysterious damn it.
