This was a surprising email to receive:
It’s surprising for a few reasons :
- Do I have a secret child that is wandering the earth looking for my parental approval? Juliet, know that mama is proud of you and that I appreciate your email.
- That any child of mine would be good at math. Not only would they be good at math, but that they would be proactive enough to actively improve their math skills independently – like it’s something that they want.
- Are you sure you’re mine, Juliet?
I make an alarming number of Timbaland references.
Anyway. For my horrible job I have long interviews with crazy people and then write websites based off of their bizarre delusions. During the interview, I have to fill out long, long questionnaires with their rambling verbal deliriums.
Since the world is ending following a racist bottle of orange Crush being named our president-elect, it’s timely that one of the websites would include something about arming babies for a baby militia. I’m assuming that’s what’s going on here:
Who wants to make “arm the babies” shirts for You Life?
I used to work for a legitimate crazy person at her home office, which is a horse of different color. But one day these two super-hot dudes came to her door and said they were selling books. So instantly suckered into their little web of deceit, my boss and I bought like $45 worth of books. Fun side note, the grimier one of the dudes gave me his number in case I needed my, “lawn trimmed” (his words, not mine).
After six months, it became apparent that two jerk-offs ripped off an old (crazy) lady and a young girl. No books appeared. However, I did start receiving a subscription to Gourmet Magazine that I never requested or paid for.
Because sometimes the universe rewards you by being ripped off by someone who you thought was flirting with you with a magazine that you’ve never been interested in, used, or really read. And then it further rewards you by sending you William Sonoma catalogues for two years following, assumedly because of it. Thanks, universe!
And something similar happened to my best friend Shawn recently:
Do I have any suggestions for the company I work for?
As it turned out I did have a suggestion for them:
Second suggestion, go fuck yourself.
I once updated about my undying love for White Russian. Here . And maybe, just maybe, I also wrote another sorta intense letter that can be found here .
And today I got this in my email:
Thank you Jesus, and Ben, & Jerry
I would like to think that this is solely because of my determination. And emails. And letters. The trip up there to mourn at the graveyard. And threats.
So thanks for taking notice Ben and Jerry, it had been too long.
And in case you thought I was exaggerating, this is a real life exchange:
You’re welcome fellow White Russian fans.
And once again, these are the search engine terms that direct people to this blog:
such tales are great classics. My masturbation tale the most so.
Which refers to this
And for the record, my coming of age (no pun intended) story of wanking off has generated an unusual amount of hits. Thanks Daniel Defoe!
And this person who was looking for an awful lot out of their chips:
my chips didn’t vibrate but you can go to 7-11 for the second best option
Which refers, of course, to this
Thanks for visiting, whoever you are, you made my week.
I just…there are no words. I contacted my HR representative asking about options to pay for school through some mythical program where little angels swoop down and save me from incurring (even more) massive debt.
She was so helpful.
Ahhh, Google, of course.
As it turns out I am thinking of applying to work in HR for my former company, evidently all you need to be qualified is access to Google and your head lodged in your sphincter.