HOW TO: Interview for a Job Like a Maniac

1. Put on suit. Grab briefcase.

2. Roll in freshly-mown lawn clippings. Aim for grass stains.

3. Show up for job interview, littering the floor with grass with every step you take.

4. Sit down in chair.

5. Look directly into the interviewers eyes with great intensity. Blink as little as possible.

6. Wait to be asked the inevitable: “Ha…did you, uh…did you sleep in somebody’s yard last night?”

7. Answer gravely: “Yes. The Lord’s yard!”

8. Continue making increasingly uncomfortable eye contact.

9. Hand interviewer your resume. It should be nothing but small-font Biblical passages. Feel free to make some of them up!

10. Conduct half the interview normally, but at one point, begin speaking in tongues.

11. The interview should wrap up pretty quickly after the last step. Shake the interviewer’s hand. Say something complimentary, for instance: “Satan has a great foe in you.”

12: If there is a window through which the interview or others can see you when you leave, fall to the ground and shake with paroxysms of religious fervor. 

13. Then sit on the nearest sitting surface, open your briefcase and pull out the latest issue of the filthiest skin magazine you can find.

14. Congratulations: you are a maniac.


I gave a coworker my Tumblr handle today (always dangerous, but I feel that she is secure), so I was just scanning through the first couple pages to make sure I hadn’t written anything embarassing, and I gotta say:


Say it with me, Gary Oldman-style:



TOP FIVE: Things That Guys Named Steve Say

1. “S-t-e-P-H-e-n.”

2. “S-t-e-V-e-n.”

3. “No, that’s the other Steve.”

4. “You’re thinking of the other Steve.”

5. “S-t-e-F-a-n.”


I guess this is my 4th Tumblr Birthday? So, woo for that.


Tags: 4 years tumblr

If you make no life choices for fear of making a bad one, you are making a choice to avoid the possibility of ever making a good one. I know that, yet here I am, choosing to never choose.

It isn’t working.

Tags: life


the more sexual and inappropriate you are with me the better we’ll get along

This is true for myself and literally every other person on Tumblr. In fact, it should be Tumblr’s new slogan:

TUMBLR: “The more inappropriate and sexual you are with us, the better we’ll get along.”

(Source: darrenstummy-moved, via whisperingwillowleaves)

Tags: reblogs

About every five-ish months, I get a headache when I sleep, even though I didn’t have one when I went to sleep. Just a piercing, hot, crampy lower head and neck ache that wakes me up, usually with random thoughts, and I have to take a couple aspirin and sit up until it starts ebbing away before I can lay back down.

This happened last night.

I hate it.

Also, the previous night, I woke up for no reason with the belief that I had seen a movie called Orgy of the Dead (not the Ed Wood version), and it was a pornographic zombie movie, starring Jinx Maze, a bunch of other porn people, plus special appearances by Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Pegg didn’t do any sex scenes, but I remember that Frost took part in a scene with two women where he was definitely in the submissive position. I sat up thinking about this movie, and debating with myself over whether it had ever existed. I told myself I was going to check IMDB when I got up, just to be sure.

Anyway, as the result of this weird night-time stuff over the past couple days, I’m kinda tired today, and I hope I figure this sleep shit out at some point this week.

I’m not enjoying this.


So, Quarry, by Max Allan Collins, was awesome, a page-turning, mean little 70’s crime thriller, hardboiled as fuck, just the way I like them. I will read the rest of the series as soon as I get paid, since I’m already broke. But, hey, if you like the hardboiled stuff as much as I do, you can’t go wrong with this book. Look it up on your Kindle or in your local book store.


rocksymom replied to your post “Would anybody in the greater Portland area like to go bowling…”

When I’m in town…. Just maybe

Change that “just maybe” to a “definitely” and give me some advance warning when such a thing is bound to occur.




Meatpie looked up from the log he was sitting on. He looked at me intensely, his eyes narrowing, and his brain was working on something. “What?” I demanded.

"Nothing. I was just wondering what you’re like in bed."

I would have blinked my eyes in astonishment if they hadn’t been rigid, metal, laser-emitters. “I didn’t realize you swung robotic, Meatpie.”

"My name isn’t Meatpie, you horse’s ass!"

I waggled the gun in my right grasper. “Uh-uh-uhhhh…don’t get me angry. You wouldn’t like it when I’m angry, because it tends to cause bullets to forcefully enter your meat-self. Also, your name is Meatpie, as far as I’m concerned, because I can’t remember your—”

"Aaron. Aaron Joble—"

"Meatpie Meatpie Meatpie!"

He stared at me intensely for a while longer. “I was wondering what you’re like in bed, because you’re some sort of weirdo robot, and also, you’be been planning on killing me for, like, the last three hours, and I’m wondering when you’re going to get on with it.”

"Death wish? Got a little death wish?"

"No, I’m just bored! What is your fucking reasoning here? This is all foreplay and no penetration!"

"Okay, first of all…sexual metaphors for violence, eww, totally gross, and I don’t appreciate that. At all. Secondly, we are waiting for my employer to arrive."

"Your employer?"


"He’s going to come meet us way out here, in the middle of nowhere?" He cast his head and hands around at the miles of damp greenery around us.

"I’ve always thought that secluded wilderness settings were ideal for assassinations. How about you?"

"No, I think they’re pretty shitty places for them, actually!"

"Well, obviously, you’re not thinking about the situation clearly. Try to observe it impartially, and I think you’ll realize how cinematic everything is. Look! Over there! Is that an alligator?"

"We are thousands of miles from alligator country, robot."

"The name’s BLOGTRONIC! With an exclamation mark. It’s very important to remember that: BLOGTRONIC!, all caps, exclamation mark."

Meatpie was a human, if I didn’t mention that already. As most humans of a certain ethnicity, he was sort of pink and squishy all over, and he was wearing a suit and loafers, and he probably had to urinate or whatever by now. “Hey! Hey, Meatpie! Do you need to urinate or whatever?”

"Yyyeeahhhh…?" he answered cautiously.

I waved the gun. “Go on and urinate. I won’t watch.”

His eyes were suspicious. “You won’t?”

"Naaaah, not at all. I’m programmed to respect the modesty of other creatures and junk. Go on, right over there behind that bush, if you’re worried about me looking."

Slowly, he stood, and just as slowly, he crept over toward the indicated bush and disappeared behind it. “Close your eyes. Switch them off, or whatever.”

"I can’t see you, Meatpie."

"It would help a lot if you closed your eyes."

"Christ, fine! Baby!" I cut off power to my ocular inputs. "Okay, I can’t see a thing! Go ahead and do whatever disgusting organic process you need to do."

There were sounds of somebody swishing through greenery, and something like heavy, panicked footsteps, and heavy breathing, all of which I thought were very strange and incongruous with what you would expect if somebody were urinating, but hey, humans are weird. I wasn’t even quite sure how many excretory organs they had. I switched my eyes back on after a good ten minutes of waiting. “Okay, Meatpie, come on…Meatpie?”

I quickly dashed over to the bush. He was gone!


I fired my gun into the air, but I remembered as it clicked on empty chambers that it wasn’t loaded. “Meatpie! Come onnnnnnn! Don’t be like that! Meatpiiiiiiiie!”

When my employer arrived by helicopter half-an-hour later, he was red-faced and obviously irritated. Two of his goons were struggling to hold a birthday cake as they all tramped through the soggy grass toward me.

"Where’s Aaron?"

I stared at him, confused, until a memory blipped somewhere in my positronic brain. “Oh! Meatpie? Well, he escaped.”

My employer turned an even angrier shade of red. “Escaped?”

"Yeah, I was holding him here, like you requested, and—"

"I asked you to show Aaron a good time until I arrived for his surprise party, you—"

"He was susprised as hell, trust me! And what better way to show somebody a good time than to give them a story they can tell for years—"

"We’ve been following your tracer signal for the last four hours—"

"I know! I did an amazing job!"

My employer closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Where did he go, BLOGTRONIC!”

"Welp." I put my gun in a storage bin located on the back of my torso. "He ran off, and he’s not in much danger, except, well…"

"Except what?"

I cleared my throat. Wholly unnecessary, but I’ve picked up some verbal tics from humans over the decades. “Except we’re in the northwest corner of a fifty-acre alligator sanctuary. It’s a weird place to have a birthday party, don’t you think? What a surprise!”