GbRibs Back!
Note to Garden Burger, don’t shape veggie products like RIBS. There is no reason to shape stuff like the real thing, its unnecessary. Also, don’t make them nasty, these are gross, I ate two, as you can see, then I Just tossed that last “rib” in the trash where these Riblets belong.
Some of you may know that I am a parent, and as a parent you have obligations that you sometimes need to take care of. A child is one of those obligations. You have to feed them, keep them away from chemicals, power tools, wild beasts, and most importantly corporate america.
I work at a giant conglomerate. We have all the tenets of “Johnny Business Casual†here. People drive nice cars, spend way too much on their coffee and shoes, and give creatives a weird look as if to say “Huh, I guess that’s what they teach you at art school†when you walk by them without a collar on your shirt. One thing that is missing is a child care area. That’s right, we don’t have one. That means that if a child shows up on campus, all hell breaks loose. My daughter showed up last week (she’s 2, but we’ll get to that in a second) and nearly broke an ATM, poured some water on some prints of mine, and made a steady stream of noise while here.
Key argument: I brought her here on a Friday, and late in the day. Nobody was around, and she wrecked mostly all of my shit (which she does at home) so I am used to it.
Fast forward to today. Someone in my office has their 8 year old daughter here. Now, if you don’t have a child, or watch a lot of daytime television, or live in a barrio where kids run loose all the time, you may not know that the 8-12 year old girl is usually a binary of either “cute and fun†or “snotty and evilâ€. Sure, some of you out there don’t believe me. Do yourselves a favor, go to the other side of the GAP this weekend and walk through the kids area. There will be some tramped out mom with her jezebel in training asking for some overpriced nonsense so she can look like LiLo or some other whore. This child is of that ilk. The kind that if you saw someone smacking her in the face, you might say “a little harder, make her cry†in your head.
Look - I work here, or at least I put on a good front, little kid. I don’t want you giving me dirty looks in the hall when you’re looking for pens or toys to steal from people’s desks. Don’t try and run off with my portable hard drive when its plugged in just because its orange and looks like a toy. Don’t ask me where the bathroom is, and don’t tell me “my mommy is your boss†because that’s not true. My boss is Larry, and Larry isn’t here he’s in Detroit, that’s why your little snotty ass can run around like a banshee.
Rare is it when you see a child float on a cloud of politeness and eloquence. When you do, that, more than likely is my daughter. Rest assured, by the time she’s 7 and a half until she goes to college, she will never ever see where I work, unless I work at Target, as the guy at Food Avenue, then I will see her all the time when she goes and gets the carts in the parking lot and walks by the snack counter.
While driving back from San Diego to Los Angeles this past weekend, using a total of 75 dollars worth of gas for the trip, I stopped in Oceanside to fill up. The gas station had ads for their, retard proof, credit wands that had an interesting slogan that rings true to ongoing events in Iraq, and how no one as the attention span to put the pieces together on why we are there.
Bill Nye had to take a restaining order out on a woman to whom he was kind-of married for a little bit last year who poured herbicide all over his flower garden. The “faux marriage,” Blair Tindall, woman scorned, stated, left her heartbroken and distraught and led to the “dreadful moment” in the garden of “a man who no longer loved me.”
The Smoking Gun has the order, which happens to include Billy’s Studio City address. Uh.
