No One Really Likes Pecan Pie

Three months of internship hell ended this afternoon.

I spent my last day at the film studio in pseudo-celebration by replacing light bulbs, researching celebrity potheads, listening to Le Tigre, and eating peanut butter pie with the elderly and the handicapped.

However, to my disappointment, the peanut butter pie was garnished with fucking pecans.

I found it to be a fitting end to the Summer of Suck.

Thanks For Nothing, Marlene

I have an announcement:

My gum has decided to FreAk tHe FuCk oUT.

And now I'm pissed.

See, I have this thing about my teeth. I like them. A lot. I even went so far as to buy a $6 stop watch at Wal-Mart for the specialized task of timing my daily teeth cleanings in 3 minute intervals. Thus, I am very proud of the fact that I have not had a cavity in 12 years, and I intended on keeping it that way for the next 80 years, or at least until my passing, which ever comes quicker. However, my gum has a hit a mid-life crisis, and instead of buying a flashy little sports car it has decided to deal with its frustration in another way - by growing over my back molar, a dark and unbrushable place, turning my visit to the dentist today from an excuse to get a mini-sample of Colgate into a trip of pure, unadulterated horror. "Sir, you have a cavity."

With villainous thoughts of Mr. Grumpy Gums seething through my mind, I decided some bitch needed to pay. I spent my remaining time in the dental chair scowling and plotting the beastliest means of revenge against the world my twisted being could muster. After the most painfully vigorous flossing of my life from "Marlene", I finally got to enact the retaliation that I had so meticulously planned out.

I went to Kripsy Kreme.

And every bite of that Chocolate Iced Kreme Filled doughnut was another stab of revenge, a sweet, sweet stab of revenge straight to Marlene's jugular.

The ABCs of Disaster

A week and a half ago, last Sunday, something very interesting happened at the restaurant where I am employed.

A) We were understaffed.
B) Sporks wrapped in wax paper were the day's utensils of choice.
C) Our manager was drunk.

This recipe, my friends, makes for a guaranteed, Cajun-style ass kicking served with a side of homemade chips n' dip any day of the week. After said ass kicking, our very inebriated manager decided that he needed to "step it up", so to speak, after concluding free lunch was no true reward for his valiant employees.

His version of compensation? A trip to Carowinds, North Carolina's premiere (as in only) theme park.

Come July 30, the day before departure, I learned that the Carowinds trip had been canned. Our expenditure account, used for employee rewards and benefits, had been drained on the owners' personal trip to Las Vegas. Also included in that package of bombshells was the news that a certain manger is fucking our head, half-his-age hostess, and the scoop that an after-hours party, complete with strippers and cocaine, took place at our bar nearly a month ago.

Apparently the suits don't seem to mind that this was all caught on camera. After all, they own the cameras.

In other disappointing work-related news, the "catalyst" of the film studio has returned. With the return of the "catalyst" comes the personal title of "water boy", which can now be added to my other esteemed intern duties such as "dog trainer" and "florist".