Boobery, Revisited (part 1)

Some of you just can't seem to get enough of Boob. You know who you are. These little tidbits are dedicated to you.

• At some point, Boob said that he was Jewish. Most Jewish people I know don't wear a gold chain and cross. Either he's lying, or he's so proud of his people killing my Lord and Savior that he wears it as a threat to all Gentiles. It's kind of like the end of Braveheart when the narrator tells us that the king had Wallace's body parts hung up all over the country as a warning. In Boob's case, I'm leaning more towards him being a filthy liar. Oh, and the day we moved out to our new spots in the goddamn customer service area, I made him move my stuff and he was bitching about it because he was going to get his black pants (probably a normal-sized person's capris or bermudas) all dusty when he unhooked my computer. He then went on to tell me that his sons, who will start to figure out what an enormous knob he is in the next few years and grow to resent him, were singing in church choir (not synagogue choir) that night and he wouldn't have time to go change. He was also wearing a ridiculous maroon Cosby sweater with a turtleneck. Well, it could've been a dickey. I wouldn't put it past him.
• How do I know about this cross? Excellent question. Boob tends to leave one too many buttons undone. And no, he doesn't always wear undershirts. It's tough to talk to a guy when you're staring at a shiny gold cross nestled atop a few sparse chest hairs. I wonder if he goes home and blogs about the way I chest talk HIM. The difference is, for me it's like a horrible car wreck that I can't pull my eyes away from, when for him, it's simply because I have a great rack. He's probably used to being eye-level with boobies, so he has to be a connoisseur by now.
  
• My friend Bill pointed out after eating lunch with Boob that a normal utensil looked like a pitchfork in his tiny hand. It was very funny at the time, but when it was my turn to eat with Boob a few days later, it was no longer funny because it turned out to be 100% accurate.
  
• A couple months ago, Boob got this expensive-looking deluxe office chair. When he leans back, his tiny feet don't even come close to touching the floor.
  
• Boob has a Nathan Lane thing going on. When he's trying to look sympathetic or express that there's nothing else he can do about a situation, his eyebrows go to 45 degree angles, he squishes up his mouth, and shrugs. See below for illustration.
  

Change the hair to greasy and spiky, throw on a polo shirt with a pattern that your grandmother's ugliest curtains (make sure to ignore all buttons), and get him to say, "Sssctatisschtical Analysschissch," and you're looking at Boob. Those fortunate enough to have seen the goofy bastard should appreciate the similarities.

That's all I have time for right now. There's plenty more to come.

My Notice

People have been asking me how I quit at ESP. All I did was make the drawing below on Paint and turn it in. Notice the height differential and the tiny baby t-rex arms on Boob. I would've drawn a hideous polo shirt, but I was in a hurry.

An Open Letter To My Family

Don't get me wrong. I think you're great. I just think we need to spend some time apart. It's not you, it's me.

Actually, that's a lie. It IS you.

Check back in a few months and we'll see if I'm emotionally prepared to deal with you all again.

And no, we can't still be friends.

So Long, Suckers

Tomorrow is my last day at ESP. I start at Rockwell on Monday. Today, I had to train Boob on the 5 suppliers I suggested he take. He's already bitching about how much work it's going to be and how busy he already is. I still can't figure out what that tiny-handed, heinous polo shirt wearer does on a daily basis to keep him so "busy." I know Boobery takes time and energy, but there should be plenty of time to pitch in and cover for me after I leave. Anyway, it took me three hours to train him on 5 suppliers. Keep in mind, I have about 145 other suppliers that my coworkers are splitting up. They each needed about ten to twenty minutes to get up to speed on 145 suppliers. I'm not a math major, but these ratios seem to be a little off...

3:5 vs. 1:145

If you look at this long enough, the conclusion is simple: Boob is too stupid to be alive. But I heard that he's going to do something nice tomorrow, like order a cake. I'd rather have a case of beer, but he wasn't receptive to that when one of my coworkers suggested it.

Speaking of Boob, I TOTALLY busted that creepy little asshole checking out The Girls. I was pointing to something on the computer screen and when I looked to make sure he was paying attention, sure enough, he wasn't. His beady little eyes were not staying on task, unless the computer somehow transmits through my fabulous breasts. I stopped mid-sentence to give him a dirty look. He quickly turned pink and started nodding vigorously, as if my pause was only to allow him the opportunity to let me know he was paying attention, not an indication that I caught him (tiny) red-handed.

On an unrelated note, I had a kickass weekend. Josh and I took Friday off to hang out. We went to a wine tasting that started out classy but dissolved into drunken debauchery after the distributors left without taking all of their open bottles of wine. I sure did have those lighted Bud stickers on my boobies. There was another woman, twice my age (not that I have my age as an excuse for jackassery anymore, since I'm pushing 28) that stuck them under her sheer shirt, so it appeared that she was nipping out with red, glowing nipples. Some girls were making fun of the woman "with lights on her nipples" and my sister overheard it. Thinking they were talking about me, she toyed with the idea of starting a brawl to defend my honor. I'd love to hear her explaining her black eye to her 4th grade class the next day. "Teacher is okay, kids, she just got punched for pulling a woman's hair. It was all a big misunderstanding, because she wasn't really talking about my sister's nips. Remember, violence is never the answer. Now turn to page 46 in your math books."