I'm Back...With 365 Reasons Why That Rocks

Hey, this is James and I know what you all are thinking: 'Who the hell is James? This blog sucks. I'm going to look at some good old fashioned all-American internet porn.' Just so you know before you go traipsing off to gorge your baser desires, I used to write wildly popular blog entries on this very site. Well, maybe wildly popular is stretching things just a bit, mildly popular might be more accurate, or, better yet, almost completely unnoticed. Yes, that sounds about right.

Still, the few readers who have been fruitlessly checking this blog for my wry observations, probably have a lot of questions for me. Such as: So, James, what have you been up to? What's up with the long absence? Can you loan me a few bucks? And, as luck would have it, I have answers for each of these questions: Stuff, I'm a lazy sack of crap, and no, God no. I hope that clears everything up.

What's that? You want more information? Some humorous anecdotes?Scathing satire? Alright, I'll go into a little more detail.

Well, since my much lauded return to Beaver County, I have been forced to take a few jobs to pay what I like to call rent. For a while, I was at the lovely Brighton Hot Dog Shoppe, where I promised the manager I would not quit the second I got a better job. Then, I was offered a job at Walden Books and promptly quit the hot dog shoppe. But I hold no ill will. By the way the Hot Dog Shoppe in New Brighton has cockroaches. I'm just saying. They do. Seriously.

So, now not only do I work at Waldens, I also work at Day By Day calendar Company, the super cool calendar kiosk that Waldens runs. Now working at a kiosk has its own unique set of issues. First, there's the philosophical issue of when you are technically at work. Since the kiosk has no walls and ill defined borders, how can I say when I technically arrive or leave from work? How do I know when the kiosk ends and the rest of the world begins? If the kiosk has no walls, does that mean its borders simply expand outward in all directions? Can I be in the food court and still technically be at work? How about in my apartment? Just for the record, my manager and I have vastly different views on the answers to these questions.

Then, there's the whole issue of the calendars themselves. Now, we sell a lot of calendars. I may even be able to say we sell a crap load. We have a dazzling variety of calendars. Some of them are the good old standbys. There are the girlie posters for men, Chippendale's calendars for gay men, country clutter calendars for old women, Star Trek calendars for nerds, and horse calendars for retards. We have an alarming amount of dog and cat calendars, which mean I get a lot of people coming up and looking for a calendar that features a dog/cat which looks EXACTLY like theirs. If, for some reason they can't find, say, a cockerspaniel picture that looks exactly like their dog, they are not going to buy the stupid calendar. Heaven help the cockerspaniel who has just a little too much white in his tail. I don't know why it matters. It's not like their cockerspaniel's going to see the resemblance. Most dogs don't even recognize themselves in a mirror. (And yes, I chose a cockerspaniel so I could type cock. I tossed a coin and shitzu lost)

We also have cute puppy calendars, and cute kitten calendars. But neither of these hold a candle to the devilishly cute puppy kitten combo calendars. We had a puppy kitten baby combo calendar but it proved to be dangerously cute. People were dying left and right from cute related deaths. For a while we kept them behind the counter and required a seven day waiting period so a background check could be performed, but no one passed. Sure, we have other cute calendars. For instance we carry the Anne Geddes baby abuse calendars. They feature babies in a series of increasingly precarious poses. Here's a baby hanging off a high wire. Here's a baby hanging from a high wire over a hungry lion. Here's a baby playing with a gun. Here's a baby with a live hand grenade. Here's a baby with Celine Dion. These calendars are supposed to be adorable, but I just find them disturbing.

Well, there are a lot of other calendars. I could go into the utterly creepy ferret calendar which features evil sharp toothed rodents doing fun things like playing drums or snow boarding. I haven't even mentioned the Christina Aguilera whoring it up in '05 calendar or the plethora of lame comedy page a day calendars, one of which gives you 365 sure signs that you might be a redneck. I could go on, and on, and on, but I'm well aware that this is growing tiresome to everyone but me. As a matter of fact, I am sure there is no one left reading this. Not that anyone was reading this to begin with. I will be going now, but before I leave I just want everyone to know if when you step on the breaks and five dogs end up on your windshield, there is a very good chance you are a redneck.

shalom