Thanks for calling, I'm asleep

And yet another wonderful employment fuck-up. After a Herculean effort to wrest myself from the X27 snag that IS the Gowanus Expressway, I hop onto the 4 train to try to get to Strategic Workforce, another shit agency located at 110 E. 42nd St. (I work on the extreme West Side, this is akin to traveling to the North Pole and then hopping down to Louisiana afterwards for some gumbo.)

I get there, proceed to fill out my forms, and whaddya know? Miss Voicemail who confirmed and swore to God (well, her god anyway--the one wrapped in silk nail tips and Hermes bags)that she'd be there to greet me. The feckless receptionist buzzes her office not once, but twice. And guess what...she's not even there. She overslept. That Birkin must have been too heavy to lift. And now it's 2:14 pm, and I STILL haven't received a phone call, an email or a fax stating, "Gee, I screwed up even though you made the effort."

Of course, I'll probably get blamed. How do these assmonkeys keep their jobs? If I did that, someone would dig Johnnie Cochran up from the dead, re-animate him, and I'd be sued by zombie ass! Oh, wait a minute. I forgot. This is ME we're talking about. I'm short. Fat. Direct. Honest. I play by the rules. Of course, this and 50 cents won't get me a goddamn latte or even a smile from one of these fuckwits.

Let's just say I'm totally pissed about my so-called job hunt. These agencies aren't doing shit except wasting my time, and now it's summer, which means I'm stuck here until all the companies give a rat's ass about cutting me a pittance while they golf, fake bake, and "summer." Ever notice people and corporations with money refer to 'summer' as a verb? It's a fucking season I hate.

I must have been a rapist-Rasputin-Jesus-juice-swilling child molester because I can't catch a break if all my bones were broken.

And Conchita Maria de Goddess Punanney MUST have next Friday off.

Excuse me while I go eat some broken lightbulbs. I'll be here bleeding internally if any of you care...