You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Novel Concept

So, I'm working on a book. Here's an excerpt. If you like it, tell a friend. If not, you are John Banks.

It’s 5:59. I grab my report and head to the conference room. Can I just say that I am not making this shit up? It’s 5:59. In the AM! And I am supposed to present my personal “5-year Business Plan of Success” in front of the entire team, Frank, and his boss, Emile. Fucking french motherfucking fucker that requested an exit interview upon passing through his Mama’s vagina when he was born. Not to mention, he’s the guy that looks 25 and is 52. Perfect abs, arms, v-shape, you actually kinda gotta hand it to him really.

Trevor catches me along the way, “Yo Andy, you ready for this?”

“Yeah, I guess...”, I start.

“Jesus! What the hell happened to your face?”

“Is it really that noticeable?” Unnerved and sarcastic.


“Do you have any Vicodin?” I'm jonesing.

“I really think it’s a good look for you,” he chortles.

“I was too beat to go to the ER last night.”

“Did your nose actually get bigger too? I didn’t even think that was possible?”

“C’mon man, I know you at least have some Xanax,” I plead.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that your body just provides extra skin when you need it? Like when you get swollen, your skin’s all sqwoooosh! ‘Here I am.’ You’re whole face is fucked...”

“Asshole, I have to give my report in thirty seconds. Make with some pharmaceuticals!”

Trevor reaches into his messenger bag and pull out 4 George W. Bush pez dispensers, “Here take the blue one, I’m pretty sure it’s Percodan.”

I snap W’s head back, grab one and whince as I swallow, “Fucker! This is blueberry.”

“I hope you learned a lesson here Andy,” he sneers.

“What, that you’re a dick? I already knew that.”

“No that blueberry is delicious.”

“Thanks Trevor,” as I nut punch him. We make our way through our bullpen (grey carpet, grey cubicles, grey drop tile ceiling). He tries to punch me back but I tagged him pretty good and he can’t follow through as hard as he would like to. I keep my head down as we make our way past Jorge, Dennis and Lucas.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” Trevor whispers as we enter our 1970s style boardroom. Complete with wood paneled walls, shag green carpeting, and high-back leather swivel chairs that surround a 6 inch thick, 5’ by 16’ table constructed out of Genuine Honduran Mahogany that easily robbed the rainforest of half an acre (but it was well worth looks amazing!).


“How are you speaking without a lisp?”

“I’m Canadian dummy.”

“That’s your answer to everything.”

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