Hate your job? Do you pump gas? Flip burgers? Sell t-shirts to mall rats? Worry not- while your job might suck- it’s not truly the pits. What could possibly be worse than the smell of gasoline on your flannel shirt, grease splashing in your eyes or two dozen unsolicited requests for your phone number a day? I have a simple and unequivocal answer- try selling fucking minor league baseball tickets to foreign nationals, in January, in the snow belt(upstate New York). So this fucking fuck from the local half-assed, flyball dropping, double play bobbling, bad news bearesque, minor league baseball embarrassment that we call the Red Wings keeps calling my cell phone trying to sell me tickets.
Who the fuck wants to buy baseball tickets when there’s three feet of snow outside and the Superbowl is next week. Where do they recruit these people? Are they from homeless shelters or do they just clone them? Do they have belly buttons? “Millions of Sales Reps, Sales Reps for me, Millions of Sales Reps, Sales Reps for a fee – here we go…” So anyway I’ve found the best way to eliminate such nuisances is to allow my secretary (Rob), who is perpetually intoxicated, to answer the call in an Eastern block accent, in his best outdoor voice. Rob…uhm…my secretary politely informed the sales loser that Mr. Ku-aaah-ku-kun Kunty Tankatrucks was on the shitter and unable to take the call. I doubt I’ll be hearing from him again. But in fairness to this beleaguered hawker of fourth-rate entertainment packages, I would be remiss not to include his contact information. If anyone is interested in watching a set of washed up, ex-community college all stars butcher America’s pastime please contact Mark McGwire at 585-546-7942 ext 3004 or email him at imnotgoingtobeinthehalloffame@becauseimafuckingcheater.com.
I went to McDonald’s because I had a buy one, get one. So we drove up and ordered: one Quarter Pounder Meal, two Big Macs, one cheeseburger and a small fry. This is what we hear from the speaker… We’re out of Big Mac buns. Would you like a Big Mac on a Quarter Pounder Bun? Whatever. McDonald’s being out of Big Mac buns is like your corner ghetto mart being out of Magnum 40s and Kools. Anyway, 40 fucking minutes later… I’m at the booth handing in my coupon… this 36-year-old reject from a 1992 Wu-Tang Clan video says he didn’t hear me say I had a coupon. So what if he didn’t fucking hear me, I fucking have one in my bloody hand. I guess he also didn’t hear me saying he should have gotten his GED 18 years ago. Anyway, this fucking 
