Before I continue with the retardation that was Huner's bachelor party I gotta say, the anime girl, today at work, looked fuckin' fabulous. Unbelievable. The best I've ever seen her look. Now, of course, she hates my fucking guts, but that's besides the point. Well... technically its not so much besides the point as it is actually exactly the fuckin point.
The anime girl hates me. I've learned to accept it. She somehow got the impression that I don't take work too seriously. And that bugs her. It goes against the grain of her utilitarian all work and no play philosophy. I never thought I was that bad at work but still... I guess it doesn't help when I spend half the day chasing NewCootch around the office trying to flick her with elastic bands, as she's laughing and yelling "Hootch, the last elastic you hit me with is caught in my cleavage".
Maybe I should make more of an effort to be serious and robot-like at work. Maybe that would impress the anime girl. Maybe I should make more of an effort to wear ugly-ass dress shoes instead of my Wade1's. Maybe then the anime girl would come up to my desk and say "Hootch, your steadfast dedication to the company really makes my clit tingle. Quick, bend me over the photocopier". Or maybe she'll run into me in the cafeteria and say "Hootch, I find your soulless and robot-like efficiency arousing. Prepare to have me sit on your face."
Hmmhh. Something I should think about anyway... and by "think about" I, of course, don't actually mean "thinking" per se, but something more along the lines of getting wasted and scouring the streets of Toronto for skanky chicks.