Hey, Chotchmo. Want to be a Vampire?

I have finally adjusted my sleeping habits to the midnight shift warrior who bravely faces the cold, dark night with a boldness that mortal men tremble before. I go to sleep at the crack of dawn. I guess that's more of a vampire than a warrior. I mean warriors go to bed at night generally. If you're going to be pillaging other civilizations with a bloodthirsty rage, you're going to need the sleep.

Anyway, back to the point that I'm a vampire. It has required me to change my other habits. Like keeping vampire hunters at bay. And ordering that "Vampires Quarterly" magazine. The pictures are ok, but the articles are a little bland.

Oh, and all that stuff that they say about how vampires are kept at bay with garlic is a total lie. I still eat garlic. A lot. Perhaps too much. The guy at the pizza place asks if I want garlic on it, and I'm like, "Pile it on there. Put as much as what is legally allowed. Maybe a little more," and the guy would look at me. It's probably because he thinks he might get in trouble for putting that much garlic on.

Anywho, I really like the midnight shift (there's a pizza place next door with a sweet supply of garlic), but the tragic thing is that they just gave me two morning shifts. C'mon, what are you doing to me? Everybody knows that the morning shift is the new midnight shift.

I'm afraid of what all of this will do to me with all this sleep schedule changes. Especially now that I'm a vampire. From what I remember of vampires, they don't like mornings. I assume it's because the traffic is bad in the mornings and all that pent up anger kind of ruins their day.

I should really learn more about this whole vampire thing. I don't really know anything about them. It was kind of silly. I was just sitting there and the vampires came around and they said, "Hey, chotchmo. Want to be a vampire?" and I'm like, "Why not? I got nothings goings on. Sign me up for all that."

I suppose I could just back out, but that's a lot of red tape, so I think I'll just hang in there. Besides, the magazine subscription is free as long as I'm a member.

All the Hillbillyness of it All

I went to my first shift at the other Domo. At first, I thought I was working at a typical self-service gas station that has an unspeakable name (see previous post). I was shocked to find out that it was a rip in the space/time continuum that links back to Minnedosa. It was either that or someone took all the drunkenness, all the dust, all the hillbillyness of it all and put it into a place of business. It was disturbing for me. Who would've thought that I would find such a place in the middle of a city?

It makes me wonder if there are more Minnedosas out there. More drunkenness. More racial intolerance. More spewed beef jerky all over my store. More dumbass comments. More inane chatter. More vests over the bare chest.

That would mean that there would be no place to hide. Idiots could envelope you at any moment. Truly this discovery of the Minnedosaliana or Brain colerah is something bigger than some fake epidemic. It could infect at any place at any time.

Symptoms of the pitiable disease is the strong urge to shout out "Yoooooouuuuuu!" at the most inappropriate times, to listen to Pablo Cruz at all, buying a big, dumb truck (and especially if you figure that you should have a Calvin peeing on the symbol of the opposing truck manufacturer on the back window), or if you have the sudden urge to throw objects off of lookout towers, own "Fox" clothing, attend truck smash'em ups, or you are more drunk than sober in your waking hours.

If you're ever at home and feel any of the symptoms of the Brain colerah setting in, please report to a local library and read a book or watch a documentary. Avoid country music and flannel shirts. And whatever you don't rev your engines when you pass people on the street.

At this time, I have a confession to make. I suffer from brain colerah everyday. I actively kill brain cells and watch wrestling...and enjoy it. Please keep me in your prayers. After all, brain colerah makes a victim of us all.

Midnight Shifts are Like the New Pink

Just yesterday, I was switched from the Domo in the inner sanctums of Winnipeg to a more reasonable place that's only a forty minute walk from my house. That's still a lot of walking, but it's better. Maybe I should invest in a palomino. The horse, not the vehicle. It may cost more a month, but I could get a ride places at least. And then I could share the last part of my sandwich or something like that and have a friend take a picture of it. That photo would sell. I mean a guy sharing a sandwich with a horse. That's the kind of stuff that like Michelangelo would paint.

Anyway, back to the point. The Domo I will be working at will be a self-serve, which means I can freely throw away all my training that I received. I can read, and learn about astronomy and paint that sweet horse picture I was talking about. Especially, if I get more of the midnight shifts. It would be gold. Midnight shifts would be awesome. Midnight shifts are like the new pink.

This sounds like this would somehow be an improvement, but the joke is clearly on me because the Domo is called a "Roo-side Cafe". "Roo-side"! I have to walk into my place of employment that flaunts it's pornography of the English language. I will be reminded everytime the things in this world that I despise.

It's like going to paradise where enjoy the sun of the midnight, but learn that the whole island is radioactive and has the worst bugs ever. And the drinks are only ok, but cost double!

Sure, I will have my midnight shifts, but do I want them at the cost of my soul?

"Toptard" is not even a Spanish word

Yeah, I know. I missed a day. My sense of responsibility is a jerktard. I haven't been able to find some time to do this due to the fact that Domo now has domination over my life and grips my soul in it's icy clutch.

The job has been going fine for the most part. I haven't been told to kill anybody yet, so I'm pretty sure they're not some sort of cover for a corporation trying to take over the world yet. However, they may be lulling me into a false sense of security. I'll be on the look out.

I will say this about my new job. I really did think that I had worked myself beyond getting a pump jockey job. I have a drama degree. Doesn't that mean anything to anybody anymore? I went to Bible college. That's gotta at least hook me up into a sweet manager's position. But it doesn't! I mean, shouldn't I be president of another country by now? I am David El Toptard Rae! People tremble at my name! I command respect! My middle name's 'El Toptard' for goodness' sake! I don't know why my mom gave me that name. I mean "Toptard" is not even a Spanish word. Or any word for that matter. But c'mon, you people. Respect me! Give me a job. No, in fact give me your job. Just quit and I'll take over. Why? I have a drama degree from a non-credited school from Backwater, Manitoba with little to no experience! Who else better to run your company? I submit to you noone! How can you argue with that logic? You can't, because it blows your mind! Now, who's with me?!

David Grohl Doesn't Appreciate Indoor Goblin Football

Now that I'm back in the city of Winnipeg, I apparently have to get a "job" otherwise I will not receive sufficient "funds" to supply "sustenance" for any appreciable time. I thought that I was a respectable person who had kind of earned the ability to get a job that I liked has somehow wound up with a job at a gas station. Like seriously. And it's not even the gas station right outside my apartment. Instead it's A TWO HOUR WALK from where I live. Now I have to buy a bus pass to go to a crappy job.

You may be asking how could I go from the classy Electronics Boutique to Stanky's Spleen Transplants and Gas Outlet (my new name for Domo)? The answer is simple. Because goblins have entered and taken over the place where the Three Fates work and have decided to have a kegger and play a version of "indoor football" but they use what they call a "scratch ball" which in reality is a small cat. Then some orange soda or possibly Mountain Dew was spilled all over my life string and because the Fates are blind, they didn't notice.

Now I'm not saying that goblins should not be allowed football. Perhaps even indoor football would be ok. In fact I've even taken in a couple of goblin indoor football games and they were quite good. It was either a goblin indoor football or some generic punk show.

Anyways, goblins should be taught when and where to play football. So I think what needs to happen is that we need to learn how to communicate with them and tell them that this indoor football is not ok, and perhaps we can also get them to agree to not mess up my room before people show up to my room.

So what I'm asking is for a midget or little person or whatever the term is now and then go learn their language and them one day when their standing around beside their goblin watercooler and after some conversation that the goblins have about how they like Foo Fighters, the little midget in disguise could casually drop in a line like: "Did you know that David Grohl doesn't appreciate indoor football."

It would cause a ruckus and probably shake their economy for a while but I think that they could adjust and then maybe they apologize and give my ancestor's reparations for what they've done. (I'm assuming it will take a few generations to do all this)

I suppose the other thing that made me lose prestige is that this other guy I used to work for stole for the company and now there is a shadow over my record with the company.

So either way, the goblin football incident or the idiot put me here. So I just have to remind myself of a quote that my high school consular always told me, "if you imagineer it, you can do anything...probably..."