Well, it’s 9 and I’ll be damned if I’m not more or less done for the night, but I can’t leave ’til midnight, so I am bored out of my skull, trying to think of things to do on this computer that don’t involve Googling “Memphis sucks” (which results in a surprising number of sites for Nazis and skinheads) or the names of people I know.
One thing I’m doing constantly is gazing at the tiny broken pixel on my screen that is blue all the time. It distracts the holy living hell out of me. I can only see it against dark backgrounds. It’s like playing “Where’s Waldo?” only Waldo is in the same godforsaken spot every time, so it becomes repetitive and infuriating (much like the content of this blog! zing!). I have a lot of e-mails I’m behind on answering, but I just can’t craft good e-mails at work. I’m always looking over my shoulder to make sure people aren’t secretly reading my screen, as if they’d care or dare.
Well, I guess I’ve got a pretty good nose-blowing habit going that’s keeping me occupied. You know how people say “I’m allergic to work! Har har!” Well, I really am. Only, I think it’s my chair or the cubicle fabric or something that must contain a rare and toxic fiber my lungs just can’t process. Without fail, once I get here, sit down, and start doing my thing, the nose plugs up, the eyes water, and the snot flows forth like cheap wine at a low-budget movie wrap party. I’ve tried cleaning every crevice of my desk with bleach wipes just to kill whatever dust and germs might lurk, but I’m pretty much resigned to just sitting here with a tissue shoved up my nose until it’s time to clock out. Every day.
But these are little nitpicky annoyances that, as my grandmother would say, don’t amount to a hill of beans. Today was a beautiful day and not a single car bomb was detonated anywhere near me, so I should be grateful. I’m just ready to get the fug out of here and go home to my empty apartment (Phil’s at a Halloween party in Savannah, dressed as Jack White) so I can let the ferrets out of their cage, set the clocks back, and enjoy the extra hour of the day by playing Diner Dash, a pointless but cute little game where you have fun serving people food and coffee, of all things.
But until then, I’ll leave you with some of the funny things that Google served me when I searched “Memphis sucks.”
“Memphis sucks, it never snows.”
“please, memphis sucks ass Just like You And britney!”
“Memphis sucks. Someone come burn down Memphis please and rename it Wangville USA!”
“Memphis sucks major donkey turd.”
“Memphis sucks. … It reminds me of a filter because all the shit comes down from upstream of the Mississippi.”
“Memphis sucks when it comes to bucks.”
“I moved to Nashville because Memphis sucks. Only to find out that Nashville sucks too.”
“Memphis SUCKS donkey nards.”
Clearly, that last one’s my favorite.
What are you calling bad poetry?
Pretty much every sappy, modifier-laden piece of blank verse I’ve ever written.
The only consolation is that there are really bad pieces of poetry floating around on the internets that make my poetry look Pulitzer-worthy.
Ouch! I’m glad I haven’t recently complimented any of your poetry. That might make me look like I have bad taste. Oh, wait…
;)