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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Sunday, November 18, 2007

The Ultimate Mood Killer

While in a pet shop buying a new chew toy for the dog, I turned down an aisle and saw a rear shot of some dude unloading boxes. The following inner monologue took place:

Why helllllllllo there hot box boy. Nice biceps. Nice butt. Extra nice single trickle of sweat pouring down the back of your box-handling neck. Isn't this the opening to an episode of The Red Shoe Diaries? Shouldn't I be shopping for something phallic and whispering things people never say in real life like 'I have a box that could use some handling?' Hey sexy box guy, that's an extra heavy one over there. You're going to have to really roll up your sleeves and flex those biceps to handle that one. Oh my gosh, he's slowly turning around. Let's get a good look at your face...hot sideburns...strong jaw line...clean shaven...holy shit he's mentally retarded.

And just like that I understood exactly what it feels like to go from normal to predatory asshole in 0.2 seconds.


At 6:46 PM, Blogger panajane said...

This was hilarious.

At 9:33 PM, Anonymous Smoove D said...

Not quite the awkward ending I was hoping for (I was expecting you to say something hilarious), but pretty funny anyway.

At 1:22 AM, Anonymous Jeff said...

how was that not hilarious?

C'mon we've all winced when having to quickly process that someone has a disability...

At 9:30 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

like I've always said; "you can't have 'em both"

At 2:42 PM, Blogger Leahtard said...

i just snorted smoothie up my nose


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