Poop Shute

I apologize for the infrequency of my posting lately, but what with the new job and a new comic strip to write I have been a little busy.

Lately, during my on-the-go-ness I have reinstated my old habit of carrying around a small, pocket-sized notebook for thoughts on the go. I originally began the habit early in college, and then eventually just forgot all about it. Then when I met Ben O and saw him using his so effectively it inspired me to take it up again. Then I forgot again. Well, now it's back for good, baby!

Ahem.

Here are just a few things I have jotted down the last few days while on the go.

Imagine a stripper with a perfect, plastic body.
Imagine her wriggling and sliding down a brass pole.
Now imagine her first thing in the morning.
No make-up to hide her puffy eyes and bad skin.
This is not beauty.
This is beauty's deformed fraternal twin who they keep in the basement and prefer not to talk about.
Whoever "they" are.

Find-- a good job. A tolerable one if not an enjoyable one. One that doesn't make me feel like I was eaten and crapped out, and then pan-fried, eaten again and crapped again.

After losing repeatedly at it, I had a lengthy conversation today at work about whether or not your skill level at paper, rock, scissors is an accurate test of masculinity. I argued that it was not. But I was out-logicked by Michelle who presented the compelling argument that she kept beating me because she knows how to cheat by shooting just a half-second later than her opponent.
The conclusion?
Cheating is an inherently masculine trait, making Michelle more of a man than me.