My last article isn't so much an article as it is an audio/video mashup thing that I think you'll enjoy. It's a bit of an homage to the early days of the site when FTTW did a lot of muscle car posts.
The editors of FTTW thank Wilhelm for his contributions to this site. You're welcome back any time you get the urge to write about zombie hookers.
'Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house there isn't any eggnog to be found and all of the grocery stores are closed so I have to go to a crowded gas station to pick some of the darned stuff up so my crazy uncle can continue his spiked eggnog bender the old lazy drunk.
I pull into the gas station and I see a guy with, no kidding, one crutch and the bottom half of his leg not in a cast but with some kind of small-scale building scaffolding type thing going on where it looks like there are some pins and he's in the frozen food section grabbing for something and as I get closer I see it's the last container of eggnog. I ask nicely, in the holiday spirit and all, if he could see his way to letting me have the last bottle of eggnog as it's very important to my dear sweet uncle and all and he just smirks and starts hobbling away from me so I clip him in his bad leg and as he shouts yuletides at me from the slushy, cigarette stained floor I grab the last container of eggnog out of his clutching, mittened hands and run up to the counter where I pause as the lady running the register looks at me all shocked. I give her a sweet holiday smile and as she runs my credit card and hands me the receipt I say "God bless us...everyone".
Wilhelm often further cripples the injured when in need of a beverage.
Monday, June 5th, 2006
Dear Diary,
I am very excited! My best friend Juan has gotten me an interview at one of Ricardo Carlos’ secret cocoa farms. I’ve been applying to Ricardo Carlos’ drug cartel for years without success, but now with Juan as a reference, I am a shoe-in.
Juan tells me the interview is mostly a formality, but the jefe wants to take a good look at me to make sure I am peon material before he signs me up. It is my understanding that there has been some trouble recruiting quality cocoa leaf picking peons lately although I cannot imagine why - what an opportunity!
Juan seems as excited about this as me. We were up half the night going over possible interview questions. I kept getting the answer to ‘How many cocoa plants does it take to produce one kilo of cocaine?” wrong but Juan was very patient with me and I think I’ll do well on the written part of the test tomorrow.
I am a bit worried about the drug test as I’ve never taken cocaine before tonight but Juan assures me that with the amount I sniffed a few minutes ago I will have plenty in my system by tomorrow to pass with flying colors.
Wish me luck, Diary!
Tuesday, June 6th, 2006
Dear Diary,
I got the job! I am now a Peon I! My job duties include picking cocoa leaf plants and throwing myself blindly in front of bullets should the secret cocoa farm be discovered. I start next Tuesday. I told the jefe that I would be able to start immediately but he said it would take a while for HR to process the paperwork.
Having this job means that I will finally be able to ask for Maria’s father’s blessing for marriage. He wouldn’t give it to me before because I didn’t have a job but now that I am working for one of the cartels he can’t say no - as a Peon I, I am making enough money to support Maria well and, besides, I could now have him shot.
The work won’t be easy and the hours are long - it takes a week to hike to the secret cocoa farm, then I work for a week picking cocoa leafs, and then another week to hike back to town where we get a week off. Maria and I are sad that we won’t be together as much but she is very excited about all of the new stuff she can now afford to decorate our home with.
That, Diary, makes it all worthwhile.
Thursday, June 8th, 2006
Dear Diary,
Just a quick entry today - I asked Maria to marry me and she said yes!
It was the Wednesday before I had to leave for the one week hike to the secret cocoa farm. We were celebrating our last night together by eating at Chez Chihuaha - the fanciest place in town. I slipped the ring into her champagne and when she found it I thought she was going to explode from happiness! When she calmed down enough, I got down on one knee and asked her, she was shaking and crying so hard, but she finally managed to say yes.
When she said yes our families came in from the kitchen where they were hiding and we had a big celebration. You should have seen the look on Maria’s father’s face - he still doesn’t like me but there is nothing he can do about it - ha!
And when Maria and I got home, we did some extra celebrating of our own!
I found out that I will be working with Juan at the secret cocoa farm, we leave soon.
It is all very exciting, Diary!
Tuesday, June 20th, 2006
Dear Diary,
I met up with Juan and the other peons Tuesday morning and we took off together for the weeklong hike to the secret cocoa farm. Truth be told, I was a little worried about the trip although it turned out I needn’t be. All along the trail there were vendors selling food and drink, and at night we got nice rooms to sleep in and a gram of cocaine to help us wake up in the morning and get on our way.
It was all rather pleasant.
When we got to the secret cocoa farm we were met by the jefe. At first I was scared because he pulled a big gun on me and started yelling and screaming about me working for the Federales! Some of the guys I made the hike with grabbed my arms and held them behind my back and I almost started crying until I saw Juan standing off to the side smirking, then jefe burst into laughter and the guys started patting me on the back. It turns out that this is how they haze all the new guys and we all had a good laugh after I went into my bunk and changed my shorts.
I went to HR to fill out some paperwork and provide my two forms of identification to prove that I was legal to work in Mexico and then went was straight to the cocoa fields.
I never thought picking leaves off of a plant could be so hard! We have to use a very sharp cocoa knife to get the leaf off and I am ashamed to say that I cut myself frequently. Jefe saw my distress and sent me to the infirmary with a clap on the back and a hearty “Don’t worry about it!” Jefe says it happens a lot and that the blood adds a pleasant bouquet to the cocaine - something about the blood cells bonding with the chlorophyll in the leaf during the heat extraction process, or, well, something like that, it was interesting but a bit over my head really. Jefe also said they market the blood cocaine under Ricardo Carlos’ ‘Sangre de Cristo’ label, so everything is just fine.
Jefe said he liked my pluck and if I keep it up he hinted that I might make Peon II by the end of the year!
I think I’m going to like it here, Diary!
Monday, July 3rd, 2006
Dear Diary,
I am very sorry for not having written for so long, but much has happened recently!
After a difficult but satisfying first day on the job I was eager to start my second, so I got up early, snorted my allotment of cocaine and then watched the sunrise.
The colors were so vivid!
While I was watching the sunrise, I noticed a glint in the forest surrounding the secret cocoa farm. I didn’t know what to do, it was only my second day on the job and I didn’t want to raise the alarm and risk looking like a fool in front of jefe, Juan and the guys if it turned out to be nothing but I didn’t want to do nothing and risk having the camp overtaken by Federales or another cartel.
Such a pickle!
Luckily the decision was made for me when I took a bullet high in the shoulder. I raised the alarm. Jefe got the thugs to form a defensive perimeter and put in a call to Ricardo Carlos asking for backup.
The thugs put up a good fight but they were outnumbered, so I jumped in, grabbed a gun, and helped out where I could. Soon enough the backup arrived and we were able to repel the enemy forces. It turned out they were Federales - those bastards. Who are they to try and keep the working man down!
Anyway, after all the excitement we cleaned things up. Jefe said he was very proud of my courage and promoted me instantly to Peon II. Peon II! He said from there I could go on to be a Thug I, Mule I or a Lab Assistant I. I don’t know about the lab stuff, that all seems so complicated, but being a drug mule or a thug sure sounds interesting. The Mule I position pays more, but it is a 90% travel position so I’ll have to talk it over with Maria to see what she thinks.
That evening Ricardo Carlos himself came to the secret cocoa farm, shot the informer, and congratulated all of us for doing such a good job defending and then cleaning up the farm. We were all very proud.
Ricardo Carlos and jefe threw a party for us and they invited me outside to talk about something private. I was so nervous, I was going to meet the Ricardo Carlos! Jefe told Ricardo Carlos of my role and showed him my wound. Ricardo Carlos was very impressed and said that he was glad to have a man like me in his organization. He started reminiscing about his early days of being a peon and how he had taken the thug career track instead of the drug mule one. Ricardo Carlos said he had no regrets about that choice, but he did wish the he had traveled a bit more when he was younger.
Ricardo Carlos then told me that I should go home because when I got there a surprise would be waiting for me. He shook my hand and left.
Ricardo Carlos actually shook my hand!
Jefe, Juan, and the guys all congratulated me and the next morning I took off for home after only two days on the job.
So here I am, Diary, six days out from the secret cocoa farm and one day from Maria, my home and a surprise from Ricardo Carlos.
I wonder what it will be!
Wilhelm found the excerpts from this diary while "panning for gold" in South America.
There are many ways in which The Man keeps us down but there are few as nefarious as orange juice from concentrate.
“But orange juice is so good for you,” I hear you say. “So healthy and nourishing. It tastes so good! And orange juice from concentrate is even better because it is less expensive than orange juice!”
That’s what The Man would like you to believe.
When you make orange juice from concentrate, The Man instructs you to mix it with about 3 containers of water.
Three containers, people! Three! I’ve made orange juice from concentrate from four and even five containers of water and it has tasted … just … fine.
You see, when you short change yourself and make it with only three containers you have to buy more orange juice from concentrate than you really need which increases your grocery bill. When you spend more on groceries you have to earn more money to pay for them. In order to earn more money you have to work more hours, which means you have less free time. When you have less free time, your spouse starts feeling neglected and has an affair with your best friend and your kids grow up without a good role model and end up shooting heroin in a rat-infested alley outside the shop where they pawned the laptop computer you bought them for college.
Orange juice from concentrate is nothing short of the total collapse of society.
“But,” you say, “I’ll just buy regular orange juice then. It will save me time, my marriage won’t collapse and my kids will grow up to be doctors. Life will be wonderful.”
Sure, buying regular orange juice will be okay for a couple of weeks, your spouse will leave your best friend and cry their undying love for you while your kids sign up for classes at the local community college, but every time you grab for that half-gallon or gallon of orange juice your eyes will drift to the frozen food section where those tidy rows of orange juice from concentrate cans are lined up and you’ll think of how much money you could be saving and then, one day, you’ll break down and buy a can.
You poor, deluded fool.
“Just one can,” you’ll say to yourself. “Just one can so I can spend a little extra time with the kids this week.”
And soon you’ll be back to buying only orange juice from concentrate. At first you may even sneak an extra container or two of water into the mix, but your spouse - feeling a bit grumpy about the recent decline in your free time - will mention that the orange juice doesn’t taste “quite right” so you’ll go back to using three containers and the grocery bill will start rising as your free time continues falling. Your spouse will move in with your best friend and you won’t be able to afford rehab for your kids so you’ll suffer a nervous breakdown - losing your mind, your job, and your house all in the same week.
And why? Because of the vicious cycle, perpetrated by the man, that is orange juice from concentrate.
Wilhelm isn't buying the Vitamin C myth, either.
New Scientific Study: Breathe Air And Die
ATLANTA GA - According to a study released by the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, 100% of the people who breathe the earth's air die.
"It's an amazing revelation," said lead researcher Dr. Steven Greene MD PhD. "The results completely took us by surprise - they quite simply blew us away. We ran a double-blind, placebo-controlled, randomized test and ended up with a mortality rate of 
100%. In fact, we found air to be so lethal that even most of the researchers directing the study succumbed to its ravages."
The study contradicts the view that breathing air is a healthy thing for humans to do.
Dr. Greene explained, "Up until now it was widely believed that breathing supplied the body with oxygen - which powers the body, and removed carbon dioxide - which is the toxic byproduct of that energy. However, we now realize that breathing just kills us."
The study looked into many different kinds of breathing - deep, shallow, diaphragmatic, Zen and tantric - and found that all known types of breathing lead to death.
"We focused much of our time and attention on tantric breathing and its different applications," said Dr. Greene.
The study also took into account assertions of "rising from the dead" and immortality.
"We found that although Lazarus and Jesus may have risen from the dead, they did, in fact, die first. And for immortality, we were initially excited by supporting evidence from the movie Highlander until we started watching the second movie in the series and discovered that Connor and the other immortals came from a different planet. While evidence for alien life on earth is interesting, it did nothing to further the aims of our study."
Dr. Greene went on to state that if you have started breathing, it is already too late. "There is no way to not die once you have started breathing. To breathe is to die."
Dr. Wilhelm has bought degrees from several prominent universities.
kneeling in front of the toilet
hoping it won't come true
my mouth is getting moist
i think i'm gonna spew
blow chunkity chunks of stuff
i had eaten earlier that day
it doesn't make me happy
at the porcelain god i pray
i kneel there in the bright
of a really well lit room
goddamnit i don't want to blow
the chunks that mean my doom
i really hate to vomit
it makes me really sad
the retching the noise the feeling
of stomach contents gone bad
i think i'm gonna do it
although to myself i say no
i wonder if it matters
oh shit...here i go
chunkity chunkity chunk
spewity spewity spew
goddamned stomach contents
for all the world to view
floatity floatity float
flushity flushity flush
it all came out of me
in one big fucking rush
i hope that it's all over
i pray to god it's true
but i know in my heart of hearts
there's still more spewing to do
Wilhelm swears he won't, but he'll do it again next weekend.
My little sister works full-time and goes to law school at night. She is usually very tired at the end of the day when she gets home, but when I called her tonight she said she was feeling great.
"It's all this healthy eating I'm doing," she said. "I've got a ton of energy and I get my second-wind around 10:00."
I knew it was coming - just knew it, and then, BAM! "You should try it too," she said.
So, folks, when a loved-one is all excited about healthy eating and wants you to participate, here's a list of reasons for you to continue on that Mountain Dew and Doritos diet:
*When you have all that extra energy, you are expected to do stuff with it - doing stuff is bad.
* It's a fast-paced, don't-stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of world out there - fight the system by eating poorly and being lazy.
* Do you really want a second-wind at 10:00pm?
* When you have all that extra energy you are just going to do more and more stuff until you feel just as drained as before, thus having to eat even healthier, thus doing more stuff, thus getting drained, thus having to eat even healthier, etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum - break the vicious cycle by eating poorly in the first place.
* Be a real man (or woman) and drag your ass through the day just like everyone else.
* Just be lazy.
Wilhelm knows better than to listen to his siblings.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'ry store I go
The people are starting to shove, buying for those they love
With candy canes and checkout lanes aglow.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Toys in ev'ry store,
But the prettiest sight to see is Ms. Eggers hitting me
At the store's front door.
A violent video game that'll drive you insane
Is the wish of Barney and Ben.
Dolls with the figures imposs'ble to mirror
Is the hope of Janice and Jen.
And mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'ry store I go
The economy's kind of bad, spending is really sad,
And stores are 'fraid their bottom line's too low.
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Registers will ring
And the thing that will start it all is the advertiser's call
Pulling your heart string
Wilhelm has been banned from playing mall Santa in 17 states
Being an amateur layabout is no picnic, at least if you’re doing it right. You can’t get up to go to the picnic for one thing.
I’ve been in training to go pro for three years now but it’s hard going what with a wife, kids and a full-time job - those things add all kinds of social pressures that can keep a guy from going pro. The wife wants help at home, the boss wants deadlines met at the office, and it’s not like I can tell them I’m in training to be a layabout because layabouts don’t make the effort to explain themselves.
A lot of people have the wrong impression of layabouts, they think it’s all junk food on the couch and TV. Ha! It’s true that I have to eat junk food and watch television per National Layabout League rules, but the NLL allows only so many channel changes and bathroom breaks per day before imposing severe penalties - you try watching an unexpected Matlock marathon with a full bladder.
Being an amateur layabout isn’t easy, but with a lot of hard work and dedication I might just go pro one day.
Wilhelm likes to take it easy and writes daily here.
I was walking around the annual Octoberfest festival when I stumbled over a tent peg and landed, butt first, in a pile of crisp, colorful leaves. There was a bit of good-natured snickering from the families that turned my way to see what all the commotion was about - adorable kids wearing cute knit caps peered at me around grand swaths of cotton candy, bored teenagers looked up briefly from their cell phones to take a picture of me before returning to their perennial state of disassociation and parents smiled and headed my way to help me up.
After getting up, giving my thanks to my rescuers and brushing the red and yellow leaves from my coat and pants a voice said, "I knew that was going to happen."
I turned and saw a pudgy, middle-aged lady wearing a robe with stars and moons on it. She had wonderfully elaborate rings on her fingers and was wearing an amulet with a long knife blade at the end of it around her neck.
"And you couldn't have told me ahead of time?"
She tapped a sign that stood outside her tent - the tent with the tent peg I tripped over - with intricately detailed calligraphy, the sign read: "Madame May's Mystical Ministrations - Futures Predicted, Dead Talked To".
I gave her a look of incomprehension. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and pointed at the bottom line.
$20.
Oh.
Yes," I protested, "but I didn't know you knew something would happen, right? I mean, isn't that more your field? Besides, it's already happened, why would I want to give you $20 now?"
She gave me a look while continuing to point to the part of her sign that read $20 and said, "Do you think it's maybe possible that there might be something else you may need to know?" She wiggled her eyebrows and nodded her head. I reached into my wallet, handed her a twenty, and followed her inside.
The tent was everything you'd expect - dark and musty, smell of burnt incense, skulls and strange symbols decorating the walls, and, of course, the requisite small table with big glass ball book-ended by two chairs.
She sat down, pointed to the opposite chair and started right in.
"I'm seeing someone...someone very dear to you...things are a bit fuzzy..."
"Oh, that must be my uncle Oris, he always had to shave twice a day."
She gave me another look and continued. "I think their name starts with an...M."
I shook my head.
"N"
Another shake.
"Things can be unclear sometimes...maybe it's an...R?"
I got up to leave and she grabbed my wrist. "I'm just joking. Sit down...sit down."
As I began to sit back down, she said, "You are going to trip over a tent pole."
Half sitting and half standing, I gaped at her.
"You are going to trip over a tent pole," she repeated.
"Are you serious?" I asked, my voice rising.
Calmly, she nodded her head.
"But I already did that!"
More head nodding.
"And you just charged me $20 to tell me that?"
Another nod.
"And you're not going to give me the twenty back, are you?"
A shake of the head.
I stormed out of the tent, looked at the tent pole I tripped over, headed the other way, tripped over another tent pole and landed, butt first, in another pile of leaves.
There was more good-natured laughter, more little kids with cotton candy, more teenagers taking cell phone pictures and more smiling parents offering to help me up.
As I brushed the leaves off me again I saw Madame May standing outside the tent holding a $20 in one hand and pointing to a sign on this side of her doorway. The sign read: "$20 To Predict Your Future, $40 To Tell You How To Change It".
She tipped me a wink and went back inside.
"Bitch," I murmured under my breath.
"I think you mean witch, dear," was the reply from the tent.
Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
Yes, these four simple sentences can be the key to getting a better job.
In these slow economic times it is important to put the best “you” out there possible. Put your best foot forward. Go for the gold. Dare to dream. Don’t give up. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Book ‘em Dan-o.
For those of you lazy, worthless, no good, do nothing, commie bastards who would rather live off the teat of the state than get a job, I applaud your decision. However, if you want to find work, I can help.
The key to getting a good job is the cover letter. It’s what recruiters and HR-types look at first and determines whether or not they will review your resume or just hit ‘delete’.
The movie, Princess Bride offers many fine tips on how to best prepare your cover letter, but there’s none better than “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” It’s cover letter writing at its best.
To wit…
Hello. Start off with some type of friendly greeting or salutation.
My name is Inigo Montoya. Introduce yourself.
You killed my father. Tell them why you are interested in them.
Prepare to die. Let them know what you can do for them.
From a recruiter’s perspective, this cover letter is pure gold. It is polite, short, to the point, and covers the four main areas a cover letter should.
Remember, finding a good job isn’t always easy to do, but if you remember “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” finding that perfect job for you will be just a little easier.
Wilhelm knows the meaning of the word "inconceivable."
According to a recent article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune - which I cannot link to because they expect payment to access their archives…the fuckers – on-the-job drowsiness costs American companies $18 billion per year in productivity, the costs of which could be recovered by allowing as small as a 30 minute nap during the work day.
30 minutes a day = $18 billion dollars of extra money in our economy. Sounds pretty good to me.
In fact, I think companies should take things a step further. Forget the measly 30 minute nap. Forget the lousy $18 billion. What companies should do is let employees sleep all day on the job. For the average, full-time, 8-hour day that would be an increase in productivity of $288 billion dollars. That's an extra $288 billion per year pumped into our economy.
The companies could even be patriotic about their new wealth and give half of it to the federal government for the war in Iraq - the government could make a big campaign out of it. They could show commercials of people sleeping in hammocks set up in cubicles and factory floors all around the nation. Slogans like "Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You But How Much Sleep You Can Get For Your Country" or "Uncle Sam Needs You...To Sleep" or "If You Love Your Country You'll Sleep On The Job" would signal this new era in patriotism.
Sure, people would still brag about putting in 10, 12, and 15 hour days but they would be doing it in their hammocks.
When people got off work, they would be ready to hit the town and spend their new wealth, and they wouldn't need to stop going out and having fun and spending money until they returned to work the next day, ready for a good, hard day's sleep. All the spending would further spur the economy to hitherto unattainable heights.
The only problem I can see with all this is waking people up for lunch. Whole new industries would have to be created in order to deal with the morning mouth, bed head, and general crankiness of waking up. The silver lining in this, however, again, would be these new industries providing new jobs and even further stimulating an already orgasmic economy.
Sleeping on the job is the right thing to do.
Sleeping on the job…do it for America.
Wilhelm has a desk job where he sleeps four hours of his day and collects his drool in a cup.
It isn’t as easy being a big city sandwich board wearing doomsayer as you might think, for instance, I have to keep coming up with new things to write on the sandwich board. A big city sandwich board wearing doomsayer can’t get away with something as clichéd as ‘Repent! The End Is Near!’ - that may play out in the sticks but up here in the big league your average big city type won’t even bother breaking their stride to swing a kick your way with something as weak as that written on the sandwich board.
Although I do hope the end is near because I can’t wait for all those kickers to get what’s coming to them. And the spitters and the punchers and the pushers, too. The eternal fiery circles of hell are too good for the lot of ‘em if you ask me. Oh yeah, and the harassing cops and the puddle-driver-througher cabbies, they’re gonna burn too.
But don’t worry, not everyone will burn in hell for all eternity. I’m pretty sure the people who give me food and money are going to heaven. Of course, I can’t tell them that when I’m out on the street, I’m a doomsayer, not a, um, not-doomsayer after all. I mean, really, how would it look if I’m shouting fire and brimstone to the damned when some kindly soul gives me a few bucks and I, what, stop? Tell them that they’re saved? Although, come to think of it, that’s how some religions work. But, no, if you give me food or money I can’t just stop yelling and tell you you’re going to heaven, but rest assured, you are.
But getting back to the whole message thing, it’s a fine line that I walk when making up a new message. On the one hand I can’t write something as vague as ‘Mean People Will Burn In Hell!’ because then people’ll think Hey, I’m not mean, so I won’t burn in hell and we can’t have that. On the other hand, I can’t get too specific either, I mean, sure, ‘Harry Sherman, You Will Burn In Hell!’ sounds great at first, but, frankly, I’m in a bulk business, and while a sandwich board sign like that will freak out anybody named Harry Sherman, well, you get the idea.
Although, I did try a micro-payment scheme for awhile where anyone could, for a couple of bucks, have a personalized doomsayer message on my sandwich board, and, for another buck or two, have their picture taken with it. It was big among the tourists for awhile but it never really took off the way I wanted it to and after the dot-com crash it was so hard to get VC financing and, boy, did I need the VC money - expenses are crippling in the big city sandwich board wearing doomsayer business. I go through a lot of raingear and waterproof chalk, after all, it’s not like people are going to stop being damned for all eternity because it’s raining out - that’d just be silly.
Willhelm shows up on FTTW weekly and will probably will see all you sinners repent. As long as we get some chips.
I’ve been looking for a new job and have been having problems with some of the interview questions I’ve been asked.
During an interview I was asked if I could think outside the box. I beckoned the interviewer out of her 10′ x 10′ office into the 50′ x 50′ room full of cubicles. I beckoned the interviewer out of the 50′ x 50′ room full of cubicles into the 30′ x 30′ lobby of the 130′ x 130′ office building. I beckoned the interviewer out of the 30′ by 30′ lobby of the 130′ x 130′ office building into the 50′ x 50′ parking lot. I beckoned the interviewer out of the 50′ x 50′ parking lot and onto a small, triangular section of grass at a nearby intersection and said, yes.
During an interview I was asked why I wanted to work at that particular company. I said it wasn’t necessarily a matter of want and that that particular company had said they’d had a job available and if they didn’t would they please stop wasting my time.
During an interview I was asked how much money I was looking to make. I said I wasn’t sure but it had better be enough to cover my crack habit, my alimony payments, my mortgage payments, my wife, my girlfriends, and my recent out-of-court settlement concerning the incident at the bar with the dwarf, the foosball table, the keg and the pool cue.
During an interview I was asked what my 5-year plan was. I said I wanted to win the lottery and live a life of leisure, but, failing that, I wanted to work as little as possible while making a lot of money. 
During an interview I was asked what my family, friends and former coworkers would say about me. I said I wasn’t sure but we could call them up if he wanted.
During an interview I was asked what it was like to be a tree. I said they were slackers who played around outside all day - soaking up the sun, swaying in the breeze and sleeping for six months of the year. I said they were trespassers who should be dealt with harshly for their lack of respect of peoples’ personal property. I said they were litterbugs who should be fined for not picking up after themselves in the fall. I said they were nasty things that housed rodents and insects. The interviewer then asked what kind of tree I would be. I said Poplar.
During an interview I was asked - after taking an IQ test, a personality test, a math skills test, a vocabulary matching test, a grammar test, a mechanical aptitude test, and a drug test - why I thought they should hire me. I said because I had already put in a full day’s work.
During an interview I was asked if I would consent to taking a drug test. I said I sometimes had problems distinguishing between irregularly shaped sugar cubes and crack cocaine and had forgotten my bong, but if they were willing to lend me one of theirs, I was willing to give it my best shot.
During an interview I was asked how I handled stressful situations. I picked up the interviewer’s computer monitor, threw it through the window, banged my fist against a wall, cried in a corner and lit up a joint.
During an interview I was asked what my biggest mistake was and how I’d fix it. I said my biggest mistake was taking out student loans so I could go to college to learn what to do while sitting in front of a computer so I could get a job working in a cubicle all day so I could afford to pay back my student loans. I said I’d fix it by building a time machine, going back to the day I graduated high school and throttling my younger self until he agreed to forget about college and bought a ticket to Hawaii where he’d learn to surf instead. 
During an interview I was asked what I was most proud of in my life. I said I was most proud of holding the high score for Asteroids down at the video arcade for an entire summer. When the interviewer suggested I should have, perhaps, said something more along the lines of “having kids” I responded that having kids was easy - that just involved doing something I enjoyed doing anyway, whether or not kids came of it, and besides, billions of people had been doing that kind of thing for hundreds of thousands of years - but holding the high score in Asteroids for an entire summer, now that took real skill and determination.
During an interview I was asked if I would be willing to work overtime to finish a project, if I would be willing to work through the night and on weekends - even sleeping at the office if I had to - to finish a job, if I would be willing to do anything and everything to meet a deadline, if I would work under extreme pressure and endure harsh criticism all in the name of making the company look good.
I asked the interviewer if they’d be willing to let me work undertime and still pay my salary, if they’d be willing to let me have my nights and weekends free - even letting me sleep in on cold, dark, wet, work days, if they’d be willing to do anything and everything to let me get home on time, if they could handle me slacking off at work and making fun of them behind their backs at the bar with my friends, all in the name of making me feel better.
They said no.
Willhelm shows up on FTTW weekly and will probably never get a job. But, we like him anyways
The musings of Wilhelm von Hans von Masterson von Stutt. Also known as Bob. Sundays.
I was watching a television show on cannibalism and was wondering how so foreign and, let's face it, icky, a concept ever came to be considered appropriate behavior by any society. But then I got to thinking about it a bit more and thought it wasn't such a bad idea, you know, in theory.
The first guy to ever consider cannibalism probably woke up one morning in his cozy little hut in the jungle. Like most of us in the morning he didn't want to get out of bed but he had to - he was hungry and he had a wife and four kids to feed. So he made some coffee, strapped on his hunting gear, grabbed his spear and brushed aside the long grass front door to his hut.
Most likely it was hot and humid outside, you know, what with being in the jungle and all. As he took one last lingering look inside the cool, dark interior of the hut he saw his wife and kids fast asleep, comfortable in their beds and thought of all the quick, poisonous and hard to catch animals that waited for him out in the jungle. He thought of the hours and hours of hot, sweaty work it would take to track, hunt and prepare a meal.
It was probably about then that his stomach rumbled with hunger and he began thinking how unfair it was that he had to go out and do all the hard work while the wife and kids got to sleep in. Maybe he even got a little angry. Maybe he thought if he didn't have so many mouths to feed life would be easier and happier. Then it clicked. If he killed
one of his family he not only wouldn't have that mouth to feed anymore, but he could feed the rest of the family at the same time without all that mucking about in the jungle.
Genius, he thought.
But who to kill? The wife was the obvious choice. She ate the most out of any of them. In fact, she had really packed on the pounds since the last pregnancy, and, besides, she was always nagging him in front of his friends. And, with her out of the way, there wouldn't be any new mouths to feed in the near future.
Although, she did let him have sex with her occasionally. Okay then, it would have to be one of the kids, probably the youngest one as it would put up the least amount of struggle.
So by 9:00 that morning the whole family had finished eating breakfast and, after finding out what she had eaten, the wife had him in front of the elder council by 9:15.
After hearing the charges against him the elder council secretly sympathized with the man - it wasn't so many years ago that they too had to go out hunting to provide food for their families - but they obviously had to put him to death for they were old and slow and,
besides possibly being a bit stringy, could be considered by many to be good eatin'.
My guess is that near the end of the council meeting one of the elders stood up and said that the man had been smart to kill a human for food, for humans were amongst the slowest and weakest creatures in the jungle and the man had been smart not to kill his wife so he could still get nookie but the man had not been smart to kill a child for
everyone knew the children were our future.
So they killed the man and ate him and vowed only to eat outsiders, enemies, castaways and missionaries for food from then on.
Bob is a semi-certifiable insane guy who may or may not be a cannibal.
The musings of Wilhelm von Hans von Masterson von Stutt. Also known as Bob. Sundays.
The room's a spinnin'
But I'm goofy grinnin'
As I lay on the floor of the
kindergarten room
The vodka is great
Though I surely do hate
All the kindergartners here in the
kindergarten room
So noisy and smelly
I think I'm in helly
Every day that I teach in the
kindergarten room
Thank god for the blender
Allows for my bender
As I mix drinks during lunch in the
kindergarten room
"Why's your eyes red?" Mr. D
The kiddies ask me
Before the afternoon nap in the
kindergarten room
"Go away kid, ya bug me!"
"No I won't give a huggy!"
Sexual harassment is naughty in the
kindergarten room
When they go out for recess
Dropin' acid's a reflex
Makes for pretty colors here in the
kindergarten room
Had a bad trip one day
Primary colors did spray
As I puked on the floor of the
kindergarten room
Two blue patches of puke
Seemed like a fluke
So mixed in yellow paint in the
kindergarten room
Now one's blue 'n' one's green
I think they look keen
As I lay on the floor of the
kindergarten room
Oooh! the windows look funny
Kinda slanty and runny
Damn dealer sold me bad stuff in the
kindergarten room
Called him up from my desk
Yelled, "I doth protest!"
The LSD sold to me in the
kindergarten room
"I'll bring da pain
If I here ya complain
Anymore 'bout my product in the
kindergarten room"
He slammed down the phone
I'm weird trippin' on my own
As I sit in my chair in the
kindergarten room
Now what's that I see
On the floor next to me
Strange vents and some steam in the
kindergarten room
This trip's really bad
It's makin' me sad
Think I'll pass out on the floor of the
kindergarten room
Bob is a semi-certifiable insane guy who may or may not be a German kindergarten teacher.
They stood huddled around the coffee maker that sat on the cafeteria table by the wall when the moderator called a start to the meeting. As they made their way across the threadbare carpet toward the steel foldout chairs a latecomer stopped in the doorway and looked around. The moderator had seen the worried, reluctant look on the latecomer's face many times before, so he went over, took the latecomers hand, and
brought him to a chair toward the back of the group.
I used to think being a vampire would be great - strange power of attraction over women, super-human strength, the ability to fly - hell, I thought I'd be Super Man, only a bit bitey every now and then.
So I did it. I tracked down a vampire, explained the situation, and asked him to make me like him. He laughed, shrugged his shoulders and bit me - the last thing I remember before passing out was him humming the part of the tune that goes "Regrets, I've had a few" over and over.
That was three years ago.
Continue reading "My Life As A Minimum Wage Slave Vampire" »
It's funny how things change in just a few years.... Cell phones, high speed internet, hybrid vehicles, the death ray in the basement.... My son will never know a world without them as we carelessly toss the past away in favor of something smaller, faster and just as expensive.... Wilhelm VS. the Ipod....
-finn
When I was a kid I didn't want the smallest, thinnest, lightest iPod my parents could afford to buy me, I wanted the biggest boom box I could wrap my arm around and carry over my shoulder. In fact, if I couldn't carry my boom box because it was too big, well, that was even better because the bigger the box, the bigger the speakers and the
bigger the speakers, the louder the music.
Continue reading "iPod iShmod by Wilhelm von Hans von Masterson von Stuttgart von Bob" »
Every job has occupational hazards.... Some are more "gruesome" that others.... But once in a while, you find a place you actually fit, and the risks don't seem that bad anymore... Here's Wilhelm...
-finn
Okay, okay, maybe not teenage exactly but I've always looked young for my age and since the years after you become a zombie don't count, well, you know how many clients pay extra for the 'teenage' in teenage zombie call girl? Anyway, that's what the math from the birth date on my driver's license says and I'm sticking to it.
As for the zombie call girl part - that's definitely true, and it's a pretty good gig if you can get it. With zombie call girls, johns don't have to worry about catching or transmitting diseases, and since so many of them are worried about privacy, and since we're already dead, they know we'll take their secrets to the grave.
The afterlife raises many questions... Will I go to Heaven or to Hell ? Where did my dogs go when they died ? Is this cloud climate controlled ? Who is Arthur Dent and why does he keep killing me ? However, this morning's guest writer takes it one step further and asks the age old question.... So, this morning, I'm proud to present Wilhelm von Hans von Masterson von Stuttgart von Bob...
-finn
I wonder, if my wife died, would I remarry? And if my wife died and I got remarried, would she be up in heaven watching me?
During sex with my second wife, would my first wife be critical of my second wife? Would she be up in heaven shaking her head and saying, "Oh my, it looks like she could stand to lose a few pounds?" Would she slap her forehead when my second wife tried something new and say, "He never liked it when I tried that, honey, you better not…ooooooh…see…I told you so?" Would she come down to earth for some ghostly menage-a-trois and possess the body of my second wife, or, worse, would she have discovered in heaven that she was a lesbian and possess me during sex because she found my wife attractive?
And what about when everyone was dead? What if my second wife didn't make it to heaven and my first wife started nagging, saying that she knew that bitch was no good and what was I thinking marrying her in the first place and she's lucky she didn't make it up here because what I'd have done to her is far worse than anything they'll do to her
down there?
Or what if we all made it to heaven and I find out my first wife had remarried in heaven? I imagine the introductions would be a bit awkward, especially when some guy came up to us and hugged my second wife and introduced himself as her first husband when I didn't know she had been married before me and all five of us are so embarrassed that we'd stare down at our feet until the new guy's second wife walked over from a nearby cloud with her original husband and a guy she just had sex with on the side but then we'd all decide, hey, this is heaven, so we'd dream up a fabulous house and live together happily for awhile because my first wife's second husband's new girlfriend's boyfriend used to be a five-star chef in Paris and what with all the new people constantly moving in there'd never a problem finding enough people to get a soccer match going and boy howdy all this would be great until one night I'd sneak out of the bedroom where I slept with my second wife to go down to my newest girlfriend's room and as I was reaching for the doorknob the door would swing open and I'd run into my Uncle Pete sneaking out of her room backwards - who knew the old codger would make it to heaven - and I'd decide I've finally had enough and choose reincarnation and end up as a Mormon with four wives and twelve kids and we'd all die at once in a terrible bus crash that received national media attention and now the heaven house would be really full and I'd notice my oldest son start taking an interest in my first wife from a couple of lifetimes back.
Wilhelm von Hans von Masterson von Stuttgart von Bob
Pj Harvey and Bjork - Satisfaction
