You’re fired.

This past Tuesday I went into work only to be met with a paycheck and the phrase, “Don’t bother clocking in.” Apparently I was fired because I wasn’t available to work the hours I was scheduled. Which, of course is total bullshit. I told the owners the week I was hired that I wouldn’t be available Halloween weekend because I had two weddings to go to out of town. Halloween was the day of their not-so-Grand Opening, and they, without voicing this to me, needed me to work that day.

My question is, why did they even hire me if they knew they were just going to fire me three weeks later? Morons.

At least I got a $270 paycheck out of the deal.

(If you’re curious where I worked, how about you do me a favor and don’t become a fan of them on Facebook. Or give them any of your money. Ever.)

 

Sorry for ranting.

Where the Dysfunctional Puppets Are

I did not like “Where the Wild Things Are.” I didn’t like it one bit. Aside from having a relatively thin plot, the movie left me feeling depressed and that the last two hours of my life were wasted. Every moment of the movie was filled with discomfort and awkwardness.

Will I read this book to my kids? Absolutely.

Will I ever watch this movie again? Not a chance in hell.

Does. Not. Want.

Thomas Kinkade's "Nascar Thunder" borrowed from Squidoo.com

Thomas Kinkade and NASCAR. What more could you ever really want in life? Is it possible to say that someone who only paints heart-warming, snow-covered cottages and glowing lamposts has sold out? I’m sure that most Americans (namely the ones in City Market) will look at this painting and think, “Americuh . . . Fuck Yeah,” but when I look at it, all I can ask myself is where is Ricky Bobby?