Monday, August 30, 2010

The Plastics Factory.

I recently started working in a plastics factory.
The kind that makes highly disturbing medical equipment.
Like blood sucking devices and bins to hold body parts.

Most of the people I work with are nice.

(Note: The names in this post have been changed to protect the innocent.)

Here, we have Moby. My work BFF.
And here we have, Carlo Castillano.
My lovely boss, Rita Hayworth.
And this man, Lyle. He loves Jesus.

But some of the people I work with are quite scary and sometimes weird.

For example: Here we have Pumba. He babbles on constantly and no one can understand a word he says.
Everyone just looks to each other hoping someone caught what he said.
And here we have, Shannon. He likes to talk about Metallica and hatin' blacks.

I spend most of my days at work cowering in complete terror.

The machines we use are like giant, scary, metal monsters.
Absolutely horrifying.
It reminds me of being trapped in a Saw movie.
And those movies are terrible to begin with.

They beep constantly in hunger.
Saying "Feed me plastic!"...."AND MORE GLUE!!"

We also have this tape machine, that I like to call 'Little David'.
Little David spends most of his time kicking me in the knees.
Once, he actually bit me on the hand.

And this is pretty much an actual representation of what I look like after a day of work at the plastics factory.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Some Good Shit.

One handsome evening, my friend Javier called up to tell me that he was bringing us "some great shit".

After waking up Max to tell her the good news, we waited for Javier's arrival.
He showed up some while later with the goods....

Which turned out to be a plastic bag and a can of air duster.

He then proceeded to inhale the air duster out of the plastic bag that he sprayed it in...

After sucking all of the substance into his lungs, he looks up at us slowly...
Laughing maniacally.
And drooling all over my carpet...

After this, we promptly showed him out the door.
Completely terrified and deeply disappointed that we didn't get any real "good shit".

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Cryptic Messages.

Sometimes, I leave myself little notes.
To remind myself of humorous things or something I wanted to write about.

When I go back to read these little bits of information, I generally have no idea what I was talking about.

So, I've decided to compile some of these cryptic messages and illustrate them with what I can only assume that they meant.

"Riding a motorbike...Cats having sex..."

(Side note: My boyfriend claims that my motorbike looks like an angry horned sparrow with an under-developed wing, that just got back from a frat party and is throwing up an additional arm...)

"Photography, cow eyes, Playboy magazines."


"I have to reconstruct her breasts from scratch with Bisquick."

"Looking in the doctor's bag... Unsatisfactory!"

"Dr. Quinne Medicine Bitch"

Belly Bumps.