Feel Better?


“So does that make every feel better?”

Duh fuck kinda question was that. This meeting was about as useless at Marilyn Manson’s tits. Like shit, we all got it when Caitlyn Jenner got Tits. She’s actually Trans. You know, a WOMAN trapped in a MANS’s body. A victim. But Marilyn had no inclination of even considering the possible operation. He still wanted to battle his silicone orbs with Rose McGown’s real mountains while his throbbing rod scraped her inside walls back and forth. Fucking useless.

This was suppose to be a meeting where we clear the air about all the bullshit going on. About how tomorrow we have to go into a bigger meeting with the head honcho’s and explain why everything is not my boss’s fault. This was suppose to be a meeting where they would tell me I could stop using my personal computer for work because our IT department can’t figure out how to stop ransomware attacks. This was suppose to be a meeting about how I was going to be compensated for the 12 hours days I worked extra, the several holidays I came in the dead office to play on AutoCAD, or the seven day work weeks, or how I was going to lose all my vacation time because I didn’t get to use it this year.

Instead he began the meeting by telling us he laid off the most senor employee in our group. He said his head wasn’t ever here. Watching too many soccer games, did him in. But no mention of the fact he uprooted his entire family 400 miles, and the pain and suffering it caused his socially awkward son to fight the gauntlet of making new friends, because obviously his brain wasn’t ever here. The last punch was when we were given three months. Only three months for more work to start picking up before more layoffs began. Until the end of the first quarter he said, then the higher ups will start looking to make cuts. So for three months we’re all enemies. The office has now turned into a brutal game of Corporate Survivor for who can outwit, outlast, and out kiss the most ass of the higher ups. DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES DARBY? Can you get on your knees and start slobbing the corporate knob so you can pay the bills in the apartment you never get to see?  Stay tuned.

I also found out we’ll be switching to Dunkin’ Dougnuts coffee in the break room, so there’s that.

Featured Blogs that Get More Views than Mine: Become a Civil Engineer


The other day I was peering around the reader and came across this gem of a site entitled “Become a Civil Engineer”.

Being in this field, I decided to see what insightful knowledge I might have missed on my journey.

I clicked on the first article entitled “How to become a Civil engineer”. Not to my surprise it was a load of horseshit. Like literately I could gain more knowledge from looking at horseshit on the subject because I could at least understand something about soil, which I’m not sure if the author know, has something to do with being a CE.

The article comes out swinging “What do I do in College to prepare to be a civil Engineer?” Basically you spend the two years dicking around with easy classes that you should’ve already took in high school but said fuck it. Why would anyone take the hardest fucking classes in the last year? I mean for fuck sake you have to apply for colleges, figure out financial aid, play sports, find time to drink, tell the one girl you like how you really feel about her because she’s talking about going to MSU and you know there is no way you can get in. So you end up fucking yourself playing catch up for the next two years. Your poor but you at least have some some sort of social life. Then you finally get into your major and your class size gets microscopic. It’s harder to sleep. All the profs know your name. You sit through retarded four hour lectures about how cement dries. All the girls that were there a year ago are gone. Poof! Vanish into Supply Chain. Mother Fucker, this is ENGINEERING. All you have are trogliadies that are either named Helga or speak some crazy foreign language you can’t understand. Your social skills go to shit because your constantly alone, listening to broken English, and conversing with people on the spectrum. All you talk about is how to change something from the time domain into the frequency domain in order to obtain an understanding about ferro-resonance. Finally the day comes where you start sitting in for interviews and your pissed when they ask, “So what are your hobbies outside of Engineering?”

“What is the Job potential and pay for civil engineers?” GREAT! it says with demonstrative writing. Great is subjective statement. Great is what you tell your waitress when she interrupts an important part of the conversation to tell you about the desserts, which apparently are also “Great”. Great is what you tell your girl after it took her 45 minutes for you to splooge man mayo in her mouth. Great is also the word you say to yourself when the feeling of her sandpaper lips constantly interrupt your fantasy of the chick in Yoga class with the green Nike sports bra. But you don’t tell her, because, WELL DUH, you still want to keep receiving more. Bad head is greater than no head. The reality of Great is you make a bad ass GROSS salary. Shit anything is better that 7.25 an hour. After student loans, 401K, health, dental, taxes, apartment, electric, moving, you realize you make only $300 more than you did before school. Not to mention, they own you know.  Salaried employees never get overtime. You work weekends and holidays. You’re cubical becomes your home. Oh you had plans to play soccer this weekend? Sorry but we’re sending you to bum fuck Oklahoma to get yelled at in the Oil fields by meth heads with 4 teeth who make more than you, know more than you, but still jealous of you because your job has more social status then theirs.

“What are the different things I can do in a Civil Engineering career?”  Apparently there are seven disciplines but none of which get listed. I’ll help you out; googling calculations, getting training about how to do calculations, getting yelled about about how these calculation are wrong, correcting the calculations, submitting these calculations, getting yelled at about how these calculations won’t work in the real world by field employees, getting thrown under the bus about these calculations, and learning how to cover your ass so you don’t get thrown under the bus anymore about wrong calculations. The last one is the most important. Because no one does real work. Successful fokes don’t do real work. Wanna be successful? Just learn how to take credit and pass blame. It’s white collar 101. I was a dumbfuck in college and took English instead.

Summary: 8 out of 10. I’d visit it again.

Just Another Day at the Office


I got back to my desk with a post-it note staring me back in the face. It was barely legible with the chicken scratch all over it but I already knew what it said. I grabbed the notebook and a pen like I was told to do the day before and walked down the hall. I had taken so many notes earlier, I considered grabbing another but I didn’t want to appear like an overachiever at this point in the game.

“Hey! Close the door and have a seat!” The jolly voice said to me. Everything was neat in his office, except for the pile of paper work on his desk. They were all from me the day before though. Classic HR shit. He began to dial the number on the phone written on the screen. The phone rang out, “Enter the meeting Id number.” Mike began scurrying around, “Oh geeze, what was that number?” From the few times I’ve met Mike, he seemed like he would be a good boss, although he did have his John Candy moments.

Beep Boop Boop Beeep BEEEP. “Now entering the meeting, there are currently 12 participants.” Mike got loud, “Who’s on the call?” Various names came across the loudspeaker. “Fantastic! Mike and James are on here too!” Well everyone, I called this meeting to discuss the current issues on project 113457. “It’s about time!” and Angry voice chimed in. “The reactor’s are late, the drawings are FUCKING wrong, and WE WANT ANSWERS!” Mike responded, “I completely understand. This is why I have James with me, so we can both handle this types of questions.” I looked over at Mike and he was drawing random spirals in his notebook. “I’m going to let James take it from here. What did you find out about the Reactors?”

I was in complete disbelief, this was my Third day.

And it was all too clear why I was hired.

Money Trees is the Perfect Place for Shade


The rain dripped down off his forehead. No time to wipe it off he had work to do. It also didn’t help that both hands were taken, one holding him up, while the other desperately turned the wrench.

He’d originally brought a headlamp he stole from his friend who used it for midnight runs. She’d told him running at night in the dark trails freaked her out, so this was the purchase to combat that. He understood, but still didn’t think looking like a minion from Despicable ME was going to stop a sexed nut homeless man from going after her double sports bra’d sweater puppies. But what did he know, he was only part of the itty bitty titty committee.

The steel of the wrench clanked against the metal structure. Wrrick Wrick Wrick DUNK The third bolt dropped to the ground. “One more to go,” he thought. The sign was loose enough it could slide around into a 360. He’d wished he brought some sort of snips so he could just cut the damn thing off and call it a night. But fuck, it was around 3:00am when he left his apartment. He was in it for the long haul.

The last bolt was the hardest to break loose. “Shut up little bitch! Be humble! Break loose! Be Humble!” he sang out, just like with the first three. Every time he sang, it got him more and more excited about this adventure. Every morning since he moved he would see the sign up in the air on his way to get coffee and every day he would start singing one of k-dot’s songs. You’d have to, he’d tell the homeless lady on the corner. Kendrick is the last real rapper left.

POP! The bolt started turning. “I Said I’m GEEEKED AN I’M FIRRED UP!” he screamed in the night. He threw the sign down and began his decent. His arms felt like jello but he made it down in one piece. No small feat considering the amount of Skyy he drank earlier. He was soaking wet and barely able to move his arms, but inside he felt like Russell Crowe in Gladiator. Surprisingly no cops, no beggars, and, nobody even saw despite how busy of an area this was. He reached down like a girl wearing a mini skirt and picked up the sign.

It read “Lamar Street.”


The Measure of Success


I could hear myself still breathing hard and I only walked down 3 flights of stairs and around the corner. A crazy thought considering two nights ago I picked up my date and put her over my head. “OMG, I’m 200 lbs!” she screamed.

“I know I’m much stronger than I look.”

The whole point of the walk was to put some vodka in my green tea fusion. I wanted to chill within the Starbucks but it was fucking hot in there.

“Can you crank the AC up in this bitch?” I asked the Barista.

“I’m sorry my brotha, I’m just a low man on the totem pole. I’ll get fired, if I do that.” Modern day slavery at it’s finest.

So here I sit outside watching all the girls walk by in yoga pants and pondering how this chick got her own article. I remember her within my Physics class, constantly talking about how hard she studied, and high fiving her lab partner when they got the voltmeter to read out 3.50. A real Type A, drone personality, that some Anthony Michael Hall character with no direction would love to marry. Most likely a first chair male flute player, that could crush it on his Brahms solo.

But apparently she was a rising star in Academia, headed to MIT for her doctorate to measure the current in autistic kids brains. Creepy as fuck to me, but anything in the name of science.

I’m legitimately happy for her. There are some people in this world that want that lifestyle. The 100,000 in student debt, attending parties with people who constantly use the word “predominately” in a sentence, and love to tell you about how well the new Prius handles.

Then there are the people, that like to get drunk in public, type on a blog, and get called a pervert by passing women.

I mean success really comes in all different forms.