I need to beat someone with a sack of cheeseburgers...

If you’re scratching your head right now, the answer is yes:  I have once committed aggravated burger battery (with cheese).  That might also be synonymous with delivering cheeseburgers while intoxicated.  Yeah, there are too many freaking verb-adverb oddball combos to keep this theme (for now) so I guess I’ll roll onward before I get distracted and walk away from the keyboard.

It’s no secret that I am at the mercy of the heavily-insulated sociopaths that hold the keys to unemployment in this nation– you know, the HR “professionals” that hide behind automated “do-not-reply” email addresses while letting computer software inaccurately judge you.  For those of you who don’t speak rant-ese, that means I’m still shit out of luck when it comes to finding a job– and moving back to my original hometown to be with Cortana was about as helpful to the situation as throwing a guy in quicksand the other end of the rope.

That shit in mind–  I have found productive ways to cope.  However, you know what I miss most about gainful employment (you know, besides having even a false sense of purpose to accompany a paycheck)?  The ability to forget what a shit is– and subsequently how to give it– and do something irreverently stupid.  You know, for the lulz.

Somewhere in Texas, I have a TKE little who is having a PTSD episode….

Yes, today’s episode is dedicated to irreverent stupidity without even a tip of the hat to ranting.  As for thoughtless shenanigans–  I miss them, dammit!  First off, I miss being out and sociable– because even though being a gym rat has its benefits– well…  there’s something delectable about stumbling into a house party after a long night out, and going all Bing Crosby on close friends with a bag-o-burgers’n'buns.

Ok ok, story time.  A few Homecomings ago, long before I met Cortana, I was out with my little (we’ll call her Trixie).  This is, of course, the same famous homecoming where we opened and closed the bar in the same day.  After that marathon drinking spree that would have killed most mere mortals– she and I ended up back at the TKE house.  Granted, the current chapter no longer has the house (big surprise!), but it was less than a block from Mickey D’s.

Pause for the cause, kids– it’s time for munchies.  Trixie wanted McD’s– and to my fuzzy recollection– I was all too happy to go face-in on a bag of over-processed deliciousness.  So I stumbled (yes, stumbled) to the Golden Arches, and returned with six cheeseburgers.  Trixie, however, was passed out after commandeering one of the undergrad brothers’ beds.

Don’t get any giggity thoughts, you freaks–  she was, and remained, fully clothed for the past-present-and-future of this tale.

This is the only hidden innuendo.  …So far.

So there’s Trixie, semiconscious, and unwilling to even mouth the beef that she wanted me to bring to her.  So what do you do with a passed out chick who doesn’t want the beef?  If you happily shouted “Beat her with your sack!”   Well…  you may have more issues than I do.  Yes, in front of the undergrad bros– I took my three cheeseburgers out and proceeded to smack her with the bag.  She didn’t react.

I opened one of my scrumptious cheeseburgers, happily began noshing, and continued to smack Trixie with her treats until she finally got back with the party– amid raucous laughter.  Moral of the story?  After enough impacts from a full sack, she was thankful for the beef– and even the cheese.  Drinking munchies for the win, right Trixie?

You see, that’s what I miss.  I miss senseless, harmless stupidity that causes unforgettable laughter.  In short– obvious reasons for needing a job aside (liquid income, being productive, having a purpose, paying for our wedding that’s like three months away)…

I need a job so I can smack a bitch with a bag of cheeseburgers.

Is that so wrong?

Unplug.