Wednesday, February 8, 2006

A Day In The Life Of A Wounded Crow - Volume 1

Yes, this is starting to get old now, as I am sitting on this recumbent bike, wondering to myself whether I should go and find someone to wax the hair off of my private areas for me so that I don’t have to sit here and itch as the stubble grinds around in my nether regions while I peddle. The amusement of wondering how women choose their “favorite” beaver barber, and who I should ask for advice on this topic is astounding to me. As I had said before I had the brilliant idea of shaving the forest that was concealing my dick from the rest of the body, is now going on the fourth or fifth week of payback for what seemed like harmless fun when I was bored. Sad part is I kinda like it, but it has its drawbacks.

Today for instance as I was riding the recumbent I found myself altering the way I peddled the bike so that it would stop rubbing against the side of it and give me an erection. Peddling a bike with an erection is not exactly most peoples idea of fun, but when you throw in the fact that all the women at the physical therapy hole, have this tendency to come over and talk to the “single and not drooling” male {little do THEY know … muahahahaha … I am just very good at it!} it can get embarrassing at times, especially if they read into my noted erection as meaning “hope!”

Fifteen long minutes on the bike, and it is over to do my leg presses. I can press 380, twenty times but that doesn’t do me much could considering that I still can’t life 45 pounds off the floor five. Then I get to go over and grab my little 10 pound dumbbells and curl those 40 times {Ten pounds are the biggest ones they have, it’s sad} while I walk around and chat with people. Cable curls sitting down, 40 pounds each arm 10 times each, although I can’t do that standing up. Seated rows, at a whopping 280 pounds 20 times, before I go over to the stair stepper for four of the most agonizing minutes of my life, followed by 16 minutes on the UBE {the arm peddling thingy} and then to the walking machine, 20 minutes at 4 miles per hour at a 15% incline.

What does all this mean? 90 minutes of my life that I can’t get back 3 days a week, and I am sick of it. I am no closer to being able to lift things off the floor then I was when I started, and as a matter of fact a lot of my body is starting to shut down. I pulled my groin pretty good today simulating “loser carrying heavy trashcan”, my calf got a wonderful Charlie horse off of a round of “loser picking up heavy box, loser putting heavy box on table” and I have been dreadfully ill through this whole thing. I think it is a nervous flu by this point that is simply becoming psychosomatic as I dread going to this God forsaken place every other day. The Human Resources director says that I will be cleared to go back to normal work in a couple of weeks. BWAHAHAHAHAHA … I’d like to see the fucking size of the crack balls she torques!!!!

My PT had told her that I would be able to lift 80 pounds by that time, which in theory might be true, but here’s where it gets really scary. My PT doesn’t know that you lift an awkward 80 pounds at a rate of 20 times every other 5 minutes for two hour bursts, every other two hours for 12 hours. This translates out to 720 - 80 pound rolls that need to be lifted off of a conveyor and placed on their side on a pallet that they will inevitably need to be adjusted on so they don’t fall over in a single day, with a ruptured disk in my lower spine. My PT unfortunately tells me that he has to answer the questions as they are asked, and it is asked “Will he be able to safely lift 80 pounds?” Pointing out to the HRD that she is being disingenuous brings up such witty retorts as, “You won’t be doing that all of the time,” which falls on deaf ears when I say, “But it IS expected on the days it happens, and when I got hurt it happened every day for nearly a month!” It's like dealing with a pile of Bill Fucking Clintons!

This of course doesn’t sit well as my damn groin is killing me as well, and Veronica, don’t massage groins {bitch} and I would feel better if she would get up on the table and let me massage her calves {whicked grin}, but she didn’t think that would be in either of our best interest {double bitch} so I am sent back to work to once again argue over whether or not I will be lifting rolls again, while my damn groin hurts worse than my back and … oh fuck … my back hurts and I have a flat tire too!! After pulling everything out of the trunk to replace the tire, I find out that my Aunt borrowed my Jack! Probably would have never noticed if she had PUT THE FUCKING THING BACK! ACK … My credit cards are maxed, and I don’t have any cash {it’s payday} so I have to resort to an old white trash tactic I learned many years back … walking around the parking lot and begging people to use their Jack.

After embarrassing myself to about 40 different people who obviously have thieving assed aunts like I do, I finally got my hands on a Jack, and Jeremy, aching groin, messed up calf, and fucked up back, start working on the tire {thank GOD the boner went away!} to finally get it finished and show up to work with the HRD {human resources director}, the CVP company vice president}, and the KGTB {king George the Blind} waiting for me at the door, and not to amused that they had to wait an extra 30 minutes, although King George was impressed that I could swap out the tire after spending most of that time finding a Jack in under 30 minutes. The crisis of monumental proportions of course is that we have a person who likes to spread his own feces on things in the bathrooms.

“You do realize that I am in charge of cleaning up after these losers which A. Makes me not surprised in the least … and … B. Not the person who hired ANY of these losers, so blame YOU!” and after realizing that I had probably gone a little far on that one, I added, “But I did order a case of bleach, because this isn’t the first time, so I will clean it up, like I usually do,” and that was the end of it, because I simply walked away. I had cleaning to do. ;8o)


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Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, fuck ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! ..
Jeremy

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Jeremy Fink and The Crow's Nest