Covering her desk

Hi All! It's me, limp dick.

I'll be covering the blog while EN's away for awhile correcting her head. In case you are not aware of why exactly the need for absence, her brother-in-law passed away late Sunday night. That was only the topping on the sundae for some of the other shit she'd been hitting head on.

This sucks because normally EN is the backbone of every one else. So her ripple effect influences us who feel helpless but want to support her back...

I told her it was essential for her to take time with her family and tie up some bereavement and loss process she's feeling at the moment. Sooooooo, yeah.
Let's not have an awkward moment and get all depressed though, I think it would serve her heart more happiness to hear us carry on then for a pause in the cause (anyone that knows her would know this for fact).

I just got off the phone with her nagging me for posting since she normally posts at night and "God damnit Shawn you fucking loser if you don't post something in the evening for tomorrow I'll leave here and kick your ass into a straight away."


Sucks when people get depressed since the person they are seems so distorted, and yet normal to themselves. Almost like they're surrounded in this "fog" until every so often there's a break and you see a glimmer of them; it's then you realize the person that used to exist.

Until you see that break again you miss them even though they're standing right there.

But then sometimes it's the complete opposite because they tell you they are okay, and they really sound it.. Until they start bawling for no apparent reason, other than wheat bread is on sale for .79 cents.

Either way, it sucks to be me and her and shit is just all depressing here.
So sorry you have to sit in on this but what the fuck? It's her blog and well now mine too and what better way to blog then to be for the moment!
Sugar and Spice would be so proud to hear me say that!

I know you're reading this Spice, hi.

Smoking pot when your dick is fucked up is cool.
I gotta stop talking to the good doctor H.
Anyway I'm creeped out and down myself and that bites my ass.

Now that all of that sappiness is over, and I feel gay, let's move on to the next subject, shall we?

My dick is not well, and I don't expect it to be any time soon.
I made the stupid mistake of going into work a couple of days last week, riding the bus in. Which means I couldn't pamper my fucking package with ice, I had to endure the two 45 minute rides with nothing but my iron will and a pack of chewing gum.

YOU TRY SITTING ON A BUS WITH A FUCKING BALLOON OF ICE BETWEEN YOUR LEGS. IT'S EMBARRASSING AND WEIRD FOLKS STARE AT YOU.

I'm worthless at my job because I drool on the fuckin keyboard.

Also because I can't formulate thought, so my editorials suck since I have no opinion. I can't feel passionate about anything when I'm chuggin Darvocet every 4 hours.

Now when I call in for my voicemail they've added a prompt to speak with my 'assistant'. My 'assistant' is Emma and well, what with her unexpected turn of events and utter turmoil that doesn't turn out to be the best business relationship structure (AS YOU CAN IMAGINE).

In email today, I received this from a long time company who advertises huge with our little 'monthly':

Shawn,

I spoke to your assistant today because we needed a two page full spread space for the August advertisement. She told me that if we needed a two page spread for a picture of a woman's ass and some bullshit about a fifty percent off sale then our models' ass was too big, and to cut the font to 8pt.

I take it in stride, but dude we just want a big ass on our ad. Does that make us sick?

Thanks bud, let us know about the space for sale.
Darren

Darren and I go way back. I'm not too worried about that. But if that's the case, I have a lot of reservations for when Dan the Sausage Man calls in, and that's a fact. I will be going into the office tomorrow WITH my ice pack on the bus because fuck that shit, I can't have Emma on the phone with Dan the Sausage man.

My surgery is on Wednesday, apparently they're going to cauterize the splice and do some sort of skin graph over the head of my penis... Can you feel the love and joy I exuberate when I say that? I'll just be happy to feel some relief and healing happening around here.

In the meantime I feel weird posting anything on this blog, and I am not much of a writer but I want to say thanks to all of you that either laughed at me, with me, or gave me great advice about my little dilemma, I will be sure to put you on the "Save Shawn's Snake" donation fund. No really there was some great remarks and direction... Believe me, next time I'm stabbing that bitch with her locker key or calling 911 from the rest stop.

(Any one else having issues getting pictures uploaded onto blogger? Or is it just my non-internet friendly ass....)

I will now also be accepting applications for any ladies that would like to nurse me back to health and be my guinea pig for the duration of my penile recovery. Any takers?

Leave a short blurb about yourself and what you could possibly do to separate yourself from the droves of other women that want me to make them feel special... After the beep...

*beep*