Sick of all the fucking 666 propaganda all week. What a joke. Listen: its a media stunt so hot topic can sell more commercial t-shirts and so shitty bands and movies can make more money. Americans are so lightweight.

I've had a somewhat productive day, as I have begun to actualize a devious plan against two of my bosses. I call it "Plan D." Actually, it's not that devious and probably only funny to me. My boss Dave is this short, barrel-chested-meat-head-bowling-freak, who, despite being quirky, is a really nice guy. I always make fun of him because of the first conversation I had with him - the first two things he said to me were 1) "I'm from Chicago", and 2) "I don't understand this midwestern obsession with doylies. I hate doylies."  Anyway, a couple of months ago Marlowe and I devised a scheme where we were going to sneak into the office at night or during the weekend and redecorate his office with dozens of doylies. I'd then go to work and pretend I knew nothing. I finally organized the plan with my co-worker Carla, a fellow Dave fan and imitator, and also probably my best friend in Minot.

Today I went to thrift stores in search of doylies and hit the jackpot: White, frilly ones, pink and purple, big ones to drape over his chair, stale green and orange ones that even B. Aurthor would be embarrassed to own, and many others. The funniest part of the process were the two grumpy, campy old women working the counter. Most of the really embarassing ones I bought didn't contain a price tag, so I had to bicker over the price of them. I offered $.50 each, which honestly angered them. They proceeded to carefully unforld and admire each one in front of me like they were delicate and priceless articles. Each one could have been the shroud of touran for gods' sake! They wanted several dollars each, but after showing them the price tags of others I had (the cheapest ones I could find, mind you) we settled on $.79 each. Both women were sad to see them go, and one remarked that she was going to "fix her good", the quote directed towards the women suspected of forgetting to price the precious doylies. What a couple of fucking nutcases. Neither had the ability to smile, even when I told them my plans. I think they had lard on the brain and in the blood.  

Carla is going to try and find a few doylies as well. I probably picked up around 15 of them. Nothing in Dave's office will be spared this royal treatment. Carla also had the brilliant idea that we should frame a few doylies and hang them on the wall, for Dave's direct line viewing pleasure from his comfy office chair. I found a small frame and a big round gold one. I'm going to write "I love doylies" on the frame.......or maybe "I hate doylies." The latter would probably result in Dave hanging it above his bed to see last thing at night and first thing in the morning, or next to his bowling trophies. He really does hate them, and these precious framed gifts would allow him the peace of mind of not ever forgetting to spead hatred of these hideous knitted fragments from some distinct old person-smelling hell (sometimes also known as Florida). Carla and I will probably do this over the weekend....I know, I know, I'm such a child. But I think this is funny as hell.

The other plan is less elaborate. There is a stimpy doll (ren and stimpy. I think stimpy is the skinny, spazzed out one) hung up in the office that has an uncanny resemblance to Larry, the owner. It has bloodshot eyes and hands arced into a choking position. Truth be told, he is one of the nicest people I know, but drinks too much caffeine, has some nervous quirks, and a trace of black humour. I'm going to give him a leather jacket taken from one of those really tacky harley davidson teddy bears, and an eye patch and sword taken from a really funny Pirate Mr. Potato Head toy. If I can find a small whip, I'll give the doll that too. I'm going to hang this monstrosity on the bulletin board, along with some bastardized quotes of Larry's, such as "the correct answer is, you WILL work this weekend"  to make him the boss from hell. As can be seen, both of these plots are shows of affection. The people at servicemaster have been really cool to me, and I will miss them.