Alright, so it’s Friday, which means it’s Fried-ay, which means this blog will most likely be posted tomorrow so pardon the delay (If it’s posted today, pardon the “pardon the delay”). For those who aren’t properly affiliated, Fried-ay is a blog series I publish every Friday where I just allow my fingers to do the thinking. I go in with no agenda and just see where the keys take me; hence, if you’re looking for a traditional narrative arc, navigate elsewhere…
As I mentioned in my blog yesterday, I have E. coli. I haven’t really put much effort towards figuring out what E. coli is but I definitely have it. My bones feel week and I’ve been stuffed up since yesterday morning. For the record, my tryout with the Massachusetts Pirates Arena League football team is tomorrow night at 8 PM so I’ve taken every precaution imaginable to ensure peak performance.
So far today, I’ve drilled two Pedialytes, two 32 oz Gatorades (Glacier Freeze, obviously), three bottles of that BodyArmor shit, and two packets of Emergen-C. In other words, my immune system’s fucking BATTLING right now and I’m starting to turn a corner. It reminds me of that scene in Infinity War when Wakanda’s getting its ass kicked but then Thor rolls in out of nowhere like “Alright boys, let’s dance…”
Yesterday I utilized the latter half of my afternoon to go Christmas shopping. For starters, everything about going to the mall in December is a complete shit show. Between nearly coming to fists over a parking spot to having absolutely no idea what to get people is fucking brutal.
Normally, I just take the gift card route; however, this year, I decided to buy my mother a shower gel kit for Christmas. According to the box, the scented theme is “Paris.” Initially, I wanted to buy her the “Detroit” fragrance but I’m not sure how I’d feel about our bathroom smelling like municipal bankruptcy and crack cocaine…
I just received a birthday card in the mail from my grandmother and, upon opening it, I nearly fell back in my seat as if I was just mailed anthrax or something. On the front of the card, it read “Happy Birthday Nephew,” which caused some concern for two major reasons: a.) I’m my grandmother’s grandson, rather than nephew; and b.) my piece of shit grandmother recklessly assumed my gender because she’s part of the problem in this country. I should’ve disowned her on the spot but, fortunately for her, I don’t self-identify as someone who gives a shit.
At work earlier, I retired to the restroom to check my phone. When you work at a place like I do, your three-minute bathroom break is more or less what prevents you from dive bombing head-first off the roof before the clock strikes five. This trip, however, was different.
I don’t have much of a witty take or soliloquy on what I witnessed, but here goes nothing: I turned the corner and, as I was walking to the handicapped stall, I noticed one of my fellow employees shitting with the door open. UNREAL move. As I said, I don’t have much of a take here; nevertheless, I felt the incident warranted a blog mention…
– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)
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