Yes, I've fallen off the bloggin' wagon. Which draws the conclusion that either my life is one hell of a whirl-a-wind-mile-a-minute-hootin nanny-too-hung over-to-post-adventure, or that what I have to blog about has all the excitement of a late night defensive driving course. I can't entirely vouch for the former, although the hang over part is not entirely inaccurate at times... Let's just call it "technical difficulties".
Actually, I have a bad habit of chatting and posting to other blogs/forums and neglecting poor Flen Flyys. So, I'll try to cross post as often as possible in order to keep my stats in check. Here's a not-too-incriminating post from a couple of weeks ago in response to the following blog:
http://austinist.com/2007/08/28/truesday_pushin.php#comments
And my oh-so-amusing, pretentious response:
Wow. This blog brought back such wonderful nostalgia from my own Pier One days (*sigh*...many, many moons ago), when I worked at the now defunct Airport location near Highland Mall (or the Mid-Town Spa bath house, whatever is your best point of reference). We never had a super-pooper, but we did have our share of crazies, and the gold medal went to The Wanker, a middle-aged man with a horrendous Grecian-for-Men dye job, who probably would have been a fantastic serial killer had he not been such a sad underachiever. The type of man who thought it best to served his country by periodically coming into our mercantile on an idle Sunday to masturbate. And not just some cheap rub-a-nub through his polyester trousers kind of masturbate, but a full on whipping out the turtle head and shaking it angrily at the world sort of yanker. I'm still mildly curious, in a purely academic sense mind you, as to what inspires a person to waltz into a store full of overpriced furniture soldered together by the bleeding hands of third-world children and think, “Hey, this would be a great place to start pulling my pud”, because from what I could decipher, he wasn’t ogling anyone in particular. In fact, I was led to conclude that Kiln rugs and batik napkins where amongst his list of turn-ons. The worst of it, aside from catching him flagrante delicto, was that he always attempted to mask his misdeeds by touching every piece of merchandise within reach…and one of us poor unfortunates would later draw the short straw to straighten up said tainted section, praying that our hands didn’t touch something sticky. This occurred at a time when our staff was mostly female. It wasn’t until we had a few of our own Dobermans on staff that The Wanker was finally intimidated enough to sniff out new territory. Nothing like a bulky stoner standing out on the floor with arms crossed like Chief Kicks-Your-Ass to rid our little retail world of an ol’ crusty skittle-diddler.So this Bud’s for you, Oh Noble Dobermans of Pier One. You are the real American Heroes.
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