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Fuck'd
Sometimes I feel as though I am on a decades-long and incredibly complicated episode of Punk'd, where things get progressively worse, but Ashton never pops out and reveals the gag. Each prank isn't resolved, it just blends seamlessly into the next prank, which is even more nasty and cruel.
This show is my life. Let's call it Fuck'd.
I want to share the story of my weekend with you, a story I am going to petition to get inserted into the Bible in place of the Book of Job. The story begins with the death of my grandmother, and gets worse from there. I feel it is necessary to say so: I swear to God that every word of this story is 100% true. I wish it wasn't, but it is.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be the weekend my girlfriend came to visit. This was supposed to be the weekend I slept in and went to nice dinners and snuggled and tried to remember how to have sex with another human being. Instead...
1) My grandmother dies.
2) Naturally, the funeral is scheduled on the weekend of my girlfriend's visit, and the visit has to be cancelled.
3) Friday, I fly from Los Angeles to Tennessee, where I am to catch a one-hour, 6PM connecting flight to Saint Louis. I get on the plane in Tennessee, buckle up, we begin to take off, and an announcement from the cockpit: "You guys aren't going to like this..." I was already getting out of my seat at this point, so certain that the news would be horrible. "Due to an ice storm about to hit Saint Louis, they have just this minute delayed this flight. Everyone will have to deboard the plane."
4) I wait around the terminal for an hour, and another announcement is made: The flight has been canceled. There will be no flights to Saint Louis for the rest of the night. American Airlines offers to fly me out at 7:45 the next morning. I tell the clerk I'm not waiting, I have a funeral and can't miss it, I don't need the flight, and I'm going to take a rental car. I wait patiently as he enters this information into the computer, and ask repeatedly if this will have any effect on the rest of my trip. He assures me, repeatedly, that it will not.
I will later learn, repeatedly, that this man is a liar.
5) At the Budget desk, the clerk and I have the following conversation, that may be dull to you now but will prove to be important later:
ME: I need a car to Saint Louis, Missouri.
BUDGET: Saint Louis, got it. Lot of people driving to Saint Louis tonight!
ME: Yeah, the flight was canceled. The flight to Saint Louis.
BUDGET: Right, I heard that about Saint Louis. Ice storm in Saint Louis, right?
ME: Apparently.
BUDGET: Well, we'll get you to Saint Louis. No problem. Better pay the $40 for insurance, if there's an ice storm.
ME: Whatever, fine.
BUDGET: Alright, one car to Saint Louis, Missouri!
ME: Saint Louis. Saint Louis, Missouri. Saint Louis. Saint Louis.
6) I pay $160 for the rental car, and begin the dark, wet, five hour+ drive from Tennessee to Saint Louis. The radio through the Tennessee/Kentucky area plays exclusively bad pop country music, bad pop Christian music, and classic rock. I am annoyed at first, until I am hit with an onslaught of RAWK that reawakens the Midwesterner inside me. Van Halen tells me about the wonderful world of Panama. AC/DC informs me about the affordability of Dirty Deeds. Lynyrd Skynyrd pontificates on the disappearance of Tuesday.
Once, The Eagles' "Life in the Fast Lane" begins to play...at the exact second I switch into the fast lane. Sadly, this will prove to be the highlight of my travel.
7) I arrive in Saint Louis around 12:30AM, where aside from some rain, there was clearly no need for a flight cancellation. At my mother's condo, I contort my body in order to sleep on a "couch," really more of a love seat, minus the love. I sleep with my feet up in the air as though I'm having a gynecological exam, although a gynecological exam is probably more comfortable than my slumber.
8) Saturday morning and the funeral itself. Not a bad affair, aside from having to explain to people what I'm doing in Los Angeles, and watching their faces express a mixture of doubt, concern, and disgust.
One very Irish gentleman will say to me, and I quote: "You got some nuts on you, boy!"
9) After the funeral, I go to return the rental car. If you'll remember my conversation with Budget, the words "Saint Louis" were probably uttered roughly 20 times. I look at my slip and see that in the space marked "Must Return To:" she has entered "Kansas City."
Several calls and connections and explanations later, a man at Budget assures me that I'll be able to return the car to Saint Louis, no problem.
This man will also prove to be a filthy liar.
I return it to Saint Louis. And the following exchange takes place:
BUDGET MAN: (looking at my slip and eating an Almond Joy - I'm serious) Naw man, you gotta take this to Kansas City.
ME: That's hours from here.
BUDGET MAN: Why'd you tell 'em you'd bring it to KC?
ME: I didn't! I said Saint Louis! Again and again! And I just called your hotline and they told me they had changed the return location to here!
BUDGET MAN: Nope.
ME: Well...here it is! Can you just check it in?
BUDGET MAN: OK, well, there's gonna be a charge on your account since you didn't return it to where you said you would.
ME: But I DID!
BUDGET MAN: Not what the slip says.
ME: But -
BUDGET MAN: I'll see if I can waive it, but -
ME: This is not my fault! I said Saint Louis! It was her mistake!
BUDGET MAN: Whose?
ME: The Budget lady!
BUDGET MAN: Which Budget lady?
ME: In Tennessee!
At this point, the Budget Man appears very confused and walks over to a manager, who is on a lengthy personal call, really laughing it up. She looks at the slip, shakes her head "No," and the Budget Man comes back.
BUDGET MAN: I'll see what I can do, sir.
I stare at him for a moment.
BUDGET MAN: That's all, sir. You can go.
ME: You're going to charge me for this, aren't you?
BUDGET MAN: I'm working on it, sir.
I haven't looked at my debit card record yet, but I think we all know I was charged.
***Side story, Bank of America froze my checking account last weekend due to "Suspicious Activity." The activity? Purchasing movie tickets online. For a theater ten minutes from my apartment.
I pay $200 for a rental car in Tennessee, roughly 3,000 miles from home, then use it in Missouri, roughly 350 miles from Tennessee...apparently Bank of America finds nothing at all suspicious about that.
10) Saturday evening, I eat dinner with a friend and his parents, who still love each other and live in the same house. Afterward, I go online to check in for my flight the next day and print my e-ticket.
There is no record of my return flight.
I call American Airlines, explain the situation. We talk for fifteen minutes, and then we are disconnected. I call back and have to go through the entire process again. The woman tells me that since I was a "No Show" for my Saturday morning flight from Tennesse to Saint Louis, they cancelled the entire trip. I tell her that I rented a car, and that I made that clear to two different American Airlines employees.
Her response: "Oh...sorry."
After much discussion, she reinstates my flight, and assures me I will have no problem when I arrive at the airport Sunday morning.
This woman will prove to be the dirtiest of liars and quite possibly a witch of some kind.
11) Saturday night at a karaoke bar with friends. Great time. Afterwards, I will drive my much-drunker-than-I-thought friend to the legendary Courtesy Diner. We have a pleasant conversation until, out of the blue, he screams "YOU FUCKING WHORE!" to no one, and in regards to no one. Thankfully, we are not asked to leave, but the waitress does ask us if everything is alright. I order my friend another water.
As we are leaving, an insanely douched out and wasted Indian dude enters the diner, holding a glass of alcohol and telling his girlfriend to "Shut the fuck up." He takes our table, I go to pay the check, and my friend tells me to "Start the car and be ready to roll." Then he goes outside and starts banging on the glass window right next to the Indian dude's head, making him angrier and angrier. Just as it looks like it is going to come to blows, the girlfriend asks if we can drive the two of them home. From the car, I yell "No way!" The girl asks my friend "Why?" and he responds "This guy looks like a real asshole. So no."
We flee the scene.
12) The friend and I crash at my mother's. I have to wake up three hours later because my father is picking me up to take me to breakfast.
13) Uncomfortable breakfast, and then I look through my childhood stuff at his house, putting some treasures into my bag. A wave of excitement rushes over me as I find an Elvis Presley clock from my youth I thought I had lost. I wrap it carefully in a sweater and place it in my suitcase. It will look awesome in my apartment. Finally, something good comes from this trip!
I am dropped at the airport. I approach the American Airlines (and there is a reason this company shares initials with Alcoholics Anonymous) counter, and give the woman I'll call the "Ice Queen" my driver's license.
She looks in the computer, and mutters "Oh boy," which I take to be a good sign. She tells me that she has no record of me being booked on any return flight. Starting to lose it, I explain as calmly as I can that I spoke to American Airlines for nearly an hour last night on the phone, and they assured me that my return trip was good to go. She says "No, it looks like you were a "No Show" in Tennessee, so your return flight is canceled."
As the enormous line behind me grows more and more restless, I explain with increasing frustration and anger why this is unacceptable. She rolls her eyes this way and that, then walks away for several minutes. She returns and makes a phone call. I check the clock. I am supposed to be boarding in five minutes.
ME: Who are you calling?
ICE QUEEN: One moment, sir.
We stand there, silent.
ME: I'm sorry, is this phone call related to my flight? I need to board in five minutes.
ICE QUEEN: One moment, sir.
Much more than a moment passes.
ME: Ma'm, I'm going to miss my flight.
ICE QUEEN: I'm calling American Airlines to see if I can reinstate your flight!
ME: You're calling American Airlines?
ICE QUEEN: Yes sir.
ME: Aren't you American Airlines?
ICE QUEEN: Yes sir.
ME: (long pause) I see.
Several minutes later, after she complains to me about the customer service...of her own company...someone on the other line answers.
ICE QUEEN: Yes hello, I have someone here who was a "No Show" for a Tennessee to Saint Louis flight, and -
ME: Ma'm, I was not a "No Show," I rented a car so I could go to my grandmother's funeral because your company -
She puts up a finger, shushing me.
ICE QUEEN: I'll see what I can do on my end, thanks.
She hangs up and types. Types. Types.
ICE QUEEN: OK, I was able to get you on Flight 2411 -
ME: You were able to get me on the flight I booked and paid for a week ago?
ICE QUEEN: Sir -
ME: Great, thanks.
ICE QUEEN: I was able to get you on the flight and you'll need to head to Gate C14 to board. If you lose this ticket, you will not be able to fly. Your flight is leaving on time, so you'll need to get over there immediately.
ME: Are you sure it is still leaving on time? It looks on the board like they delayed it.
She sighs and types some more.
ICE QUEEN: Yes, my mistake, that flight has been delayed an hour.
ME: Will I be able to make the connecting flight in Chicago?
HUGE sigh.
ICE QUEEN: Yes, sir. You'll be fine.
I get to Gate C14 and show my ticket and boarding pass to the gentleman. Disagreeing with the Ice Queen, he tells me if I want to make my Chicago connection, I've got to board some random flight that's leaving right now instead of waiting for my delayed scheduled flight. I ask about my suitcase and he cuts me off: "We do this all the time, sir. Your bag will make the exact same trip as you."
This man will prove to be a liar, a whore, and quite possibly Satan himself. I quickly board the plane and fly to Chicago.
14) In Chicago all goes well, I make the flight to Los Angeles and land safely. I go to the baggage claim and watch as happy person after happy person collects his or her bags. Mine does not come. I wait five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. No bag.
I give up, and head to the Baggage Complaint desk. The line is 20 people deep, and only two clerks are working the desk. I wait in the extraordinarily slow line for nearly an hour. Finally, it is my turn. I approach the desk. My clerk, Reggie, looks up to greet me.
The lights flicker at LAX. Once. Twice. Reggie looks at his computer screen. Looks up at me.
REGGIE: Oh no.
An enormous woman comes out from a break room that is literally overflowing with employees who don't appear concerned with the ever-expanding Baggage Complaint line. She looks at Reggie's computer. And screams at the line:
ENORMOUS WOMAN: System's down! Call the 1-800 number!
She waddles off. Reggie shrugs and heads into the break room. The line stands in disbelief.
I call the 1-800 number and a robot tells me "There is a wait of...one hundred and twenty-five minutes." I hang up.
Try to envision this: A line of (at this point) 30+ frustrated travelers, and every American Airlines clerk is in a break room discussing the most recent Nelly album so loudly that we can hear every word. Finally, a Nice Woman approaches the break room and says:
NICE WOMAN: We're not going to leave. Could someone come out and help us?"
ENORMOUS WOMAN: Call the 1-800 number!
NICE WOMAN: We've waited here a very long time. When will the system be running again?
ENORMOUS WOMAN: It's gonna be a few minutes.
ENTIRE LINE: A few minutes!?!?!
So lazy are these people that they take a five minute computer crash as reason to just pack it up for the day. Instead of telling us the wait would be five minutes, the Enormous Woman just tells us to go away. Unbelievable.
With a huge sigh and an eye roll, Reggie comes back to work. The computer system is up and running again. Thank God I didn't get out of line. For the next several minutes, Reggie will speak to me in both a Jamaican accent and a completely inaudibile whisper, despite my repeated requests for him to speak up.
REGGIE: What kinda beeyag?
ME: It's very ugly. Like a big brown thing with gold buckles. It looks like one of the first suitcases, like it's very old and cheap.
REGGIE: Letter?
ME: Letter?
REGGIE: Letter?
ME: What letter?
REGGIE: Letter, sir. Letter.
ME: I don't have a letter.
REGGIE: Letter. Bag. Is der letter? Bag.
ME: I...I don't know what you're saying.
REGGIE: Letter.
I stare at him blankly.
REGGIE: Letter.
I stare at him blankly.
REGGIE: Is der letter in your beeyag!
At this point an Old Man waiting in line comes to my aid.
OLD MAN: What are you saying!?!
REGGIE: Your bag! Is it letter!?
ME: Leather?
REGGIE: Yes! Letter!
ME: Oh! Jesus Christ! No, it's like fake.
OLD MAN: (to everyone else in line) He was saying "Leather!"
EVERYONE IN LINE: Ohhhhhhhh!
I smile at everyone. Reggie asks me to fill out an alarming amount of paperwork.
REGGIE: You keeyan wait at da airpeeort, or you keeyan go home.
ME: Is there any point in me waiting at the airport?
REGGIE: Ya beeyag might come on da leeyater flight.
ME: Might? Or will?
REGGIE: Don't know.
ME: What do you think the odds are of it being on a later flight?
REGGIE: Odds?
ME: Odds.
REGGIE: Two percent?
ME: Two percent?
REGGIE: Ten percent? I don't know.
ME: Which flight might it be on?
REGGIE: Dunno.
ME: Is there another flight coming from Chicago anytime soon?
REGGIE: Probably.
ME: Could you look?!?
REGGIE: (Really sighing and eye rolling now) 7:10.
ME: Thank you, Reggie. Thank you.
I drag my carry-on back over to the bag carousel, where I stand for an hour as bag after bag is picked up. By smiling people. Happy people. People getting picked up by old friends, girlfriends, family. I wait and wait and wait. And finally, giving this story what I suppose in my life will have to suffice as a happy ending, my hideous bag comes down the chute.
It is upside down.
My bag was handed down to me by my parents, but has been in the family a good long while, maybe since the Mayflower days. It announces to the world: "The owner of this bag lacks class, taste, and wealth!" I have never had a trip where someone didn't comment on it, and this was no exception.
SNOBBY TEENAGE GIRL: (pointing at my bag) Look at that suitcase!
MOTHER: Megan, be quiet.
SNOBBY TEENAGE GIRL: It's not like luggage is that expensive...
MOTHER: Megan.
SNOBBY TEENAGE GIRL: Look at that buckle!
MOTHER: I see it.
I look her right in the eye as I pick it up. Her face turns red and she looks away.
An hour later I return home, reeking of cigarette smoke, body odor, and failure. I open my suitcase and excitedly unwrap my Elvis clock.
It is broken in two.
Hands trembling, I sit on the foot of my bed and vow never to leave my apartment again.
Oh my god that story was terrible. These things actually happen to people!?
I hate to laugh but jesus christ that's a damn mess. I'm sorry about your
clock. But I will never fly with american airlines after that.. haha.
Geesh, Pat. I don't think I can complain about my state of affairs for
awhile. And not leaving the house? Think of all the writing you can get
done, delivery you can consume, and little bubble you can create. Sorry
about your Grams and the whole trip being such a nightmare. Next time
you'll know what I know - don't fly unless you absolutely, positively,
have-to. I have only flown once since 1990 and the only qualification I
have for flying being a success is that the plane didn't crash. I don't
care about quality or food or passengers or the in-flight movie... The
only thing I care about is that the plane didn't crash. And, if nothing
else, your plane didn't crash, right?
Scribe
Pat, sorry I couldn't make it to St. Louis, but the weather was pretty bad
down here. Scribe, you haven't been on a plane for 16 years? Have you
"gone dark"? Are you the protege of the Unabomber? Pat who all did you
hang out with in St. Louis? Who was it that was yelling at the man in the
diner? My guess is Brown.
Diana,
Pat, that was so sad..i'm sorry about your grandma and all the terrible
things that happened this weekend. i believe you'll only go up from here.
think of all this as your "i was a struggling writer before i made it"
story!
Not to minimize the very real horror of your trip, but you do realize that
American Airlines offers at least two non-stop trips from LAX to STL per
day, right?
Jill,
Pat dear,
You just wrote Planes, Trains and Automobiles II.
Hey Pat, if I'd known that Bank of America was gonna freeze your checking
account, I would've bought those Pan's Labyrinth tickets myself. Cause shit
like this only happens to you.
if you think this story is a tale of misfortune so great that it a requires
solemn oath that it's 100% true, then i hope nothing that's actually bad
ever happens to you.
Hello Job,
Pat,
Donald Trump indeed! After all, you DID spring for a rental car from
Memphis to St. Louis, and not even think twice about adding the insurance!
Since when does asking for the odds of an occurance result in a percentage?
American Airlines has lost our family bags twice. Their customer service
department is a giant, diseased cunt. It's a shame they fly places that
we're going to.
-M
"Job,"
Wow Pat! Sounds like the gang and I missed out on not hitting up the
Courtesy Diner. After a fairly in depth lecture that night from your
"mystery friend" I would have liked to see the continuation of those wacky
adventures.
I figured either this "Job" poster was a semi-clever satirist, or he is
the guy who picks up God's poop, as if he's walking God on a leash.
Pat, I'm truly sorry for your hellish weekend. I mean you spent time with
Mikey J, why must fate torture you so? You have my deepest sympathies.
You think that whole watching a baby die is bad.... you should try going to class only to have the batteries on your ipod die. That ACTUALLY happened to me last week. I don't know if I'll be able to recover. You older generations will never understand the depth of the isolation and anguish brought on by the new iworld. I envy your ignorance. Pray you never have to know my pain.
Dude, my sympathies for all the unlucky shit that's happened to you so far.
But I must say, you sure know how to spin a shitty weekend into a hilarious
story! This one definitely ranks up there as one of your funniest posts.
Pat,
First and foremost, this story is HILARIOUS. Oh Lord, I need to dry my
eyes…. Second, I think you are getting some self-absorbed 'trolls' on your
blog. There’s only room for one self-absorbed person on this site and
that’s Pat Walsh. Or maybe there was joke that I missed (Job). Also, I'm
shocked that some of your readers (friends?) are surprised that a day like
this could actually happen to someone (especially for Pat Walsh - this
adventure is par for the course - correct?), and that you avoid a non-stop
flight because: 1) you have no money and 2) you are a cheap-bastard.
Pat american airlines is the devil. Mel and I had a run in with them and
she wrote them a letter about the experience saying that we would never use
them again. They wrote her a letter back with a $100 flight discount. She
sent it back and said that they could shove it up their ass she was never
going to take them again. That's how much we hate AA. Southwest is the only
way to go. The jamaican bit was hilarious though, I was laughing quitely to
myself.
the exaggeration isn't the point. it's your tone that's objectionable. you
come off as self-indulgent and insufferable. if i had to summarize the
content and tone of this piece, it would be: "a funeral and a string of
mildly inconvenient customer service experiences all in one weekend? what,
is the world out to get me?"
why do I get the feeling that "Job" was doing a google search on the "Book
of" for their bible study group and somehow ended up here?
Job, one, if you don't like this site, then don't come back. It is people
like you who complain about too much violence/sex on television while their
"god fearing" children are watching it in the next room. Just turn off the
television, and let people enjoy what they enjoy. If you want to only go
to a site about Jesus and how terrible life should be for those who don't
"believe" then so be it. I am sure it is intolerable to you when 13 year
olds come to your sites and spout about how much the J.C. sucks (I think I
just compared Pat to Jesus, God Damn it or perhaps Pat Damn it).
Enough is enough. I've had it with all this motherfuckin' snakes on this
plane!
My comment can't be posted for some reason???
Wow - another troll, Congratulations! I have a feeling that Job is really
Aaron Sorkin. Which makes his complaint (not pretentious enough!) much more
understandable.
Job,
Shit's heatin' up on the ol' Walshblog!
Wow, someone needs to get their panties out of a wad & it ain't you
Patrick!
you really don't understand what tone and point of view are, or why they're
important, do you. you will eventually, after you spend a few more staffing
seasons as an office temp.
WOW! Somebody's jealous! Job, what do you do, pray tell?
Dear"RIM-JOB",
Is this guy serious? Job, everyone here finds Pat hilarious...you don't. So
go read something else! We won't miss you!
Guys, come on. Job's a troll. He's just saying what he's saying to get a
reaction. Can you really imagine an actual parent trotting out their dead
kid for the readers of a comedy blog and then accusing everyone of "not
understanding tone?" C'mon.
Job I also would like to know what you do and where you aquired your
literary expertise. Not only are you well versed in the complexities of
tone and parellel structure, you show a true genius' ability for cutting
social and literary critique. Please give me your adress so I can come
worship your greatness in person. How I long to learn from a master of
modern literary thought, who truly understands concepts such as "themes"
and "story arcs," not to mention making a pompous ass of yourself. I'm just
begining to explore my own capabilities in this arena and would appreciate
any guidence you could offer. Who cares about the subtlety of juxtaposition
anyway? No one catches on to that: clear and direct comparisons need to be
expressly stated. You beat the reader over the head with your express point
time and time again to make sure they get it. Isn't that why we modern
literary theoriest and critics have given up on analysing works
functionally? Who really wants to understand how a work functions as a
whole when we can jump straight to superficial themes? What a waste of time
and energy that was (plus it was always a little too complicated for me to
understand anyway... I'm sure you know what I mean). My, how you have so
many lessons to learn Mr. Walsh. I suggest you throw yourself at Job's feet
as I intend to do. If we pay close attention and do exactly as he says, we
may one day be regarded as worthy successors to his literary legacy.
John
Job, do NOT believe John J. I believe he was employing sarcasm in his last
post.
Pat,
I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. I'm also sorry you had such a
rough time traveling. My flight home to VA over Christmas was somewhat
similar, though not quite as bad. My trip was more on the level of a child
I don't know dying of AIDS in Africa than my own child suffocating slowly
in a hospital room. I mean, you know, it was terrible but not nearly as
bad as yours. Does anyone like traveling unless it's to go on vacation? I
know I sure don't.
did this guy just google "job" and hit up someone's personal blog and
decide to make depressing critiques? Cause usually when I google "job" I
get monster.com, which coincidentally is a company whose commericials Pat
ALMOST starred in. Talent, my dear sir, this gentleman has in spades. -Kara
"too lazy to create a profile right now" Klenk
i wonder how many times i need to mention staffing season before someone
figures out that i'm a (working) sitcom writer. a little slow on the uptake
around here, i see.
I read your entry about you just getting home from your trip and thought it
was funny your family is in St Louis and mine are in Joplin (I was born and
raised there) then I read this entry and thought you must have had the
worst weekend possible. This morning I saw on yahoo news an article about
a cat lost in the cargo area of a plane for 3 weeks! Be glad you're not a
cat - or was that your cat?
Job, what do you think of this premise for a sitcom episode? A group of
friends go to a Chinese restaurant, and stand around for a really long time
waiting for a table. Obviously, in the grand scheme of things, this is not
a very big problem. Indeed, it's rather petty. (There are no respirators
involved). Yet it's the very discrepancy between the tone and subject
matter that makes it so hilarious. A Seinfeld classic, in fact.
A sitcom writer, Job? Honestly? That's supposed to intimidate Pat and make
feel him like less of a writer because you're one of the guys crafting the
shit that is primetime television? Let me guess, you just got on IMDB, your
name's finally in credits somewhere, and you think you're big shit. Hey,
maybe you are, and maybe I enjoy your work, who knows? It's just that I
work with plenty of "working" comedy writers, and a title alone does not a
writer make. I also think it's a little absurd that an accomplished sitcom
writer like yourself would berate Pat for his tone being "completely out of
place considering how insignificant problems are," when such types of
trivialities were the basis for nearly every episode of one of the greatest
shows of all time, Seinfeld. Many comedy writers are elitist pricks, and
that's fine because many of them have the talent to back up the attitude.
You, however, seem like you're probably just a prick.
Job,
Pat, I am impressed! You ACTUALLY know who Tom Brady is.
My favorite part is how he thinks we're all idiots because he mentioned the
words "Staffing Season" a couple times and we didn't immediately assume he
is a very important sitcom writer. I know what "staffing season" is too,
does that mean I'm a sitcom writer? AWESOME! I can move out of this shitty
apartment!
Hey guys, George Clooney here. I'll prove it to you:
"Does Tom Brady go to pee-wee football games and call the kids
uncoordinated little brats?"
"I wouldn't dare compare myself to either, as they're almost sacred to me,
but we have a similar frustrated, exasperated "POINT OF VIEW."
Note how this guy just keeps ignoring Pat and everyone else's very valid
questions and just keeps restating his own thudding, boring opinion, an
opinion he swears is gospel, despite the fact that he is totally alone in
thinking as he does.
Job,
See, maybe this guy only read this entry, but what I love about Patrick's
writing IS his self-deprecation. Patrick is almost ALWAYS the butt of the
joke in his entries.
Job,
Actually, this is a good lesson in storytelling. Nothing gets more
reaction out of people than a bad guy. I'm not sure how many people have
an imagination fertile enough to make up a douche as big as Job, but it's
still an important point.
Let's play list the sitcoms currently on the air to find out where Job's
talents are exhibited...
I'm sure we could figure out where he works. I think "The War at Home" had
a recent episode where Michael Rappaport had to watch his son die. Sadly,
that was the funniest thing that has ever happened on "The War at Home."
Droll indeed, dude.
Eugene Mirman is the shit. I love his youtube videos. I think my favorite
is the one that's a "message from the future." Awesome.