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I'm posting it at the range and I'm only gonna say it once.

Next asshole who tries to get a free game out after bitching about losing is getting tied to a goddamn pole and being used for the pipsqueak target practice.

Someone needs to hire me soon or I may very well start to have a crisis of confidence.

Crap. I've thrown my back out. As much as I hate to do this (and I really, really do), it looks like I'm going to have to hire some help around here at the Warehouse. You must meet the following qualifications:

•Not an idiot or a klutz or, god forbid, an idiot klutz.
•Able to lift heavy objects and place them on shelves.
•Know how to work a cash register and make change.
•Have an attention to detail and know how to use a card filing system.
•Be over 18.

If you're interested, please fax your resume to [phone number], or email it to [email address]. If I think you meet the basic qualifications, I'll call you to set up an interview. Please, don't call me. Unlike most employers, the nagging to read your application just irritates me and might just make me "lose" your application.

Thank you.

Hello Valarnet. My name is Anya Christina Emanuela Jenkins. It's not a pleasure to meet you. Today I woke up at noon, ate a tub of uncooked cookie dough and watched the Price Is Right. Who is this fat guy and what happened to Bob Barker?

This is the purpose of this journal, correct? To tell people who do not care what you are doing with your day? That's all I ever see from it. I thought I would return the favor.