Saturday, May 14, 2011


It was a typical Thursday night for Jerome. The bar had just closed, and in his drunken state, he had to haul his stumbling body home. However, he had no idea what time it was. “Sorry Jerome. You have to leave.”
“I ha… have to… But we’re buddies, man…”
“Look, you can barely stand up. You’re done for the night. Now go home. And sober up. It isn’t even the weekend yet and you’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Oh… It’s not Friday?”
“No, it’s Thursday. And you’ve got work in 8 hours, according to your story earlier. Come on… Get up.” The bartender said, trying to push Jerome out the door.
“Oh my gah… I have an expense report to finish…”
“Yes. Yes, you do. Now get out of my store. I want to go home too, you know.”
“Oh-… Okay.” Jerome stumbled out of the front door and out into the chilly November evening. He lived two blocks away. Hardly an unwalkable distance, but when you’re drunk, every step takes herculean effort.
“Hey man, you look like you could use something to liven you up.” said a shady looking man, stepping from the shadows of a nearby alley. “I’ll cut you a nice deal. A gram of the good stuff for $50. Take it or leave it.”
“N… no.” Slurred Jerome, waving a hand in the general direction of the man. “I have expendits to report about. You go on now and leave me be!”
“Jeez, man. No need to be so hostile.” The man retreated sharply.
Jerome had one and a half blocks to go. A stray dog began following him, nudging at his knees to try to get him to pay attention to it.
“Good doggy… You go home now, I don… don’t have time for you.”
The dog whined loudly and redoubled its efforts.
“No… I don’t have food. Go away.” He flung a hand in the general direction of the dog. The dog bit his hand.
“Ow! Fuck you, dog!” He aimed a sloppy kick at the dog, which turned into an accidental stomp on the dog’s foot.
The dog yelped in pain and retreated.
“Yeah, that’s what ya fucking get, you stupid dog.”
He then bumped into the chest of a large black man wearing a wife beater. The man’s head was roughly twice the width of Jerome’s.
“What, you got a problem with my dog?” The man said.
“Wha-woah-wait. I thought that was a stray dog…”
“It was. But a dog’s a dog, dog, and I don’t appreciate dogs like you kicking dogs like that, you dig, dog?”
“… What’d you say?”
“Did I fucking stutter?” The black man then whooped Jerome across the face with a fat fist the size of Jerome’s head.. Jerome flew back a few feet.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your dog!”
“Damn right, you’re sorry.” The large man then spat on Jerome and continued on his way.
Jerome had 1 block to go, after he crossed the next road.
He looked both ways before crossing, holding his head as he did so. He then heard a siren blare to his left. He looked, and there, less than one foot from him, was a police car. The policeman inside opened the door and stepped out. He walked up to Jerome and held a flashlight up to his eyes. Jerome shielded his eyes, as the flashlight was the brightest thing he had come across in 7 hours.
“You jaywalking, son?”
“What? No, I was on the crosswalk, right here.” Jerome pointed downward, and found that he was standing 6 inches to the left of the crosswalk. “But that’s only like half a foot!”
“Sorry, son, but the law’s the law. And you just broke it. You’re either on the crosswalk, within the law, or off it, outside the protection of the law. I’m gonna have to write you a ticket.”
“You’re fugging kidding me. I… just wand to go home and so far I’ve been bidden, beaten, and some guy offered me crack. Jus’ a block from here! There’s a… a drug dealer less than a block away and you’re writing me a ticket for jaywalkin’ by 6 inches! Do you have any idea how retarded that is?”
“Hey, asshole. My son’s retarded so I don’t take kindly to that sort of language. If you hadn’t said that, I might have let you off the hook if you showed me where the drug dealer was. But you know what? Now I’m going to write you a ticket for being drunk in public.”
“I was just walking home! From the bar, right next to the crack dealer!”
“Hey, good idea. I’ll write you up for verbally assaulting a police officer while I’m at it.”
“Fuck this. I don’t need this.” Jerome turned to walk away.
“You sure you want to do that, son?”
“I live like less than a block away. Just leave the tickets on my doorstep or something.”
He wrote out one last ticket with a smile on his face. “… Resisting… Arrest. There. Done. Here you are, kid. Stay out of trouble and hopefully the next time we see each other it’ll be under different circumstances.”
Jerome took the tickets from the officer’s outstretched hand and flipped through them. “Un-fucking-believable. This is like $500 in tickets for walking home from a bar.”
“Hey. Did you hear me? Go away before I find something else to give you a ticket for.”
“Oh.” Jerome stumbled the rest of the way to his apartment. He opened the front door of the building and fumbled his way up the steps. He took his keys out of his pocket, promptly dropped them, picked them up again, and undid the lock of his 1-bedroom apartment.
Only to find his girlfriend sitting at the dining room table just in front of the door.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…”
“That’s how you greet me? Really? That’s how you greet me after you forget our anniversary?”
“Oh… honey, I-“
“No. Just shut up. I’ve had it with you never spending any time with me, always showing up drunk, waking me up in the middle of the night, and just generally being an asshole to me. I don’t need this!” She choked out, on the verge of tears.
“I’m sorry… Baby… Just come here…”
“Are those fucking police tickets!? No. Fuck you. I’m leaving! I’m going back to Maine to live with my parents!”
“You’re making a mistake, baby! No one can do the things I do for you!”
“Yeah. Right. What can’t they do? Try to fuck me with a 4-inch, limp, gross penis? Afford a one bedroom apartment? Show up past midnight with a bunch of police tickets? Drunk? Forget my anniversary? Yeah. You’re right. No one else can do that. No one else is as much of a fuck-up as you are!”
“Just give me one more chance! I can change!”
“No. No more chances. I’m through with this. I already packed my shit. I’m LEAVING.
She stormed past him, knocking heavily into his shoulder with tears running down her face. Down the stairs, out the front door, and into the cold November night.
Jerome slumped into a chair in the Dining room and sighed to himself.
“I fucking HATE Thursdays.”

Friday, April 8, 2011

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

So today I got locked in at work and then 5 minutes later I was locked out.

I finished returning items customers decided they didn't want, so then I went to go outside to round up the carts from the parking lot, but WTF the door was locked. So then I went to the other two doors, and they were locked too. So I found my manager and he unlocked one of the doors, and I went outside and started gathering the shopping carts. When I came back, the doors were locked again.

Luckily, I had my phone, so I whipped it out and called the store's number. My friend Dan picked up on the other end.

"Hello, Cromwell XPect?"

"Hey, It's Anthony. I'm locked out."

"Haha, what? I'll be right over to let you in."

So he walked over to the door from the customer service desk (We'd been closed for 20 minutes at this point.) And he started patting his pockets. Then he looked over with a sheepish expression and said "Uh... I don't have the keys. Let me get Kirk."

Kirk is the manager who unlocked the door at first to let me outside.

So, all told, I spent 15 minutes outside waiting to be let in.

Did I mention I was getting paid that whole time? :3

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Working on a story with my friend Julie.

It's about a quirky girl named Harriet and her dog, Kipper, and the adventures they get into.

Oh. And Harriet's a serial killer and her dog ends up becoming a zombie that tries to kill her.

Thought I should mention that.

Also, here's a Digchoke.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Not a good start to my day...

So the other day I walked into work, 5 minutes late
(no one cared that I was late, that's when I always show up.)
and got my drawer from the cash office. Then, I walked up front with my drawer.

So I got up front after being stopped a couple times by elderly people asking where some obscure kind of italian pastry was. When I got there, the supervisor tells me to go to register 3. Fair enough, I guess.
(Note, my supervisor is not a cute petite blonde. That's just what I felt like drawing.)
Now I finally get on my register, flip on my light, and announce, "I'll take the next person in line on register 3!"
Soon after, a couple in their mid-30's show up at my register with maybe 7 items.
The first one they hand me is a can of tomato sauce, so I turn on my scanner and ring that puppy.

Here we go...

      No beep? That ain't right... Let me try again.

          Come on register...
Please just scan for me...

So at this point I'm as infuriated with my uncooperative register as my customers are. Their item clearly has a working barcode, so I tried to scan it with the little scan gun thing. No luck. I could have put in the barcode's number manually...

HA! HAHAHA... Oh man, I actually fooled myself for a second there. Who am I kidding? I'm not that dutiful! So I took the easy way out and asked to be put on a different register. Now, surely, I would be able to get some work done.
Or not? There was no way that TWO registers could be broken, much less the two that they put me on. So I tried a few more times. No luck.
"What do I do now?" I asked my Supervisor. "This one isn't working either."
"No way, that one just got fixed!"
"Clearly the guy who was fixing the registers doesn't know what he's doing."

So she put me on the only working register that wasn't occupied. Register 1.

"That doesn't sound so bad!" you might think. "Register 1? You must feel damn important!"

You'd be wrong.
See that? It's a measurement marker. This register has a counter end that is 2 feet by 2 feet. I am not exaggerating. More than $50 of groceries and I'm out of space. And see those prong thingys? That's the bag-holder. There were no bags on the register when I got there, so I had to keep the customers (The SAME TWO from before) waiting even LONGER while I got bags.

And once that was done? I had to bag as I went. Which wasn't all that bad for the first two customers, but the third lady I rang...

She had a good $80 of just produce. That's like 40 pounds of fruit and vegetables. So it took me about 10 minutes to get her rung all the way through, and bag everything.

She was one of those customers that just stands there and watches the register boy do all the work. Didn't even look like she wanted to help at all. So of course I end up finishing her order, and just when I was done with her, just when I thought the madness was over...

This guy came in with a bag of oranges and paid me with two twenty-dollar bills stuck together. I, of course, assumed that it was one $20 and gave him the according change. Later, he comes back, really pissed off. Apparently I had charged him 22.50 for his bag of oranges, and then he proceeded to make up some bullshit about how my register actually showed $22.50 on the screen, (IT TOTALLY DIDN'T) and I told him I couldn't help him, and he went to customer service with it.

The next day I came in to work and found that the guy was right, my register was over by $20, so we had to call the guy and then he came and got his money. I almost got written up for it.

But yeah, there you have it. A sample of the crap that goes on where I work.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Part 2 of the Theory

I elaborate about black holes.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

A theory I thought of not long ago.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


It was a Monday that a
(the headlights, I will not forget)
crashed into the driver's side
I know my son, he must have cried
off my shoulders my head flied
and the windsheild it met.

My son, from the back seat.
A scream I would never hear.
Never, ever, this I fear.
No longer do I have an ear.
That part of me is creamed.

The firemen came with jaws of life.
No hate I feel for them, they tried their best.
They saved my son from the metal nest.
That pierced me roughly through my chest
So I have met my fate.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Short Poem-thing because you all deserve something, I have done nothing for too long.

Table of Contents

A cat.
It's my cat.
Look at her purr.
Her name is Molly.
She is shedding her fur.
Getting it on my new shirt.
That dang cat has got no manners.
I'd train it but you can't train a cat.
She's okay the rest of the time.
I'm watching her sleep right now.
That would be creepy, but...
She's only a cat.
And thank goodness,
Cat's don't care.
They don't.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Anthony- Day 6 Song: Wal-Mart

River Song

River, river, flowing softly, did you turn a bend?
Steady, silent, never violent, look, the rocks you rend.
Can you hear me, little river, singing to you here?
Carving grooves, you always move, and nothing do you fear.

Flow on, flow on! I’ll sing my song, and you’ll sing yours.
Water, glide gently on your way, leisurely tour.
Don’t mind me, river, I’m just a man, I’m doomed to die.
You’ll never end, flow on, my friend, from sources high.
Covered in ice, shining in white, safe in winter’s arms.
Steady flowing, softly glowing, to you can come no harm.
As in a fable, if I am able, I’ll amble alongside
And if I’m tired, and so inspired, I’ll build a boat to ride.

Home to many, life aplenty, water crystal clear.
Through the woodlands, your quiet call sends, peace for all to hear.
Don’t forget me, little river, someday I will return.
You have much to teach young souls, and I have much to learn.