I'm Pretty Sure I Crushed That Interview!

Come in, come in. Please have a seat.
Thanks, man.
You're most welcome. So let's get right to it, shall we?
M'eh. I guess.
I see that you're going with a casual look for your interview.
Yeah, I woke up late. So I just wore what I slept in.
Do you always sleep in shredded jeans and a dirty budweiser shirt?
I don't know. Maybe. These are my church clothes.
Church clothes?
Yeah, 'cause they're holey! Hahahaha. Get it? Holey. You probably don't get it.
No, I get it. It's very clever. A sense of humor can be a valuable asset here.
That's what she said.
Excuse me, what?
Duh. You said ASSet. Huhuuhhuuhuhhu.
Oh yes. The sense of humor thing again. Very nice.
Most people don't get my jokes. Because they're stupid.
The jokes?
No. The people. My jokes are the bomb.
Oh, I'm sure they are. Let's get back to the interview.
Whatevs.
I'll take that as an affirmative. First; why do you want to work here?
I don't know. I guess because it's something. The pay sucks and I hate the people, but, ya know.
Interesting, interesting. And where do you see yourself in five years?
I don't know. Running a prison gang drug business. Or in the morgue. Under an overpass in Portland? Someplace really bitchin'.
Oh, that's just great. So what do you consider your biggest weakness?
D'jou just call me weak, you pansy? I'll kick your bleepin' ass!
Are you insinuating temper is your achilles heel? Or is vulgarity your problem?
I'm not sure what all those words mean, but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to punch you in the throat.
Those are great answers. But keep in mind that this is part of the interview process. Is there are any other foibles we should be aware of?
Foibles?! I guess I like the one with the three pigs and the wolf.
Not fables, foibles. Minor character flaws.
Oh. Like my heroin habit? Or my felony goat rustling rap?
Yes.
Oh, well those things I already said. Also, I like to get drunk on Listerine. I force hamsters and pigeons to fight to the death by strapping tiny medieval weapons to their little arms. I relieve myself in newspaper boxes. I used to run a protection racket on my church choir group. I rarely shower... in the woman's locker room at the Y. I get my clothes of of recently deceased people at the hospital. I stole and then sold my grandma's dog and hot water bottle. Uhhmm. That's all I can remember at this moments, I'm a little messed up right now, I just ate some magic mushrooms I found under the trashcan at the dog park.
Oh, that's plenty. I don't normally say this in the middle of an interview, but you are really something special.
I know, right?!
Just extraordinary. Now let's do some word association.
With letters? Like a spelling bee?
No. I say words and you tell me the first thing that you think of.
Boobs.
I didn't start yet.
Doesn't matter. Everything makes me think of boobs.
OK, we'll see. Bird.
Boobies.
Television.
Boob.
Drums.
Boobs.
Puppy.
Boobs.
Eyes.
Boobs.
Cantelope.
Boob.
Mammal.
Boobs.
OK, last one. Boobs.
Did the aliens tell you to say that?! Damnit! Wear a tinfoil hat everyday for the last three years, and the aliens can't get in my stupid head, and then the first day I don't, the fricking aliens try and take over. Fricking great! Now I suppose your going to probe me!
Well technically, that's more than one word. Also; please pull your pants up.
Are we almost done? I'm supposed to meet my parole agent... or was it my dealer? in a few minutes. What else you got?
Almost done. Last thing. You just to need to take a piss test.
Just did.
In your pants?
Oh yeah.
Excellent! I have to say, I have never met anybody more qualified to be a belligerent homeless crazy guy. You have the position. When can you start?
Boobs! ALIENS! Alien boobs. Get out of my brain! Get out, get out, get out. Did you pee on me? Hey can you spare some change for a veteran? Boobs. Buddy. Buddy. Buddy. Give me some Listerine. I know you got some, your breath is fresh. AHHHHHHHHgggghghhh. Get out. Get out. Get out. Boobs.

Pajama Day.

Recently my pre-school age son had a super fun event at his day care center. It was called Pajama Day. It went like this; everybody was encouraged to show up in their pajamas,  and then they just did all the regular stuff they normally do on a typical day. But it was way more fun because they were wearing their pajamas. My son totally loved it.
   I was pretty jealous. How come something so joyful and fun is the sole property of the young? It's not fair. I need a Pajama Day much more than my kid does. My life is a never-ending series of mind numbingly boring events; I need pajama day. My shiftless-do-nothing-lazy-play-the-day-away-cartoons-and-sugared-cereal-happy-happy-baby-hobo child doesn't need Pajama Day to make his life better. It already IS better.
   So today I decided to wage an important, yet symbolic, battle for adults everywhere. I hijacked Pajama Day. I wore my pajamas all day. I went Bible study. I went to breakfast. I went to work, where I performed my plumberly duties, I had lunch, I went to the bank, I picked up my child from day care, I went to the grocery store, and then I went home. And it was great! It made everything better. It was intoxicating and pure.
   And then the cops showed up. I learned, it is frowned upon to wear your pajamas out in public if you are an adult. Especially at Bible study. And at restaurants. And at customer's homes. And at one's workplace. And at the bank. And at a day care center. And at the grocery store. Especially if your pajamas are your birthday suit.