‘Feel like Nelly when he had the Band-Aid on’

“Crown Royal and Coke. What I am drinkin’
Newports don’t work, look at ’em throwin’ words

I know I need to quit again
But soon as I try to go a day or two,
I’m caught up in some shit again.”

Lil Wyte & Jelly Roll — “And the Band Plays On”

New boys don’t work.

No shit.

Fuckin Eric Trump with the Booger Fetish called me at 4:05 Friday to ask where an issue was.

My reply was a metaphorical, “Eat shit, Sparky.” I said I have seven issues — with 700 steps each. You can wait in line, booger boy.

Furthermore, he missed most of the editing mistakes in the one issue he deigned himself good enough to glance at. Unless he agrees that credit card providers engage in “transitions” rather than transactions. In which case, let’s order gay wedding cakes for them all!

Thursday, I skipped lunch (well, that’s not an unusual occurrence) because I was told to send an “urgent” issue. I edited the 14-page thing, formatted it in WordPress, reformatted it for Dreamweaver … and waited.

Came in the next day to a brand-new version. “Disregard the old,” I was told. So the six (at the time) projects with the 750 steps became six plus a redo.

Well, six plus TWO redos. After I re-edited and reformatted the big-ass document for web and HTML, I was sent a THIRD version.

So Booger man —

You know, the motherfucker who watches TV (LOUD) all day and hires a freelancer to write his shit … and who bullies a marketer into doing his editorial work … and who has me to edit and publish all the shit that he doesn’t feel he has to inherit until he is good and goddamned ready —

You can borrow my beach-ball-sized lady nuts if you ever want to know what it feels like to have a set.

My boss overheard him making the call and immediately Skyped me to offer to beat the shit out of him. I said I want the first, last and EVERY OTHER PUNCH I could get in.

It’s OK. I’m about to force him to take it all on. Although something tells me that poor marketer whom he has designated as his editorial slave will suffer the most.

Good thing I’ve been training her well. That’s all I gotta say about that … today, anyway …

“I’m fed up, I’m on the road
I’m doing shows, I ain’t going home
On I-40, in the fast lane
Tryna get away from all the wrong

It’s catching up, I’m driving faster
It ain’t getting the best of me
Only reason I made it this far is I have the recipe

I know what I’m doin, 10 years and I’m only venting a little bit

If shit really get bad you’ll know cause I’ll fuck around and kill a bitch.”

Can I Get an 'Amen'?