On Thursday this past week I worked in the mall at a place called "The Jerky Hut." This is something I have wanted to do for quite some time now. For the shear novelty of myself selling jerky in the mall. I loved it. For the equivalent to one hour of "work" I was paid three large jerky sticks, I was paid in jerky....GOLD. Wow it was fantastic. JERKY. Yeah.

Anyway last night I had another odd job -working at the annual charity ball, oh yeah. Glamour was the word, not tipping the guy holding the door open for my over indulgent self was the phrase, and if there were an official shrewd remark of the night it was be "screw the douche at the door."

Now I will give a disclaimer, the rest of this idiots will be completed with myself on NyQuil, so I suspect the integrity and whatever else is going to quickly dissipate as the editorial goes on.

Onward with the fantastic, whimsical and magical night last night. Not only did we get to hold the door for people at temperatures below 10 degrees but also we were lucky enough to listen to all of their stupid inane problems and "witty" comments. "Fancy shoes," was flattering for the first part of the night but as the night went on it turned into an insult for some reason. Around 6 p.m. everyone that showed up obviously didn't get out much -hence showing up early for a social event, then as the night went on the attendants grew even more belligerent and drunk. It went from "Nice," or "Fancy" shoes to "Your letting the hot air out." From that comment spurred a phrase in my head I had heard several times before, it goes a little something like this, "Burn the rich, keep warm" -in that order.

OH and the grand entrances by those who thought they were oh so superior to me and my fellow colleagues showing up in such coveted vehicles as the minivan, which sources tell me, drive like a car, yeah, a car, but it's a fricken van, I know. Another popular car among the neavo rich was the small sport utility all the luxury and class of a more expensive and fairly common on in a tiny, unsafe package. I was obviously salivating, some would pretend to let us valet park the car, and get back in laughing, as I sobbed, for it has been my life's work to prepare myself to drive their shitty suv.

Upon entering we were totally ignored except by a few people, which were nice enough to talk to us, because, guess what, they weren't total douche bags. Hard to believe, I know, people talking to the volunteer help, as they were actual people.

Our "boss" I use the term loosely, because whenever you have some who is your "boss," you are usually getting paid, and they usually make contact with you more than just the first time you talk to them, and sometimes introduce themselves, which was far too time consuming for our "boss" because she cut all of that out. I felt lucky to be almost talked to by her, what with her Duran Duran black and white strapless suit that she couldn't barely pull off. Also the straggly straight comb down hair look must be in, because she was sporting it, and too good to talk to me, so she should know better than I? Also she was supposed to give us a "board" as she explained to sort the keys for valet parking, she of course never spoke to us again, and the board maintains it's mystery and enigmatic charisma, "what does the board look like?" "Is it real?" "I heard it was a myth."

After awhile Brian and I walked in to the party looking for food, drinks, salvation. We found partly drunk middle aged men and women dancing to what I believe was poor 80's music being played by a band that looked like flock of seagulls exploded and was dipped into pretzel batter, smothered in butter and salt, then cut into bits, burned, painted different colors, and sold as an ash tray by an Indian off the interstate at the "family business" (orange stand).

Then the party began, oh wait, before that, did I mention the heat stopped working, and they wouldn't bring any of the portable heaters into the room we had to stay in to see if people were coming to open the door? No? Well yeah, no heat, big fun, no feeling, no drugs, must be frostbite.

Brian and I finally found chicken, but the only plates they had had about a 6'' diameter, which fit, sooo much food, we made great piles of chicken and returned them to Carl to be eaten and enjoyed, they were, and there was much rejoicing. Then the homeless guy woke up, looked at us, looked up at the moon, and a single tear drop feel from his eye, this was heaven, welcome, the chicken is free, and the ignorant aristocracy rule, chicks drink for free.

I can't believe people drink 7up, whatever taste it does have, is bad, and it only goes well with sprite, because they taste similar. Stop drinking it, and maybe they will make a blue or red sprite that tastes good.

So I was talking to this guy at the party, he started off with "I was driving my motorcycle through Europe," he also made points on "Two girls from Belgium," and meeting a guy in "Paris." Brian looked at me and said, "He is like James Bond," we just went to go see the new one, I agreed, he's my new hero, I want to be him.

Also, in the Austin Powers movies he says "Judo Chop," and chops people rendering them unconscious, but in Judo there is no hitting or chopping, essentially it is a paradox unless a person named Judo "Chopped" something, they we could say, "Look at 'Judo Chop' that thing." Then the Chinese girls cover their mouth and giggle, and I take a sip of my tea, look to judo, nod, and then the camera does a close-up of my face slowly growing closer until you see the inside of my eye while a weird Chinese lady sings some stupid song you can't understand. Then it cuts to a red light blinking and the movie is over, leaving you to wonder, like you are now, "what the hell just happened." You shake your head, wonder if you should laugh, and continue reading.

A red light starts blinking.