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Right In the Neck, Dear by Ray Printer Friendly

Throat’s all sore from laughing. What’s the point of giving up the smokes if you can’t laugh for a solid two hours without hacking? Ah, well.

Smelling random things, just to see what’s what, most of it is pretty terrifying.

A co-worker told me today: “I’m not going to listen to you anymore! You’re a cynical old man!”

I go, “Hey, I’m not that old!”

And another co-worker, one that is new to my store, goes, “So you’re cynical?”

I go, “I’m a little cynical.” Because I’m not allowed to stab him right in the neck. By the way, if you ever feel like threatening someone, but don’t want to get in trouble for it, you can just say, “In the neck, man…right in the neck.” No violence even implied, but you would be amazed at how many people will run off to your boss and tell on you for threatening to stab them in the neck.

“Ray, did you tell Barney that you were going to stab him in the neck?”

“Absolutely not! I only said, ‘In the neck,’ which, where I’m from means the same thing as ‘Right on the nose.’ Like ‘Good job.’ I was just complimenting him, and he slanders me. I’m hurt!” And then when your boss walks off, you look at Barney, you go, “You ever tell on me again, Barney, right in the neck.” And you use your tone of voice to make sure that he knows for sure that this is no compliment.

I just figured out how to make the screen on my laptop not so bright. Yeah, man, I write about how stupid people are on a daily basis, and I just realized what the blue button with the sun on it does. I kind of want to experiment with some other buttons now, but I’m afraid I’ll do something to destroy the good thing I’ve got going on with my laptop at the moment.

I tried pushing a few, but nothing happened. I mean, it just exploded in my face, but I figure that’s about normal.

Wow…I’ve been staring at this page for over ten minutes now, wondering what I’m going to write next. I’ll try something, and then it sucks, so I’ll delete it. Too bad about hitting that wall.

Hey, if some evil government took over, and we no longer got names, only numbers, how would we do nicknames? Like if some girl’s name was 1,249,755,004. What would you call her for short?

You know what? Some girl called me sugar today. You know, like how old women can get away with calling you something like “Dear?” Here, like this:

“All right, here’s your receipt. You have a good weekend.”

“You too, dear.” See what I mean?

And this girl, she’s buying whatever, I’m like, “Your total is $72 even.” She hands me her credit card, she’s like, “Here you go, sugar.”

I’m used to old women saying shit like this. I mean, I live in Texas, you know? You just accept some things. But this girl was younger than me, and that made it really weird.

At what age are you old enough to talk to people like you’re an old lady? That’s what I’m wondering. This girl, she was twenty-two years old. Now don’t get me wrong—she’s going to grow into the kind of woman that calls complete strangers “sugar” and “dear” and “darlin’” and “hun.” That last one, that’s short for “honey.” I don’t know for sure how to spell that correctly, but considering the only people I’ve ever heard use it were sixty-year-old truck-stop waitresses, I guess it doesn’t matter too much. Not exactly my demographic, if you can dig it.

This girl, you can tell she’s going to grow up right into the mental image you had in your head just a second ago, so I guess it’s fine if she does things like call you “Shoog.” (Short for sugar—try to keep up.) I don’t know. I’m the kind of jerk that talks shit about everyone and uses the eff word twice every fifteen seconds (or an average of once every seven-point-five, if you want to get weird about it), but I didn’t get to do that until I was old enough to outrun my mom (had to run all the way to NYC that last time, and now I’m hiding out in Austin). So is that what we can assume? It’s when you can outrun your youth, that’s when you get to be the adult you will eventually grow into being?

You know what? Too much Beam.

I once saw a potato truck crash on a bridge. You wouldn’t believe how many potatoes those things will hold—until you see the entire freeway covered with them, I mean. I didn't even know they had trucks for potatos. I was working at a place called The Kettle (translated: generic IHOP), and there was an overpass almost directly in front of the place. This truck, I don’t know what was going on, but he tipped over, and the trailer tipped over the side of the bridge. It didn’t fall, but it sure as shit dumped potatoes all over the street below.

Also, there was a college student once who was so drunk that he stumbled back into the kitchen trying to pay his bill and find the exit. I directed him to the front of the building, but he got lost two more times before he made it to the cash register. After he paid and left the building, I asked the waitress, “That guy's driving? Should we call the cops?”

“Nah—he just left me a thirty dollar tip.”


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