Get Your Wallet. I've Got What You've Been Waiting For, Bitches!

A Non-Comment to Start Off...
I cannot comment on the passing of Pope John Paul II. It would be inappropriate.

And now, on to business...
Today is April 2nd, which is a good thing.

I figured April Fools could possibly get in the way of my job, and discussed the possibility with my manager. I had to go do some work outside of the office. Generally, my appearance means that the customer owes money (we'll say I'm in the business of forced collection of accounts receivables) and better find their check book. I told my manager, "If I show up and demand money, they'll think it's some sort of April Fools prank and make me leave. Shouldn't I just sleep in and take the day off instead?" She said no. I told her I'd probably just call in sick, then, but she said she was already doing that, so I couldn't either. Her logic made no sense, but all well.

April Fools actually worked in my favor. "You want money? Who sent you? Rodney? This is hilarious. I can play along! Here's a check for a million bucks. Watch his eyes pop out! But make sure he doesn't deposit it." It made the job easier.

I went to a club tonight. My neighbor and I wanted to go see what was going down--see what girls look like, maybe have a beer. But oh, wait--I fucking hate clubs. I hate everything about them, and I typically stand there turning over this conundrum in my head: "I just spent ten bucks to listen to music really, really loud in a really hot, crowded room crammed with people. Oh, and I spent as much on this one beer as I would have to buy a six pack. At what point does this make sense?"

And then I saw it as a way to capitalize. That's right. I see a real need in the market for...

REMOVED
My lawyer called this morning. I had an idea up for what I thought was an original idea on how to capitalize on the whole Club experience without visiting a club. Evidently, this has already been done. One of the attorneys for the guy that invented and currently markets it called my lawer and then faxed him over the Cease and Desist Order. He recently sold the entire idea to a major media conglomerate.

I'm forbidden to say which media conglomerate, but we'll say it's operated by a guy named Mupurt Rurdoch. And this Mupurt Rurdoch is one of the most powerful people in the world. He could ruin me without lifting a pinky.

And I can't afford to engage in copyright infringement. Holy Christ. I can't go back to jail. They're not joking when they say, "Don't drop the soap." There's so much bacteria and what have you on the grond; I shutter to think about it.

I made friends with the warden, though. I broke into her office once during a prison riot and played beautiful classical music over the PA system. It was beautiful. I played some Van Halen and NOFX before the prison guards came in and apprehended me. And it was an all-women's prison, so I guess that was pretty good. I hated having to be somebody's bitch, though. I mean--come on.

Solitary confinement wasn't so bad, though. You see, previous prisoners had painted lines to make it look like a racquetball court. So we were allowed to take in a racket, a ball, and a partner to play a set with. It's hard being alone for so long (you know, except for the occasional visitors and TV we were allowed to take in with us).

I'm not shitting you. Prison is a horrible place. They didn't even have HBO, and they served this wierd frozen YOGURT, rather than ice cream. Jesus Christ. I hope to never go back. Think of the HBO show Oz. Multiply the horror by about 100, and you're nowhere close. I mean, the French pastries were sometimes actually slightly overbaked--AND THEY STILL SERVED THEM. I sometimes have nightmares where I think about the slightly-too-browned Neopolitans. You don't even know what pain and true human suffering is.