Russians Dont Like.....

In this new spire i call work, I've meet some interesting people.
Unlike the last workplace I slaved for, the makeup of the workers here are more European, and eastern European. The very ideas that i am now working with this culture has been a great opportunity to learn from them, observe our differences and likenesses. Its peeked all my scientific muscles and I've been silently observing the small noticeable differences between our cultures.

I have my own ideas as to how the majority of their traditions and ideals have been influenced. Sure the 'Cold War' and Stalin were key factors in creating ripples to current day society, but i think it goes deeper than this. So far my Hypothesis is that Rasputin's bearded threads still holds eerily close to every Russians and near Russian territories, possibly due to his Sex Cults and his love for taking bullet shots, his blood (being spilled all over the country) must be some pathogen that gives them the penchant for aggressive gene that most of their women hold today.

But enough about their History and their perpetual state of A-sexual mutations (like a frog) and focus on the current state of those Nuke loving Kalashnikov, in this new segment I'll be so happy to title "Russians Don't Like...."

Affinity for Infinity

A homeless man approached me the other day.
He asked for something i couldn't decipher through his dry, chapped skin lips and words that started with F*ck. This man must be a fan of the German language.

Whatever he did ask me I simply (as do most average to do debt drowning citizen) lifted my hand looked at him the best remorseful way possible and apologized for wasting my time. My hand was opened wide, as if i was some kind of magician showing the audience that nothing was in my hands.

To my surprise the hobo reached for my hand, In my shock i stood there not knowing what to do. The feelings and questions started to dart through my mind.

Whats he going to do?-I hope that sticky feeling on his hand is ketchup- I'll hold my breath so that i couldn't inhale his Oder-His teeth looks like corn-this looks right about gay right now-how do homeless people find the best shopping carts, the ones i normally end up with in the market are lobbing and turns to the sides-and so on........

In a fraction of a second more that a thousand thoughts jolt bouncing from one side of my brain meat to the other, but what the hobo said exceeded even beyond my expectations.
He compared my hand to his, and started to laugh.
"Are you OK? whats going on?" I asked the now amused Hobo.
"F*k'n Salright" the slur king stated
"F*k'n Small Hands Small Dick" the slur king decreed as he walked off to the Powell street Bart exit waiting for someone else to marvel at his gingivitis collection in his mouth.

By that nights end I couldn't help but feel good about myself knowing i brought happiness to a homeless mans life today.

On the line of 7

Its come to my attention of how much I've been too dependent on work.

My life revolves around the hours of my operations.

Whether it be going to the Gymnasium, bible study, and or valuable random acts of entertainment, one thing always remain the same, "Let me check if I'm off that day" has become my battle cry since after High School.

Last time around I tried to screw the system of things by taking a ridicules morning shifts and set things up by fooling the damned bureaucracy that established it by leaving all my nights available. That worked for a few months only the the fat man on top figured it out and decided to have its way with my mouth.

Lock jawed and penny less i took the first Overseer how came by my way. Now... I'm back to the grueling Graveyard and Swing shifts with lesser hours but with more flexibility. So far this Overseer has been gentile and a bit too kind. What evil sins will i find hidden in this establishments mattresses i can only sit back an wait.

Till then, i keep hoping for a better tomorrow and bath in the filth of today.