The Bard and Porn

Happy Tuesday,

12:21pm - Our offices sit on the street level right on Santa Monica Blvd. Occasionally large trucks drive by. You know, the ones hauling huge loads of whatever. Lots of noise, pollution, etc. So Lesbian #1 in accounting sits right at the window that faces the street. Her phone on her desk is 12 feet from the pavement at any given moment. Occasionally truckers use something known as a CB radio. In our Internet times this may seem like an obsolete method of communication but, I assure you, it is not short in the entertainment department.

Lesbian #1's phone always picks up the short wave transmissions of truckers in the midst of conversation as they pass by. The intricate workings of the trucking industry are played through her speakerphone and bounce off our 5 foot vaulted ceilings for all to hear. Today's gems included:

"What the hell are you hauling? Come back." BEEP
"I'll bet you're hauling some good shit. Come back." BEEP
"What the fuck are you hauling faggot? Come back." BEEP
"I'll bet you're a nice faggot aren't you faggot. Come back." BEEP

Now I don't know about the rest of you, faggots and otherwise, but I don't know that I would necessarily respond to someone who repeatedly called me a faggot. Except for Karri of course. But what gets me is that even while harassing this other trucker, the trucker still uses the 'come back'. Doesn't that seem like stabbing someone and then handing them a towel for the blood?

Also, today, I was asked to model a few items for our website. Necklaces, tank tops, muscles shirts, etc. After I finished laughing, I stood up and said no. Then I laughed again. Then I went back to my desk and cried. Why is my job like a tragedy every day? Only Shakespeare had to ever deal with such tragedy.

A hole dug ever deeper than mine eyes
Have guessed to be the nether most descent
Into a silent spiral of despair
From which no boldened brigand might escape.
If ever ‘twixt my palms sat wisdom’s seat
I think it were a day I never joined
But played in merry fields made of dreams
Forgetful of the setting sun and moon.
The days of porn are ever drawn around
To tug and tear my poles into the ground.


Jimmy