It was one year ago today that a spineless turd named Art Cotton fired me from my job as public relations director at that university. He told me it was the decision of Vicki Patterson to let me go; she’s the friend of our spineless turd hero who got the job I should have had after my former boss was incapacitated. The turd later told a friend he let me go so I could pursue my writing. And he told other friends I chose to quit because I could no longer bear to come in to work after my former boss died (he died about a month after I was canned).
I sure don’t miss dealing with Mr. Spineless Turd, or his two-faced wife and the trustees who bore the Cottons’ lip prints all over their asses. I would like to have my old salary, though. It wasn’t much, but it’s more than I make now.
In other cheery news, I’ve been having dreams where I get shot and/or otherwise mangled. For years I’ve sometimes had dreams where I’m killed but trapped inside my dead body. I’ve had at least two dreams where I’ve died or had to pretend to be dead just in the past week. Plus just other weird dreams, some of which I remember later but many I don’t. I’m sure my subconscience is trying to tell me something … like, “Quit watching crap on TV” or “This is for putting me through The Da Vinci Code.“
Hard to believe it was just a week ago I was sitting in a hot tub with Kim on the back porch of a cabin in the woods. This was a week from hell at work. I’m the on-call PIO next week, so that’s sure to be even more fun.
Yeah, I’m just the Good Humor man tonight.