Monday, January 13, 2014

It's Over

Dateline: January 12, 2014

From: The Beach

Well bitches, it's over, like Rover. Like my Range Rover, anyway, which thank GOD, I just made my last payment on, though I'm renting the wheels. They're those trippy ones that keep spinning, even though I'm Detroit leaning at the traffic light, checkin' out the ladies in the next lane in the candy apple red Miata. WAIT, that's CC Tribeca, I think. "HEY, sweetstuff, we can hang now that I'm not your boss! WHADDYA THINK? HOLLA!" I say, my prescription Tony Stark Matsuda shades I picked up for $10 on Amazon slid down my nose. Then, the cono flips me off and guns it, (notice the use of Spanish, since I've been listening to Berlitz, hoping for a gig at Univision, since they hired that tool Ethan Harriman that I fired, after he couldn't get my AOL handle changed from "ColonelHogan," when I got a C&D from Bing Crosby, the "White Christmas" guy who owns the rights to the name)!

There's good news and bad news.

Good news: I don't have to work for Boba Pitt anymore, which means the weekly chore of polishing his fake eye gets crossed off my "Dumb Things I Gotta Do" list. Note to my replacement: When you're washing the eye, do NOT use Windex (Boba will scream at you because it will sting like a muther when he puts it back in) or just pop it in your mouth and swish it around with a swallow of Smart Water. I did that once, and accidently swallowed it. He had to go almost the entire day wearing his Hello Kitty eyepatch, until the eye became accessible (think about that) and HE WAS NOT HAPPY. I think the main reason for my dismissal, though, was the incident the Monday after Thanksgiving, when I tried for 20 minutes to remove his REAL EYE, because it's so goddamn hard to tell the good one from the fake one, and he was dead asleep most of the day. Little news flash: Boba's got a serious problem with Triptophan abuse, and I hear he's going to rehab for the cure, sometime in February. Second note to my replacement: When you're talking to Boba Pitt, just pick and eye and stick with it. He'll notice when you switch peepers, and get all prickly about it.

Bad news: Despite the generous severance package they laid on me, I found out last night that they hit my PayPal Debit card for $44.7 BILLION for the single fucking cardboard box they gave me to pack up my shit and leave yesterday afternoon, Triple Bitches that they are. That's going to leave my "parting gifts" at about $1,255 out the door. Shit, that's what I pay my eyeglass-polisher every week, so after next week, I'm broke. DAY-UM!

On the other hand, they haven't filled my part-time job at the check cashing store in San Antonio, so Monty D, the manager there says I can have that gig back. All is not lost.


Here's how it went down:

Yesterday, about 1pm, after lunch, I went to Boba's office to get the eye for cleaning, and he says, "Hey, John Boy" (my nickname, which he coined in early 2012, changing it from "Four Eyes," which I HATED), "Uh yeahhhhhh...Would you come in here a minute?" I shut down the porn on my iMac and went into his three-floor office (complete with wet bar and Soda Stream machine, the lucky fuck) and asked him if he wanted the door closed. "No, this will just take a minute," he says.

It actually took about 23 seconds (I timed it) for him to tell me he'd been going over my personnel file, and found several memos about this thing I'd done a few years ago. He said he was very impressed with it, and wanted to implement it immediate. He says "We're going to see if less John Hogan is really MORE John Hogan," and that he was going to start right then. When I got back to my cube, there was my $44.7 Billion "exit package" which was a lightly used cardboard banker's box with the words "John Hogan, get the fuck out of here" written in sharpie on the box. I didn't even get to keep the sharpie. There was also a COBRA form dated June of 2011, so I'm going to be paying for my testosterone shots and foot fungal cream out of pocket, for fuck's sake. Thank God Obamacare's going to take care of those things.

So, I'm sitting on the beach, on my fifth pink squirrel, and thinking about what's next for the Hoganator. My base of operations will be the Speedy Cash in SA, but I'm considering a couple opportunities. I've got an in with an intern who sets up American Idol auditions (a sure thing), but also thinking about taking classes to get a Real Estate license (I hear you can make boatloads of dough with that), or becoming a bounty hunter like that Dog guy.

I wonder how long it would take to grow my hair out?

Later, suckers. See you on the sand, unless you need a smokin' deal on a bank refi crib, or jumped bail after that meth bust, in which case, I'm coming for you.

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