Didn’t I use to be funny?

Thanks for everyone’s comments on the post of my parents. The good news is, my father was discharged from the hospital a day earlier than anticipated and he seems to be recovering fine. In fact, he is very much back to himself as I just received several spam emails from him this morning. He likes to forward a ton of junk to everyone he knows… no matter how offensive or inappropriate.

So, I’m finding myself quite perplexed with the lack of humor I’ve been emitting. Or, perhaps I’m just being drowned out by the new people in my life who are damn hilarious. Let’s take a look at exhibit A, one of my bosses, Nate:

Nate spends quite a bit of time strutting his dance floor moves and exercising a serious set of pipes. I’m not sure how, but we do get work done even between all the laughter and silliness that ensues. Today, Nate had to sport a pair of slippers at work due to a broken toe. The persistent sound of his tiny feet shuffling behind me instantly brought me back to the days of volunteering at a nursing home. OH MY GOD, that fucking nursing home my parents insisted on “volunteering” at, which consisted of entertaining the comatose crowd with my father’s tone deaf karaoke singing. If the deathly sound of my father’s mangled English didn’t bring the crowd from the dead, then it was my mother’s insistence of force feeding Little Debbie treats down those poor old people who couldn’t even run because my mother would wheel them down from their rooms in their wheelchairs shouting, “PAWTY TIME! PAWTY TIME!”

If that is my future, kill me now.

Ok, back to the shuffling slippered feet… I distinctly remember one toothless elderly man who was covered in tattoos of nekkid women. That sneaky mother fucker would shuffle up to me from behind, grab my arm and cling for dear life. I couldn’t understand a word he said to me, I just remembered his toothless grin and that awful elderly stench which was probably their insides just rotting from the inside out. Again, if that is my future, please just smother me in my sleep with a down euro pillow, preferably with a 800 fill power. You won’t have to hold it over my sleeping face for very long with that amount of fluff.

So now, every time I hear Nate’s slippers shuffling behind me, I tense up and whip around only to find my harmless supervisor. Who sings and dances around the store like a fucking fairy on meth.

Thanks for making my life bearable, Nate.

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