Hello, we're from the County Cork! We're the Shenanigans!!
Recent Death Cab Shenanigans:
Scairt a little kid off the cab. Had to have a rescue vehicle (we have a groovy painted PT Cruiser that comes and picks up peeps who have freaked) come get her. We try to explain to the parents that lil' kids are not going to do so well on a Death Cab ride all about the end of one's life. But Ma&Pa were without grey matter, so what the fuck, let's take our child on this adult cruise. We play a clip of the grisly death of Wombat Wooey, the famous child star who got in a fight with his gay gardner and ended up with a trowel embedded in his forehead. My joke after is to come back with some hamburger (I buy the greazy shitty ground beef for $1.00 each day I work) dripping off my face and a small trowel in hand saying "I'm expecting a bumper crop this year!" The hamburger plays well on our small video screens. So well, that brat started doing a whelp, and would not stop. Brat was 4 years old and just did a whelp every five seconds, like an alarm clock.
Speaking of alarm clocks, there's this one tour gal at Hollywood Death Cab who seez "You're funny," to me every five seconds, like an alarm clock going off. The fact that she got picked to do the Extra Special People tours for which I did not get picked -- does not help matters on this. I know she's complimenting me, but it crawls up my butt after a while.
I did a stint in our accounting office a couple of weeks ago. Word got out that I used to do this for a living (next year at tax time I'll be saying the word "NO" a lot), and so they begged me to come in. Their bookeeper had quit or some such shit. I'm an accounting snob, you work at a big eight firm, you don't put up with 'tard totes. You go by the book, you have a system, you follow the fuck out of it.
The office was filled with ferns, and lots of bugs that like ferns. The lady had also about three cases of Diet Pepsi in the office, two of which had burst open in various can eruptions. I think more bugs were being hatched in this molten goo.
I tried to right what was wrong, but I could see the office would take more than me to re-enter the year 2005 in accounting procedure. So, I called in one of my old Touch buddies, from the super behemoth accounting firm of Delight, Touch. She said she'd do it for a week, but at market scale. They gave her the very bottom of market, but she's been sitting in her Venice apartment complex (which she owns, thanks to me -- I found the listing for her), just smoking out and listening for the errant gun shot from the rapidly disappearing 'hood.
Of course, I didn't tell management she was there for a week. Fuck that. She gets me out of the office, and I go back to doing the Tour. If I want to do accounting, I'll get paid really $$ for it. Not Slobovia wages from robber barons. I had dinner with my bosses boss the other night at Boozarelli's and I told him I would not be going back to the bookeeper's office anytime soon. He seemed to get the message, but then I bought him three patrone shots just to make sure he understood. I'm pretty sure he's gay too, but he is one of the sneakiest, closted gays I've ever met. Just when you're sure to nab him ("Did you say you like Olvia Newton John"?), he switches to "Go Lakers!" Hmmmmmmmmmm ...
Yesterday we had a situation where a hollywood boulevard mutant fuck-up, got in the Death Cab with one of our new drivers. The new drivers don't know all the tour guides, and this freak loves to take our tour. He even dresses in our lil' outfits (we now wear old English Undertaker gear, top hat, very Dickensian, very fucking stupid), and is constantly trying to engage us in conversation. While we are doing the tour. He's got a year pass. Bless his heart, he's brain damaged, but it is still a load when you see him sitting in the first car of your tour. Well yesterday, it all went south ...
... my buddy Butch, the cutest and biggest fuck-up of a tour guide was in "tearing off a healthy one" as he phrased it, and refused to budge when his name was called by Dispatch. So, while he was inside, the mutant fuck-up decided to sit down in his tour guide seat in the death cab. New driver hops in, no idea who this person is, and TAKES OFF. Oh shit. My other buddy Max, starts whapping my arm, and drags me to the window going "Look!" We start jumping up and down, hugging each other. We can see mutant fuck-up struggling with the mic, he's trying to turn it on. These people are going to get the tour of a lifetime. Just then, we see Butch sprinting up the street with his clipboard, and the hoariest of all bathroom cliches -- he actually had tissue stuck to the bottom of his shoe. If it were in a bad sitcom, you would groan, but we who watched it in front of our eyes were howling. He caught up with the driver (Hollywood Boulevard at 4 in the afternoon is a quagmire) and got him to stop. The driver thought Butch was a mutant fuck-up, but Butch kept showing him his clipboard (I have a clipboard, I am somebody), and finally the driver stopped. Butch literally kicked out the faux tour guide with a soccer-style kick to his ass, and the mutant fuck-up shambled back to the loading dock, saying "I'll sue, I'll sue!!!" It was so wonderful, I thanked god for letting me live to see such splendor.
