The Devil's Birthday

We mortals enjoy making a wish and blowing out the candles on our birthday cakes when it's our special day.

I guess the Devil makes a curse and blows the candles on? That would make the most sense.

I'm working at Numbtindoughland now. I could sell the upcoming system to Sadaam. Seriously. If he walked in--no--if OSAMA walked in, I could sell him a Numbtindough Gii. I'm that good. Then again, the Gii isn't OUT yet, but if it was I'm sure he'd buy one at my urging. He might call off project Doomsday because he'd have so much fun with his Gii. I'd save the world. And all because I managed to convince him that he couldn't possibly live without it.

That's one of the fun things about retail--trying to manipulate the customers who wander into my path. I'm like a black cat in that regard. That's why theycall me the Black Forkat. Of course, I've never worked retail a day in my life, but my pregnant twin sister Forkette worked at a gas station one summer and I learned a lot from just observing her there. I also learned a lot from working at Sux Flags. And from listening to Bibb leo File's horror stories.

So, in many ways, Numbtindoughland is a homecoming of sorts.

I'm almost afraid I'm going to never want to play video games again since I'm around them all the time.

Wait.

I don't know what I'm saying. That's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever said.

Oh! And in case you missed it, it's Halloween today! Well, it was. Unfortunately, I missed it. I had to work all day. No trick or treat for me. Unless you count the spiked protein smoothee I made for dinner. That's kind of a trick AND a treat, if you know what I mean.

Happy 'ween, folks. Don't forget to wish the Devil a happy b-day!

BOO!

By the way, today some French woman tried to buy her two sons a Numbtindough BS and two BS games with--wait for it--a fake credit card. She might as well have paid with Monopoly money. I knew the French were stinky, but they're thieves too? I just wasn't prepared for that. With their high and mighty attitudes about barbaric Americans, I thought they'd at least have SOME kind of class--something to make me feel bad about being an uncultured, boorish American swine.

Nope. I'm glad to report that I'm still happy not to be French.