Take Your Readers To Work Day

original print date, December 11 2002

It's deadline day at The Newspaper- which employs me- and none of the people I'm supposed to interview are calling me back. The two health clinics in town aren't returning my calls either, likely because I'm asking them about regulations they're supposed to be in compliance with. Since I've been calling them daily for the past week, I can only assume they've probably never heard of these regulations, and are right now frantically searching the internet to research them.

If you're one of those clinic directors, and are reading this, go to the FAQ page at www.hipaadvisory.com, and then click on the "general" link. It'll tell you all you need to know. Schmuck.

Other people who haven't called me back include the men's basketball coach ("I'll give you a call right back.") and the city zoning inspector ("I'm with some people. Just give me a few minutes.").

LIES! ALL FILTHY NIHILIST LIES!

And you know what the great part is? If they don't call me back, I'll get in trouble for not doing my job. Parents, don't let your kids be suckers. Oops! Did I say suckers? I meant to say "journalists".

Wait a minute. Did I just tell explain to everyone how to ruin a journalist's career? I did, didn't I? Dammit!

Oh well. Nobody's reading this anyway. This website is like public access television at two in the morning: all the people tuning in are either drunk, or are good friends of the person involved.

Anyway, back to my incessant bitching. People who repeatedly don't return calls should be stoned to death. And not the good kind of stoned, either. I mean the literal definition: bludgeoning with rocks.

Everyone except me, of course. I forgot to call my parents back. But it's okay not to call your parents back, especially if you're trying to get them to say nasty things on your answering machine so you can put it on your site as a downloadable audio file.

On a side note, "bludgeoning with rocks" sounds so much cooler than "stoned". Those medieval people had no taste.

Let's see, what else can I talk about? I'm auditioning for a play in La Crosse tonight (Tuesday night). Wish me luck. If you don't, I'll reach through your computer screen and slap you like a little girl who cries when she can't have a pony.

I can't have a pony. The manager in my apartment building won't allow it. And man, does that piss me off.

This guy I interviewed earlier today called me Tony. At the beginning of the interview, he said "Hi Paul", and when I got done interviewing him, he said, "See ya, Tony". Seriously, am I the only one who doesn't start their day by getting stoned or messed up on painkillers or something else? Why do I have to be sober?

Actually, to tell you the truth, I kinda dig being called Tony. I think Tony, out of all the wrong names to call someone, is probably the coolest. It's a cool person's name. Tony Bennett. Tony the Tiger. Tony Danza. Rockin'. First person to e-mail me and call me Tony somewhere in their message gets a free copy of the Hulk Hogan movie, "Suburban Commando". And this one's on DVD, too. I'll buy it for you, and then I'll send it to you.

See, you laugh because you think I searched around for terrible movies and began offering them, and that I'm doing it because it's funny. Not true. I didn't have to search, because I originally saw all of these movies in the theater. I also saw "Howard the Duck", but you don't have to tell people that.