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September is Velociraptor Awareness Month. BE AWARE.

17 Sep

This is it. I’ve had it. I’m done with her shenanigans, I’m done sitting back and watching her casually take over the world.

Lady Gaga is a fucking velociraptor.

We can’t live with this kind of terror in our everyday lives. She’s out there, in her Buffalo-Bill People Clothes, doing her best to trick your asses into being eaten.

“The message of Gaga is one of loving yourself,” Says Gaga.

Of course it is, Gaga, because when the fans flock to your arena, you have them trapped and worked into a frenzy. DON’T LOVE YOURSELF. RUN.

I recently took my life into my own hands and did some field research at the GaGa Monster’s Ball, and for fuck’s sake, how did we not harpoon her before?

  1. People arrive to the Monster’s Ball in costume. A clear indoctrination tactic.
  2. Gaga says, “I don’t know if you heard, but I’ve got a pretty big dick,” at the start of her concert. This is a ploy to be funny about the rumors that she is a hermaphrodite after the up-skirt shot of her, depicting a bulge. That is not a penis. That is a tail.
  3. Gaga implores you to, “Put your paws up,” meaning your hands in a claw like fashion. Gaga thinks its funny that you believe you can defend yourself from her pre-historic jaws with this feeble gesture.
  4. All you gotta do is follow the glitter way!” Right into her lair. BEWARE.

People, she’s not even trying to hide her true nature anymore.

She’s wearing meat.

Gaga would like this dress to be made of people.

She exhibits the typical Velociraptor ‘stalking stance’ in almost all of her videos.

Lady Gaga will come out of that pool and kill you with a Poker Face on.

She exhibits all the signs of having poor camouflage techniques.

I'm on to you. I see past your "friendly open-hand gesture."

And she keeps getting more and more outrageous.

Gaga's next outfit.

The American Society for Velociraptor Attack Prevention states that, “Velociraptor attack is the 3rd leading cause of death for men age 27-29. However, everyone must think about the implications of velociraptors: young and old, men, women and transgendered persons.”


Coincidence? I think not.



The Eyes Follow You.

17 Aug

Back when I did more than ghost hunt and martial arts, I worked at a company that was the single most terrifying and hilarious jobs of my entire life.

The job itself was really tame–I was an assistant, and the only thing I HAD to do every single day was sort the mail. I was still in college at the time, and it let me work around my schedule, earn a decent wage, and be left alone up at my desk for many hours at a time.

Let me tell you the timeline of this job.

Day -2: I am laid the hell off, sitting on my bed watching Law and Order: SVU, and desperately need to be paid to get out of my house, because Adrian is tired of me reorganizing the office every Tuesday. I notice a job posting on my university’s job listing online–“Work part-time at a small office as a president’s assistant! Clerical work, filing, good pay. Will work around school schedule. Please include your GPA.” JACKPOT, I’M A 4.0.

Day -1: “Come in for an interview,” says Laura. Alright bitches, time to put on pants.

Day 0: I show up at this small office, only a block from my house, in my fancy red shoes and sassy pencil skirt. I can already feel that this interview is going to go well, considering I don’t have cheese on my tit, like I did when I interviewed for my last job that I got laid off at. Word to the wise, Cheeseboob? Not a good idea.
There seems to be an inordinate amount of dead animals on the walls of this office. Oh well, he’s an eccentric man, probably. HOW COULD HE NOT BE BADASS? He owned a great company and hunted all over the world.
Laura is pretty, tall, and fun. She’s chatty in the interview, and I can see that she’s cool–this job is going to rule.

I take a test to make sure that I’m even halfway competent at operating basic computer functions. I do pretty well until I have to calculate percentages. I never knew my official score, but can assure you, it must have been awful.
There are even more dead animals back further into the office. Oh well.

Day 1: FUCK YEAH I’M HIRED. Time to razzledazzle.

Day 2: I train on how to sort the mail. Doesn’t seem too bad. I get a quick rundown of other things I will do: make travel arrangements, compile things into understandable packets, print out his emails in doubles so he can read one and we file one, send birthday cards. Okay, I can do this.

Wait, is that a zebra on that couch?

Day 3: I am alone up at my desk, trying to sort the mail and keep shit straight. There are piles upon piles of papers all over the office, in every location in which there are not dead animals hanging from the walls, which is quite the feat, considering there are at least 3 dead animals in each office. I notice that the coffee table is made of real elephant feet.

I meet Jen, who works with Laura in the back. Laura and Jen are rad as shit.

I meet Cam, the President. Cam is approximately 80, and it his birthday today. He seems nice enough, and I am sent to get his birthday cake. Remembering that I’m terrible in any social situation, my coworkers, Cam, and I assemble in the middle of the office for beans, cornbread, and carrot cake without the icing.

Mother of God, can a bitch get a glass of water up in here?

I make a couple of jokes that Cam doesn’t get, making me look like a total ahole, and we listen to him talk about farming.

Day 19: Okay, what the hell is going on here? Thank God for Jen and Laura, because I would not be able to figure any of this shit out. There is a protocol for literally everything, right down to where to put certain sticky notes, because if we don’t do it this certain way we are literally breaking the law, but I don’t understand any of it. I look like an aneurysm patient trying to file basic things.

There are so many dead animals. There are herds of them. Herds. They line the walls, the floor, and one on the ceiling. There are two in the reception area that stare soullessly into my eyes, watching my every move. I’m sure there are cameras in them.

Cam is codgery on his good days, and straight up WHOA on his bad. It’s a crapshoot sometimes getting things done correctly, mostly because I’m completely incompetent. I don’t understand a lot about farming, but Cam will make sure I do.

Jen is funny. THANK GOD.

Day 30: I meet Kent. Kent is apparently an accountant, but I can’t, for the life of me, ever recall him being in the office to work. He’s dressed in paint stained jeans and a Mighty Ducks sweatshirt. He’s a little sweaty and a lot out of breath.

Jen’s face immediately contorts in a failed attempt not to laugh when she sees him. I immediately IM her.

Noa: WTF is with this guy?
Jen: That’s Kent.
Noa: You say that like it’s no big thing. Dude looks like he painted the lines for a marathon.
Jen: That’s always how he looks, save when he’s wearing a thong and pantyhose underneath those jeans.
Noa: …ugh.
Jen: Once, he was missing for a while, and then came back 4 days later from Seattle with bruises and no explanation.
Noa: …I don’t even know what to say to that.
Jen: True story.
Noa: Dear Kent, it’s weird when you sit on the edge of my desk to introduce yourself. You sweated on my work, and you’re wearing a sweatshirt in August. You’re fucking weird. Love, Noa.
Jen: Laura thinks your letter to Kent is awesome.

Day 57: At this point, I have realized that working here is awesome and terrifying all at the same time. It’s a veritable parade of, “Who knows what’s going to happen this week?” Up to this point, here are a few snippets of joy that have actually occurred.

Cam: “OH MY GOD. Is that a tornado siren?”
Noa: “No, it’s the vaccuum in the hallway. The cleaning ladies started early.”
Jen: Bursts into laughter from the back room.

Kent: “Can I speak to Laura please?”
Noa: “Sure, let me put you through.”
Laura: 10 minutes later, emerges from her office, visibly shaken.

Cam: “You know I have two fighting lions at my house?”
Noa: “What? You have two lions that just fight?”
Cam: “Well they’re dead.”

We just hired a new girl for billing, who is of Vietnamese descent. She is adorable, and we are all afraid for her.

Cam: “I went to Vietnam once.”
Dana: “That’s nice.”
Cam: “You know where they have the best Vietnamese food? In Colorado. Or maybe it’s Thai.”
Dana: Blank, horrified stare.

It’s our other billing girls’ last day, so we all go to eat at a hibachi joint.

Cam: Snaps at the hostess, “SEAT US.” Then hands our waitress a White Paper on the dangers of eating meat that isn’t cooked through.
Jen: “Enjoy your miso and spit.”
Cam: Drinks a couple beers.

Noa: “Happy Birthday Jen! Here’s a shitty cake with Twilight on it!”
Jen: “Might have been better if it said Sorry about your Dismemberment.”
Noa: “Noted.”

Cam: Farts loudly about 6 times as he walks from the front door (directly in front of me) to his office.
Noa: Can’t do anything but laugh.

Cam: At a conference in New York. “Can you fax me a sheet of business cards? I forgot mine.”
Noa: “…Sure.” Fax.
Cam: Calls back. “These aren’t cardstock.”
Noa: “…”

Kent: “Oh, Noa, I dropped these two files that I absolutely need today behind these two crazy tall filing cabinets. You’re skinny, can you get them?”
Noa: “Okay, no problem.” I spend about 5 minutes dangling helplessly behind two 5 foot tall cabinets to reach them, and tear my shirt across the boob on the way up. KENT STOOD BEHIND ME THE WHOLE TIME STARING AT MY ASS.
Noa: “Fuck’s sake, Jen, you couldn’t have said anything to Kent about that?’
Jen: “No. I was staring in delight, anticipating the horrified look on your face.”

Cam: “Do you think I could win in a fight with Noa?”
Laura: “Noa does Jiu Jitsu, Cam.”
Cam: “I have a year of judo.”
Laura: “Okay, yeah, well then you’ll be fine.”

Day 150: I move away. Cam’s last words are, “Make sure you send out those emails. Well, bye. Faaaarrrrt.”
I can’t make this shit up.