Still Hardly Working

So two and a half years ago, I made a post called "Hardly Working" that showed all the random pictures that I drew while I worked at Random Department Store, Inc. Well, here is the sequel, only this time I shall paint you a picture with WORDS.

Oooooooooh.

So, the queues at my current job are completely empty and have been for the past four hours. So, because my supervisors are cool and devious at the same time, they sent us creative writing prompts to keep us busy. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'll admit, I've actually been having way to much fun with these. Just like Obama & the Kangaroo, I decided to let my mind wander off the beaten path and just do whatever the bleep it wants.


Prompt: Create an advertisement (three to five paragraphs) using this image as your inspiration:

"Allow me to sing you the song of my people."

Now, to me, it looks like these guys are sharing in some particularly hilarious joke. As a result. here is what I spawned:

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Do you ever feel like the Netherworld is just a little too dreary at times? Our home may be riddled with trillions of dead folks, but that doesn't mean we have to act like it! Even Hades needs a chuckle once every few millennia.

As the sole proprietor of "Funderworld," I am here to bring the gift of laughter back into your afterlife. My improv training seminars give you the tools you need to tickle the funny bone of everyone you meet.

Whether you bump into the head of a somber guillotine victim down by the River Styx or a dispirited pioneer who has still not gotten over their death from dysentery on the Oregon Trail, I teach you how to transform any situation into a gold mine of comedic wonder. Along with my fellow humor instructors and the jocular antics of Cerberus, my in-depth classes are sure to make you a veteran member of the Army of the Fundead in as little as 37 years! Transform your eternal afterlife into the Laughterlife by enrolling today.

Contact Komos on the outskirts of the Fields of Asphodel to register for his posthumous and post-humorous training sessions.

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AKA; My life in a nutshell.

Also, shout out to the person in Romania that's actually reading this. "Vă mulțumim!" ;)

All Roads Lead to Murder. . .

This week's prompt, as stated before:  You're in a motel.

Go.

~~~

He comes here every Thursday like clockwork.  He walks in the room, takes off his trench coat, and throws it on the broken armchair.

He thinks no one can see him.

But I do.

From under the bureau I can see him.  I can smell his cologne.

He pushes the rickety bed across the floor with a screech.

Every time.

The trapdoor is exposed.  He opens it and lowers himself down gingerly.  He stays down there for forty-five minutes exactly, a constant thump thump below the floorboards.  He climbs up and moves the bed back to its original position, as if nothing happened.  He lies on the quilt, wiping the sweat off his brow, a serene grin on his face.  He dozes.

He thinks he's alone.

He thinks he's free.

He thinks no more.

~~~

I know, it's really dramatic for a comedy blog, right? Eh, but what're ya gonna do?  Another thing we like to do is Amy (whom I have now dubbed Crown Grandmaster of Writermonies) will show us a picture and we have to write a line or so based on the picture.  I wish I could show them to you, so instead I will describe.

The first week was a picture of a broken window in an old wooden house.  This is my response:

"Hello, again," he whispered with a smirk, his pliers grasped firmly in his weathered hand.

The second week we saw a picture of a white sandy beach with mountains in the background.  Pretty much a screensaver.

The scenery is beautiful here.  Rumbling waves, the green mountains, the sand. . .  The sand that is currently in every annoying crevice of my body as I'm buried up to my neck, completely alone and helpless.  Oh no, my nose itches!

Kinda lame, but whatevs!  And finally, this week's picture prompt was a pair of red loafers placed neatly leaning against a plaster house near some white ropes and some stairs.

Maybe no one would notice that his dark red boating shoes had once been a pristine white.

Soooo I'm sensing a pattern here.

Apparently everything I write has to involve death or murder in some way (with the exception of the sand one.  Well, maybe he dies if the tide comes in.).  I need to stray away from this madness!  Not every story needs murder!  "Only the ones worth telling," says my creeper murderous alter-ego.  "Who doesn't love a good murder?"

Yesssssssssssssss. . . *Insane creepy grin*

Okay so I'm gonna go attempt to work on my play for NaNoWriMo again.  We got 21 days left and I still have 12,500 words left!  Aaack!

P.S. Next week's prompt is this:

Once, when no one was watching. . .

All roads lead to murder!

Hardly Working

It can get slightly boring when you're working a closing shift at the store and there are no customers for the last hour and a half and you've already folded and cleaned everything within the five-square-foot radius surrounding the register.


One takes it upon oneself to amuse. . .oneself.


And this is how my oneself accomplished amusement:


By drawing random pictures on the back of email slips.








I like giraffes.

I like robots too.

 

This is what I would look like if I were anime.

 

My place of work.

 

They're holding hands.   GET IT?!

I'll Love Ya.... Tomorrow.