I always wanted to have sex with more than one woman at a time. If you think otherwise, you're a dirty liar and you know it.

So I quit my job. Finally. Good freaking riddance. They lost an important staff member over something extremely trivial, and are paying for it now. Oh well. Kinda funny how things played out this week. My last day was awesome. The coolest people just started coming and one of the owners was drunk off his ass and tipped each of us 50 bucks. If that wasn't enough, I got my Halo Reach Legendary Edition yesterday, which was 5 days sooner than expected with no additional cost. On top of that, one of the customers just came in the other day and told a co-worker than I can give my resume at his spot. Also, several others are willing to give me jobs. It feels nice to be wanted, really does.



But that's not what this note's about, just wanted to say it. I'd like to dedicate this note to friends, because without them, your dick would be five inches smaller. You would be coughing up blood and clams. Your friends are probably so important that even I probably know them. Without them, you're nothing. Face it. You stinky pile of cow dung. You- Okay I'll stop the insults. I've got a few stories of when my friends were there for me when I needed them most, but usually you have one friend who sticks above them all. That friend is like your Cheech to Chong. S/he's your Cortana to your Master Chief. The dick to your balls. So on and so forth. Actually fuck that, this note's about me. Love you guys!

During my high school years, and many of you who know me know that they were pretty short ( due to all the skipping I was....uh......'forced' to do, yeah, forced...). I was a friendly guy, outgoing and not really considering a future. Didn't care. Only lived for the moment, and had a great time doing so. I had crushes on every girl with tits, and wanted to smoke every joint in the world. Alcohol was my kryptonite. All I ever did was think about how awesome of a day I was going to have. How will I fuck up Mr. Accardi's class? How will I tell Ms. Kremblewski that she has awesome tits and her daughters are freaking sex slaves waiting to happen. When will Mr. Santarosa just come out, and stop harassing me because I pin pointed it from day one? Those are some of the few things I had running through my sick little mind.

I was a shit disturber, and even today, I keep some of that talent within me. I tried to have a good time, even though we were learning world religions, which in itself was horrible considering my teacher was an art teacher and not a religion teacher. She could barely speak english and when we would write something down, she would correct us, the stupid wench. It's BUDDHISM NOT BUDDASM. I always had different classmates, always new to my wacky attitude. I would make people laugh, cry and probably hate me, but as they say, " Haters gonna hate *birdwalk*." I went through high school like any other failing student. 5th year and there still was no end. It sucked not graduating with my friends, seeing them leave, but I had to. My destiny was calling.

I applied to co-op thinking, " Holy fuck tits, if I can get 4 credits with one course, I can pass!" So I took the course, with Savino. Now, although he could probably eat your soul and drink the carbon monoxide leaving your mouth, he was nice. Sometimes. But anyways, I continue with this course, taking culinary. At the time, I thought it was the easiest, looking at the entire list seeing all these general labor jobs, and shit that made my manhood squeal. Like florist. FUCK. THAT. Wait one sec, my green jade flowers are wilting.

Also, I thought, "Hey it would be kickass if I could learn how to cook like a pro, like that *I shudder when I remember this because I was new. OKAY?! NEW.* Emeril Lagasse." Why oh god. So I take this course, and end up kicking ass. I was loving it. I had a friend at the time who was taking the course, who said she did it before, so I was intimidated at first. Go figure, she sucked. I raped her stupid face with my lightning speed and quick wit. We had this course we took in Humber as well, which was the start of it all for me. My class mates were all fuck tarts and I wish I could punch every single one of them for doubting me. Save for a select few who were kick ass, you know who you are ;). Coming from no culinary background, or any knowledge of it besides watching my mother, I was looked down upon. Until I showed them, and I fucking showed them good.

 I made sure that, even though I had no idea what the hell julienne was, I perfected it. I paid no attention to homework, only to hands. I wanted to see people work, not hear about work. When they said they were going to show us how to butcher chickens, I didn't care about all the sanitary procedures (I'm kidding). I got a placement at the Pickle Barrel shortly after. After one day of standing around watching 40 year old men with no sanitation skills whatsoever, cleave a block of calimari with bread knives, use the same mixed they used for burgers, for bread. No gloves touching chicken, and obviously no hand sink in sight. I wanted the hell out. I'm nothing in the industry at the moment, but fuck that. If I wanted to work at McDonalds I would have knocked up my girl and lived on welfare.

So I got a placement at a place called Brassaii the next day. The doors to Brassaii glowed to me, opening like the gates to Valhalla. I felt like a budding god walking through the restaurant, seeing an array of different drinks on the wall, and plates everywhere. I looked inside the kitchen. Pirates! Kick-ass, blood thirsty, fuck-your-face pirates. I loved it. So I met with the chef, and as he talked to me, I barely understood him with his thick french accent. I just nodded and agreed. "Yes. Okay. Will do. Parsley is beautiful. I like terrines too. Yes, the Pink Panther IS the greatest movie of all time." So I got changed and as soon as I did, I felt holy. Me. Wearing chef whites. Holy. Fuck yeah!


To be continued!~