Creed Thoughts

Boy do I have a story to tell. You know how I was keeping track of Michael’s safe combo? Well it finally came in handy. I was trolling around the office last night after hours and heard some noise coming from the boss’s room. Normally the office is real quiet at night, which is why I stick around in the first place. Quiet is like a drug to me and if I don’t get my fix every night, I start to get the shakes.
So anyway, I heard these noises and got freaked out that the bossman was using his office for a little nighttime nooky with that new chick that sits in Tony’s seat every day. Not wanting to get caught, I dropped down and started to army crawl over to investigate (I got a Private Investigator license so I’m allowed to investigate anything I want, suckers). As luck would have it, there wasn’t anybody in there. Turns out that the noise was coming from inside Michael’s big furniture cabinet thing. So I opened the cabinet door, half expecting a cat to jump out at me. Usually when I open cabinets or closets or anything, cats end up pouncing on me. For some reason, cats find me very attractive.
Nothing jumped out at me, but I could hear the rustling pretty close to the ground, so I bent over and figured out that it was coming from the safe. For a second, I just stared at it, wondering what could be inside. Then I realized that I had been saving up Michael’s safe combo for this very occasion. Well, this occasion and whenever I needed some cash, but that’s beside the point.
I went over to my computer and looked back at my previous entries of this thing. Apparently I wasn’t too good with my record keeping because the numbers were kind of off. I ended up trying out every combo I wrote down and you know what? I didn’t get it right until the very last one I tried. The good news is, I got it open and you’ll never guess what was inside.
No, it wasn’t a cat, smart ass. It was a squirrel! I don’t know for the life of me why that guy had a squirrel in his safe, but I do know that I got me a new pet. And I’m going to train it. Right now I’m calling it Butthead, but I’m open to suggestions for new names if you got any. In just a few months, I’m going to have the best trained squirrel in Pennsylvania. I’m also going to blackmail Michael because I’m pretty sure it’s against the law to lock a squirrel in a safe. False imprisonment or something.
Everything’s coming up Creed!

I want to say I was about four years old when I fell in love with music. My memory’s not great, so it could have been anywhere between four and fourteen, but I think it was closer to four. I was hanging out in an old abandoned car factory in South Carolina and I came across a bunch of old bumpers lying on the ground. At that age, I used to walk around with a bunch of sticks in my back pocket in case I ever needed something to throw. When I saw those bumpers, I don’t know what came over me, but I knew that I had to take out a pair of sticks and start banging away.
From the instant my sticks hit that metal, I was hooked. I pounded out beat after beat, dancing and singing along. I loved it. The music jumped into my body like a venereal disease from a hooker. I stayed in that factory for hours and hours just banging away. The next day, I came back and started right up where I left off. I made up songs about everything: jump ropes, corn, beaver skin hats. Nothing was off limits.
About a week later, I saw an old man playing a beat-up guitar on the street. I watched him for a while, trying to learn what he was doing as I stood there. After about an hour, he said he had to go to the can and asked me to watch his instrument. I gladly agreed. When he left to go to the bathroom, I snatched the guitar and ran all the way to the factory. It was the first thing I had ever stolen and on that day, I said to myself “Music and thieving are going to be the biggest things in your life” and you know what? They still are.
Music has been a part of me ever since. Not a day goes by where I don’t tap out a rhythm or pick up my axe and play a lick or two. If you cut open my veins, I’m fairly certain that quarter notes would come tumbling out. I can’t imagine my life without music and I don’t want to.

I spend a lot of time in the library. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not there for the books. Books are for table balancing and throwing at birds. I go for the air conditioning and the smell. Libraries smell good. It almost makes me want to like books, but not quite. Anyway, there’re a lot of kids at the library -- maybe it’s summer school or something – and these kids talk like I’ve never heard before. It’s like a secret street language and I want in. They say stuff like “that dude got clowned” and “he got that swag when he walks.” I want to know what the hell these kids are talking about, but they won’t tell me. I’ve tried going up to the kids to talk about the phrases, but they get kind of freaked out by me. Just wait until they need an ID – then we’ll see who’s running away and telling the librarians.
Anyway, those jerks won’t tell me anything, so I’m making up my own words and phrases. This is my street dictionary and I’m not even charging for it. Just don’t tell the kids in the library, okay?
Keep it bowlin’ – Everyone likes bowling, so this is a phrase for when you want to tell someone to stay positive. For example, if someone tells you they lost their job, you can just tell them to keep it bowlin’ and that’ll cheer them up.
Ploppers – This means bad. “Did you see that movie last night? It was ploppers.”
Horribly obese – I’m taking this one from the library kids. They say things are fat all the time, so I took it a step further. In this case, it means the most beautiful ever. If a foxy dame comes walking in, you can call her horribly obese. I think it might take some time before it catches on, so use this one with caution because some broads may not have heard it yet and could take it the wrong way.
Willy fingers – Perhaps the hardest to explain, but you get willy fingers when you really want to fight someone. “When my boss was yelling at me, I really started getting willy fingers.” Your fingers start moving real fast and itching because they want to hit something – that’s the willy fingers.
Those kids are going to regret not letting me in on their lingo. My slang’s going to take over the nation and there’s nothing those idiots can do to stop it. Keep it bowlin’, people.

We’re having a party at work tomorrow to celebrate “08/08/08 Day,” which is great because I’ll be able to eat enough that I won’t have to buy food for a week. That’s my favorite part about work parties – they end up saving me a lot of moolah in the long run. I wish they were more fun, though. If I was in charge, we’d be rocking and rolling all night. My parties would go down in history as the best work parties of all time. Here’s a rundown of my perfect party:
We’d start out with a bang, and by that I mean I’d fire off a starter’s pistol so people knew the party actually started. The very first event of the party would be Bobbing for Creed Shots. I’d fill a large kiddie pool with Creed Juice -- a mixture of kool-aid, Pop Rocks, and grain alcohol -- and throw some shot glasses in there. Then everyone has to lean in, grab a shot glass with their mouths, and take the shot. It’s messy but it sure gets things started right. If you’re not drunk after Bobbing for Creed Shots, you’re not playing right.
So after everyone’s good and sauced up, I’d break out the piñatas. The key to piñatas at parties is naming them. If you name them after co-workers, you know people are going to really get into it. I’m not so great with names, so I’d let somebody else do the naming, but trust me, they would all be named. As for filling them, that all depends on the budget. If there’s no dinero for the piñatas, then I’d fill them with dry rice. If there’s a little cash around, then I’d go for hard candy. With hard candy, you get the fun of seeing the piñata burst AND the injuries that go with it.
After piñata time, we’d go straight into the eating contests. I’m partial to deviled eggs for quantity, but I know hot dogs are pretty popular these days, too. I’d compromise and make hot dog omelets for everyone to scarf down. I’m pretty sure I know who’d win, but you never can tell – sometimes the smallest accountants make the biggest eaters.
When the party winds down, I’d do another round of Bobbing for Creed Shots and then send people on their way with Goody Bags. The bags would just be filled with office supplies, but hey, everyone likes a parting gift, right?
They should really make me head of that party committee thing. I’d be amazing.

Why is it so impressive to sleep on a bed of nails? There’s obviously a trick to it that makes it not hurt. I think the real challenge is sleeping in a bed filled with needles. You just know that’s not gonna end well.
I’ve gone for rolls in the hay and it is nothing like sex.
Sometimes I’ll do shots of mouthwash. It gets me a little tipsy and gives me great breath.
I think baseball should introduce a longstop position, just in case the shortstop misses the ball.
Who decided that we needed both North and South Dakota. It seems like a lot of wasted paperwork to me.
Catching flies with your hands is fun, but catching frogs with your feet is a lot more satisfying.
I like to wear two undershirts most days because you never know when you’ll walk into a strip poker game.
I want to open up a bar called “Creed’s Meads” and bring mead back to how popular it was during the American Revolution. It’ll be right between my book store and woodwind instrument shop – Creed’s Reads and Creed’s Reeds.
Why hasn’t anyone built a live-action version of Chutes and Ladders? I’d be first in line to play.
I’ve always thought that shopping carts are just mobile jails for food and all the prisoners are sentenced to death by ingestion. Kind of makes you shop differently, huh?

I’m Batman. At least that’s what I tell women in bars after a few rounds. It’s a great pick-up line because they have no way of knowing if it’s true or not. Sure, they have a 99% chance of knowing that you’re not Batman, but it’s that 1% that gives you the in.
What you’re really looking for is the lady that wants to argue with you about how much you’re not Batman. Those are the broads that end up in bed with you later on yelling “Yes, Batman! Show me your utility belt!” It works every time. It also helps to have a utility belt with you because up until that point, she may still not believe you’re Batman, but when you produce the utility belt, you send her head spinning.
I never used to be good at pick-up lines because I was too direct. “I’d like to be your blanket” works on some chicks, but most of them just slap you and walk away. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good slapping. It’s good for the skin and makes you focus on the task at hand. I’d just rather talk to the woman than get slapped, that’s all. So I had to take a different approach. I’ve heard of new dating advice books where you’re supposed to insult a girl to get her attention, but I think that’s the wrong approach. If I’m not pretending to be Batman, I like to use really impressive facts to get them to talk to me.
I’ll pick out the hottest lady in the bar (or zoo or botanical garden or wherever else I might happen to be) and get her attention with a really loud whisper. Women respond really well to whispers. It’s because they like secrets. So I’ll whisper, “Hey you, come over here” and I’ll look like I’ve got a real big secret to tell them. When they come over, I reach into my bag of facts (not literally) and pull out a good one. “Dolphins are the only animals besides humans that copulate for pleasure.” It works like a charm. Most of the time. Not really. It gets me slapped less, though, so I’m sticking with it.

I’ve been trying something new lately and it’s really put a new spin on how I go through my days. Instead of waking up ten minutes before work and wiping myself down with a damp paper towel, I’ve been waking up really early and going for walks all over town. You’d be amazed at how quiet this place is without people in it. I haven’t felt this peaceful in years.
I went over to Nay Aug Park the other day at around 4am and even the geese were still asleep when I got there. I couldn’t believe my luck. It’s been a dream of mine for years to see how far I could throw a goose and this was the perfect opportunity. I’ve definitely learned that you’ve got to strike fast when dealing with sleeping animals because the element of surprise is your biggest weapon. That old wives’ tale about letting sleeping dogs lie only applies if you don’t have a plan for after you wake up the dog. With geese, it’s the same story. You wake up a goose just for the fun of it, you’ll get pecked like no tomorrow. Their beaks are painful, man. You don’t want to find out first hand.

One of my great joys in life is going to the car wash. Some people may think of it as a hassle, just another chore in their already over-chored lives, but not me. The car wash for me is a wonderful place. It’s where you go to get a new lease on life, or at least a new lease on your scooter. I’m not talking about actual leases – I have no idea how to get a new lease on a scooter. I won mine in a fight. I’m talking about that feeling when you bring in your scooter all caked in mud and whatever other junk might be stuck on there and you ride off with a shiny new-looking scooterino. That’s satisfaction.
You might not have a scooter. You might have a car: the more “traditional” vehicle to take to a car wash. I’m a proud scooter owner and as a proud scooter owner, I like to keep my scooter clean. After all, dirt really shows up on red plastic, you know? So once every month or so in the summer, I take a trip to the place on Moosic and get my wheels all soaped up.
It’s hard to describe the feeling I get at the car wash without sounding dirty (not that that’s ever stopped me before), but I’ll try. It feels a little bit like I’m in the hospital getting a sponge bath from some real foxy nurses. Replace hospital with car wash and real foxy nurses with real burly joes and that’s pretty much what the experience is like. I love to see them get down and dirty with my little scooter. Wipe it down and rinse it off and put so much care into the job. When it comes out of there all gleaming and clean, I feel like I need a smoke.
Look, I’m not a real extravagant guy. I pick fights with extravagant guys. But the car wash is the one place where I can throw down eight bucks once a month and feel like a king. A fella’s got to feel pampered once in a while, you know?

The 4th of July is tomorrow and some would say it’s the greatest American holiday. Not me. I think America Day beats the pants off of the 4th of July.
You may have missed America Day this year because it’s not really well-advertised. It takes place on June 20th and it is a sight to behold. America Day was created by a friend of mine named Samuel Che Emanuel. He’s rail-thin with a haircut that looks oddly as if a woman had her hair cut short like a man. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a feminine masculine haircut, if that makes sense to anyone. He’s a real sparkplug of a guy. Grew up in the wilderness of Colorado with a pet bear. It was a midget bear, so he didn’t have to worry about it eating him or anything. His parents were trappers and lived “off the grid” so to speak, so wildlife pets were nothing new to him.
Anyway, one day, Sammy Che (as we call him) was walking with Midgy (as he called his bear) and stumbled upon a rock formation that looked like an eagle soaring through the air with a flag waving behind it. I’m guessing that Sammy Che was tripping pretty hard that day, so who knows what the rock formation actually looked like. All we know is that Sammy Che returned home and declared that day America Day. When I first met Sammy Che, it was the 20th anniversary of America Day and he showed me how the day is properly celebrated.

I’ve always liked uniforms. When I was a kid, I wore sailor suits every day until I was eight. People called me Captain Crapstick because of how I dressed and the fact that I would carry around a stick with me that I used for poking all sorts of crap. I still have my sailor suit hanging proudly in my closet, but I only break it out when a special lady comes over. It doesn’t fit so well anymore, but I still look darn cute in it.
In my opinion, every job should have a uniform. Fast-food workers, gas station attendants, exterminators, these guys all have it covered already. I’m pushing for the jobs that make you waste time every morning decided what to wear. Take my job, for instance. I know I’m not allowed to wear shorts, because every time I do, I get yelled at. I also can’t wear vests without shirts underneath. So I’m locked into wearing a certain combination of clothing every day, but there are just too many choices. If it were up to me, I’d implement an office worker uniform so you could just wake up every morning, go to your uniform closet, and three seconds later you’re all set.
My uniform would consist of three items and three items only.
1. Navy blue sweatpants. These are the first item because they’re the most important. When I go home, the first thing I do is put on navy blue sweatpants. You can’t find a more comfortable piece of clothing. The color is great because you can spill all you want and nobody’s the wiser. All in all, if the uniform doesn’t include navy blue sweatpants, I don’t want the job.
2. A vest. No shirt required. Vests are amazing inventions. They cover up your nipples (which society has decided are unacceptable to see, for some reason) and they’re classy. You want to class up a joint? Throw on a vest. You want to add some more class? Make sure that vest is leather.
3. Comfy slippers. Right after I change into my navy blue sweatpants, I slide on my sheepskin-lined slippers. Talk about comfort! These little puppies make it feel like you’re walking on a field of soft paralyzed sheep – I say paralyzed only so you don’t picture the sheep as moving. If I could wear slippers to work every day, I’d probably start caring about my job.
These three items could change the workplace as we know it. I’m serious, America. Just think about how much more productive we would be as a country if all office-workers wore navy blue sweatpants, vests without shirts, and comfy slippers. We’d be a comfortably dressed productivity superpower, and honestly, isn’t that what all this fighting is about anyway?