I have been on the search for a piece of memorabilia from the 2010 Olympics that are taking place as we speak. IT literally is on ALL THE TIME. I walk into a pub where I usually go to drown my sorrows of my shambled life of working at that cake decorating place cleaning frosted tips off all day. I don't want to tell people what my actual job is, "Frosted Tips" guy, so I tell everyone that I work at a marketing firm. It works out, because it's a very broad answer, and no one that is even more intelligible than me can pick up on it. Well, I guess the people that I once considered my "borrow from friends", who always succeed in unfolding my lie like a lawn chair and make me feel like the lottery winner who went broke after 2 years. How they go broke is beyond me. I guess they must like donuts and Ferrari's. 

Either way, the pubs I walk in to have nothing but curling on, or duo figure dancing, or 29 mile slalom, or women's hockey. All the ones that SUCK. I can't ever catch a break! I have no choice but to sit with my Shirley Temple and watch the brushes go back and forth in front of the Roomba on ice, and then watch the brushes go at jack-off speeds right before it hits the circles drawn from large to small meaning that there IS a meaning to this so-called "recreational semi-active activity." Not only this, but all the other "sports" are just as super duper luper sucky. I end up pouring my magical drink of cherry-goddess excretions all over my neck and try to find some meaning in my state of life. I needed a tie. 

I walked into the department store, not knowing that this would inevitably be the sanctuary of where I would buy my holy water dipped piece of neck memorabilia. I felt a calmness come over me, like parting the granny panties and boy shorts sea of where red always ends up. And then I saw it, in all it's glorious gloriousness. It's planet shine sparkle tweaked in my monocle, like when a dumbass kid asks you, "Is that the North Star?" No you unintelligent, remedial excuse for a kid with no pubes. It's a damn planet. A PLANET. GET IT? P-L-A-N-E-T. 

I walked towards the blue blocked tie, imperial guards on either side of the rack watching with little interest. I escape their watch, gliding in like Michelle Kwan in her "I'm hot on ice...and know it!" phase. I held the silk snake in my hands, stroking the texture that once used to be a familiar feeling on my bum. It felt so soft, like the backs of my freshly shaven calves. I had to have this tie. It's 100% silk, no fucking around, the blue blocks woven in patterns that are lustrous and shimmer in the dark. The Olympics logo at the bottom seals my happiness, sending warm chills down my spine and into my butt cheeks. I want this feeling on my bum, like the old days. I'm gonna do it. Yep, I'm gonna do it. 

I shoved the tie into my rear region, feelings of familiarity like eggnog shakes being forced down my little throat and my brother's toenail clippings hitting my face while I slept. It was the perfect spot for the tie, nobody was looking, and I strolled out. Undetected. 

My life has a new beginning. A fresh start. A clean slate. 

I'm gonna ask my boss if I can move on to the "Cream Filling" guy position next.