wickedflea | (no subject)

mipplet just got me thinking about bad gifts. I usually get pretty good gifts (except for that one vibrator that homeboy gave me), but I've been known to give some kind of questionable gifts, especially to co-workers. Like when I worked at Burger King in Starkville many years ago, I gave Rena Faye Monroe, a middle-aged black woman, a cassette copy of Danzig II: Lucifuge for Christmas. I only mention the fact that she was a middle-aged black woman because, well, that's not exactly Danzig's demographic. What can I say? I was really into that album at the time and thought everyone should have a copy. Looking back, I now realize that I probably should have given her Earth A. D.

Another time, a couple of years later when I was working at the Bully III pub, I forgot that we were supposed to draw names for gifts at our holiday party. I was broke as hell when it came time to leave for the party, so I scrounged around the house and packed a paper sack from the grocery with the two things in the house that seemed most gift-worthy: a package of mixed chicken parts from the deep-freezer and a cutout of racing legend Richard Petty from the back of a Corn Flakes box. The most excellent part of it was that I ended up drawing my boss's name--which was perfect because one of the reasons I was broke was that it was very hard to get a paycheck from her that wouldn't bounce. (She's the "wine-drunk 22-year-old who ran the bar I worked at for a while and who had a habit of shitting in her lovers' beds" from this entry.) She happened to be in a good mood that night (she could be kinda bipolar), so she actually tried to act pleased. "Oh, good, I needed some chicken!" I wonder if she ever used it. It was probably nasty as fuck; it had probably been in the freezer for a couple of years.