I'M BACK, BITCHES!!!!!!

Aaight, you'se crazy bitches, feast your eyes on my now-rehabbed-for-the second-time-ass. Yeah, I know - higher power, gotta hit your lowest before you can climb out, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Now lets get to the real shiznit - put some gossip to rest:

1. Unacrapper did not throw a death card at me. As you can plainly see from my rehab graduation photo above, I'm alive and well.

2. Sharky was not fired from Hospital World. At least I don't think I was. Last time I showed up, no one was around, so I used it as an excuse to binge.

3. Brittney's baby isn't mine. At least not this time.

I hear some things gonna be changing at Hospital World. Maybe it's for the best. That Jane was bitchy all the time, and buckethead - well buckethead just scared the shit out of me sometimes. Beating up defenseless crippled people. It's a damned shame if you ask me.

Quick survey: I'm thinking about having "Thug Life" tattoed across my stomach. Take a look at my photo above and comment. Don't laugh bitches.......

Captain Sharky

Here I Am, Sitting Beside Myself....

Looks like the heat has died down after my last hit, so I'm back. Gotta be sure to remember to cover my tracks better on the next hit. Geez, you smack a crippled hispanic protesting chick, and the whole fucking world gets its panties in a wad. Granted, I kinda fell of the wagon and fell back into the favor of a woman of ill repute, and the resultant rounds of antibiotics to ward off a scorching case of the clap has me all torn up on the insides, but I think I'll probably survive.

Anyhoo, I came back to the Hospital, and no one was there. Looked like Enron with papers and all kinds of shit just strewn about. The shredders had been going non stop for quite some time when I walked in, and the only people left were the patients. They were hungry and a little dehydrated, but had remained diligently working at destroying any evidence.

Back to my great escape... After getting caught up with the crack whore on "Blind Date," I needed to lay low, so I went to visit my brother in East Texas. East Texas, as most of you are probably aware, is a brutal mix of double-wide trailers sitting damn-square in the middle of Marlboro Country. For most of the people who have found themselves here in this part of the world, East Texas represents the end of the road. That probably includes me… The cocky farmers, the whores, the bums, the fine array of meth labs and dope heads just Jonesing for another hit on that glass dick. It’s beautiful and trendy at the same time, and I loved it. For some, this place has probably always represented home – a road that led to nowhere. They never got out of the fucking gate. For others, it is a disappointing dream that led nowhere, and now they are stuck. Most of the younger ones are acting like white rappers; Eas-Tex Pimps, if you will. You don’t want to fuck around with these dudes – they will fuck you up real quick.

At any rate, my time for laying low expired, and once I figured out that the fuzz wasn't on to me, I rented a vehicle to get me back to Hospital World. Two days later, I finally arrived in a rented black Cadillac Escalade with 22 inch spinner rims with hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 rotten bananas and 2 dozen or so coconuts, 26 pounds of catsup and French fry residue, and about 5 pounds of raw sewage– along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of bad dings, dents and scrapes that were covered, thank Christ, by the rental insurance. Even the fucking spinners wouldn’t spin when I brought the piece of shit back to the rental place. Needless to say, I’m Jonesing for some reliable transportation right now. The truck wasn’t a happy looking gang-banging vehicle when I turned it in… but they gritted their teeth and took it after I showed them my Corporate Compliance credentials from the Hospital.

Upon returning to the Hospital, I found no one there, except the Enron thing going on. It was a real Hitler scene in this shit-hole of a corporate office; I was busted down in the basement by some guy who said he was an auditor. I had a death card at the ready, but didn't use it. The guy looked at me like it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping out my floating rib and eating it. He asked me a few simple questions and really started quizzing me about Jane and Buckethead and what I thought about working for them. I was tempted to Mace the bastard, but instead, I backed off and went back to my office for a drink. With Jane and Buckethead laying low, the fucking days are flipping by like pages off a cheap calendar, and sometimes it’s hard to understand how all this running-around-advancing-behavior can amount to much.

I smell a fresh batch of Cheetos in Administration; looks like the ladies may be back in town...

-Captain Sharky

Where the fuck is everybody?

Jesus, I come back from my Jail/Crack Whore/Road Trip, and the Hospital is empty. No patients, no staff, and I found nothing but rats and roaches eating cheetos in the administratative offices.

Sharky Takes a Road Trip

OK. Given all of the "drama" I've had in my life over the past few days, it is obvious that I need a break. I've decided that the best course of action at this point is to load up all of the drugs I can find and go on a road trip before Jane and Buckethead force me to come back to work or demand explanations for my activities over the past week. Kinda clear the decks mentally.... Almost everybody who goes to the mats gets beaten, one way or another, but not all of us gets broken… But I digress. Anyway, I thought you might like my booking photo.

Perhaps you are wondering how I was able to get our of jail without paying the $100,000 bond or coughing up a kidney or something. It was so easy that it’s almost not worth mentioning. My first attempt was a brutally ignorant escape attempt and that’s what led me to being placed on lockdown. I traded a carton of Pal Mal's for an old cop uniform my cellmate used when he stripped at La Bare. I put it on and tried to walk out. Unfortunately, someone noticed that I was wearing beach baggies and flip-flops. What a dumb-ass I can be sometimes.

The next time, I did it right. I claimed to be severely bleeding from my rectum, and when they took me down to sick bay, I snuck into a Janitor’s Closet and was befriended by a Rastafarian named Jibbie, who hid me among a group of Jamaican nationals until I was finally rolled out of the jail in a Janitors Cart. All this for less then a quarter pound of the finest Ganja. In an interesting twist of fate, I ate so much Jerk Chicken before leaving town, that I am now actually bleeding from the rectum….

My first night on the road, I stopped at a small seedy hotel in Lake Charles Louisiana that was owned by a small Asian man named When or Yen of some shit like that. After obtaining a room at a hideously high price for someone on the lam, the night clerk agreed to accept twenty American dollars for the company of his daughter for the rest of the night (although all I was trying to get was a room). He described her as a “young and beautiful student – not a bar girl” who spoke excellent English and would certainly have no objection to being awakened at three in the morning and hauled over to the hotel by taxi in a hellish rainstorm, just in order to “make me happy – long time.”

“Look,” I said. “You are dealing with a very tired person. The only thing I need to make me happy is a long sleep in a big bed with nobody bothering me. I have nothing against meeting your daughter; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person and all – but why don’t I just give you twenty dollars and never mind about waking her up tonight. If she’s free around noon tomorrow, maybe we can have lunch at the Hi-De-Ho.”

The man winced. Nobody’s “daughter” goes near the Hi-De-Ho. It is one of the scurviest and most infamous shitholes in all of Lake Charles – even worse than the infamous “Lucy’s” in Saigon – and the moment I said the name and saw the man’s face, I knew I’d said both the right and the wrong thing at the same time. He was grievously insulted, but at least we understood each other. So he had one of his assistant pimps carry my bag up to my room. I asked he bellman if he would get me a bucket of ice. Somewhere in the bowels of my scant luggage I had a film-cannister full of extremely powerful Cambodian Red Pot, along with a quart of Jack Daniel’s, a handful of Ritalin tablets, and the prospect of a few iced drinks along with a pipeload of paralytic hallucinogens seemed just about right for that moment……followed by fifteen or sixteen hours of stuporous sleep.

I blew a large hole in the hotel floor with my .40 Sig the next morning – a hideous accident caused by a mixture of gunpowder and LSD. The hotel guests in the room below me left at once. The slug tore through the hardwood floor, the sub-flooring and made hash of the acoustical ceiling tile in their room just below me. They told the manager that it sounded like a bomb was being dropped on them. When the Manager came to my room to investigate the ruckus, I answered the door in a cheap bathrobe that was about 2 sizes too small, with a Pal Mal between my teeth, a bottle of cheap Tequila in my hand, and my gun tucked into the robe. I asked where the fucking candy machine was.

....maybe this road trip isn't as healing as I thought it would be. And to top it all off, I just realized that Propecia the Crack Whore stole my credit cards. Now I'm really fucked.....

-Captain Sharky

Out of Jail and in Serious Trouble....

Please help me; I'm totally out of control....

-Captain Sharky

Sharky has Fallen Off the Wagon.....

As many of you may have surmised by now, Sharky's sudden sobriety was doomed to only last for so long. This afternoon, Sharky's Press Agent released the following statement.

"After drinking alcohol and ingesting massive illegal chemical substances on Tuesday night, Captain Sharky did a number of things that were very wrong and for which he is deeply ashamed. Captain Sharky drove a car when he should not have, and was stopped by the County sheriffs. Inside the car, arresting officers found several transvestite midgets and blow up dolls, several kilos of assorted recreational drugs, bananas, hairbrushes, and a Silverback Ape from the local zoo. Captain Sharky has repeatedly stated that the arresting officer was "just doing his job," and he "feels fortunate that he was apprehended before he caused injury to another person, animal or vinyl doll." Captain Sharky stated while in the pokey, "I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested, and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable. I am deeply ashamed of everything I said. Also, I take this opportunity to apologize to the deputies involved for my belligerent behavior. They have always been there for me in my community and indeed probably saved me from myself. I disgraced myself and my fellow employees at Hospital World with my behavior and for that I am truly sorry. I have battled the disease of alcoholism and drug abuse for all of my adult life and profoundly regret my horrific relapse. I apologize for any behavior unbecoming of me in my inebriated state and have already taken necessary steps to ensure my return to health."

At press time, Captain Sharky remains in the County Jail under $100,000 bond.

Rollin' in the Ghetto

Back to my ritualistic post-kill ritual. I'm back in the 'hood and my speakas' be thumpin'. Today I listen to Snoop Dogg.

*man pissing*Heah hah hah!Im serious nigga one of yall niggaz got this ass motherfuckin up
Aiy baby, aiy baby... aiy baby get some bubblegum in this motherfucker
Steady long, steady long nigga

Alright! Now any song that starts with "man pissing" can only get better. Its simply a sign of whats to come. Snoop nevers shoots his wad during the first couple of lines......

With so much drama in the l-b-c
Its kinda hard bein snoop d-o-double-g
But i, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day
May i, kick a little something for the gs (yeah)
And, make a few ends as (yeah!) I breeze, through
Two in the mornin and the partys still jumpin
Cause my momma aint home
I got bitches in the living room gettin it on
And, they aint leavin til six in the mornin (six in the mornin)
So what you wanna do, sheeeit
I got a pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too
So turn off the lights and close the doors
But (but what) we dont love them hoes, yeah!
So we gonna smoke a ounce to this
Gs up, hoes down, while you motherfuckers bounce to this

Man, I TOLD you this shit was going to be kickin'. "G's up, Ho's Down..." - this man CLEARLY knows his target audience. He don't need no Rand Corporation or or Healthcare Concepts Company telling him who he is targeting. Even when he smokes an ounce, which is a considerable amount of dope, Snoop is still on his game, coming up with funky ass shit like every single day.

Even the gangstas that just rolled up on me at the traffic light be hoppin to these scandalous lines.

Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juiceLaid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]

You damned skippy! (English translation: You said it all!).

Now, that, I got me some seagrams gin
Everybody got they cups, but they aint chipped in
Now this types of shit, happens all the time
You got to get yours but fool I gotta get mine
Everything is fine when you listenin to the d-o-g
I got the cultivating music that be captivating he
Who listens, to the words that I speak
As I take me a drink to the middle of the street
And get to mackin to this bitch named sadie (sadie? )
She used to be the homeboys lady (oh, that bitch)
Eighty degrees, when I tell that bitch please
Raise up off these n-u-ts, cause you gets none of these
At ease, as I mob with the dogg pound, feel the breeze
Beeeitch, Im just

DAMN, Snoop be testifying up in here. I don't even understand the shit he be spittin' out, but I'm sure it has something to do with moochers and hookin' up with the local ho.

Rollin' down the street, smoking Indo, sippin' on gin and juice Laid Back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]

He do be speaking the truth. When I smoke Indo and sip on Gin and Juice, my mind is clearly on my money, and my money is therefore (by default, almost) on my mind.

Later on that day
My homey dr. dre came through with a gang of tanqueray
And a fat ass j, of some bubonic chronic that made me choke
Shit, this aint no jokeI had to back up off of it and sit my cup down
Tanqueray and chronic, yeah Im fucked up now
But it aint no stoppin, Im still poppin
Dre got some bitches from the city of compton
To serve me, not with a cherry on top
Cause when I bust my nut, Im raisin up off the cot
Dont get upset girl, thats just how it goes
I dont love you hoes, Im out the do'
And Ill be

As you may have clearly surmised by now, Dr. Dre is not my homey, nor has he ever brought pot or booze to my crib. And those baby mamas from Compton are just a tad bit too scary for the old Sharky. But the last part is classic Snoop - "I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'". I love it......

Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice (beeotch!!)Laid back [with my mind on my money and my money on my mind]

Yo, dawg, that be some straight up shit. Snoop always makes me feel empowered. When I summon up the strength to do something I'd rather not do (like ask for a raise, or something of the sort), I listen to Snoop to get my nerve up. Makes me feel better about cappin' somebody's ass as an added benefit.

I don't love you ho's, I'm out the do'.

- Captain Sharky

That fucking little green midget UnaCrapper is Still Alive!!

Sonofabitch! I just realized that I didn't actually kill that little slimy green bastard UnaCrapper. I went up into the ceiling crawlspace, and there was all these empty bottles of KY, Vodka bottles, and a film projector with the following film running. I must have just missed his little punk-ass, or he heard me coming.



Alright, you little bastard, WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!!!!

-Captain Sharky

Sharky analyzes the Miss Teen USA South Carolina Answer.....

OK, I admit it. I'm not out chasing Non-Complying employees today. I'm in full analysis mode of the Miss Teen USA South Carolina answer to the question, "Why cant a fifth of Americans find the United States on a map?"

Now, I'm not an educated man, but I think I've gotten to the bottom of this debacle. Let me break her answer down for you bit by bit.

"I personally believe that US Americans..."

Not "us" Americans, not "we" Americans, but US Americans. This clearly shows Miss South Carolina's depth of knowledge, for she understands the complex nature of the "haves" versus the "have-nots" in this country. See, to live in the U.S. is free, but to be an U.S. American, you have to pay your taxes to support the welfare crack addicts, vote for men who proposition other men in public bathrooms, and wear hats and t-shirts with American flags on. She gets it...

"... are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don't have maps..."

This inherently is a true statement, and deserves little discussion and analysis. However, after rummaging through the trash in Miss South Carolina's Hotel room this past week, I found this, which might explain her statement:

"...and I believe that our education like such as south Africa and the Iraq and everywhere like such...."

Our education is clearly like such as South Africa and the Iraq.

"...as and I believe that they should our education over here in the US should help the US..."

Honey, we probably would, if we could get our own shit together...

"...or should help south Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future."

We have our finest working on this as we speak.

So in closing, it is clear that this has been a big misunderstanding. The real culprit here is the introduction of Ebonics into Southern Schools back in the 90's.

-Captain Sharky

Jane and Buckethead - PLEASE HELP!!

We have a real problem here. I've been trying to meet with you guys, but you are always in meetings behind closed doors and all I hear is the sound of crunching cheetos. I know that you guys are cheating on the new Federal Compliance Bill already, but thats another problem to face another day. For now, I have a serious problem in front of the Hospital. It seems that our employee, Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington is now taking her complaint against Jane public. She has been wandering around the public entrances sitting in her wheelchair and holding various signs that outline her problems with Jane's extracurricular activities. I advised Ms. Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington that she could not do this on private property, and she moved to the street outside the Hospital premises.



I thought she might tire of it and move on, but she's been out there every day for almost 2 weeks now, drinking Fantas and leaving taco wrappers in the street. The employees are starting to rally around her cause, as many of them are noticing shoes and medication missing from their own homes.

Here's my problem. I'm having a real ethical problem throwing a death card at a disabled person. The death card itself isnt the problem - I cant seem to throw it AND meet current ADA guidelines in throwing it. And to top it all off, I keep tripping over that damned hoop when I'm sneaking up behind her, and it gives me away.

I am formally requesting the following:
1. A variance on hoop-jumping to get the job done; and
2. A consultant to help us best accomplish my death card throwing AND meet Federal ADA guidelines. I'm thinking that maybe if I throw the death card from a wheelchair that I myself am sitting in, it might meet the standard, but I don't want to whack my own legs just to find out that I'm still due a big fine from the feds.

Please help!

-Captain Sharky

My weekend, summed up (thus far)

I can't help myself. I wonder if the Hospital has an Employee Assistance Plan for stoners like me?

Uno Mas Complaintenet Slut Jane

I come to you one more tine to complaint Jane CEO. She no good. She take my medicine and she drunk slut for my man. He make moving Funsaver movie I find of Jane CEO slut whore.

She nasty. She come in my house and eat my food and take my shoes. I no like. She slut many time my man. You stay away whore woman.

You tell company Jane CEO bad slut whore and steal man. I tell her man she slut.

My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington

La Complainta

Meester Complaint Sharky:



How como you no savvy my "EL Loco CEO" complaint? You CEO - she still trash white. She no good. She slut. She sleep my man and eat my food. She paint fingernail red like slut and she take my bra. I dont like. She no bueno.

I take another picture Funsaver:

She send picture to my man like this. She take my medicine when she here and replace it with vitamins of Flintstone. She think I estupido, but I no estupido - I un-estupido. She soy gringo estupido pendejo.

You tell she bad. Stay away my husband and my medication.

My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington

My Post-Kill Ritual

Most hired killers smoke cigars and drink brandy for their post-kill ritual. I roll into the 5th Ward, playing gangsta rap music thumpin at full blast, drinking Colt-45's. To each his own.

B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
It's about time we had our own song
Don't know what took so long
Cause nowadays it's like a badge of honor
To be a baby mama
I see ya payin' ya bills
I see ya workin' ya job
I see ya goin' to school
And girl I know it's hard
And even though ya fed up
With makin' beds up
Girl, keep ya head up
All my

Oh, yes, my girl Fantasia Barrino, spittin' out some scandalous lyrics.... But now that you mention it, I guess it is time that it's about time that ya'll had your own song.

B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
I see you get that support check in the mail
You open it and you're like, "What the Hell?"
You say, "This ain't even half of daycare"
Sayin' to yourself, "This shit ain't fair"
And all my girls who don't get no help
Who gotta do everything by yourself
Remember, what don't kill you can only make you stronger
My baby mama

This may come as a surprise to most of you, but I actually have a Baby Mama. We're generally not on speaking terms, but there's no doubt that I see that she gets that support check in the mail and opens it and says "What the Hell?" But my Baby Mama generally follows with "I can't hit the Neiman Marcus One Day Sale!"

.......My Baby Mama. I should have been a rapper instead of a Sea Captain or a Compliance Dude. I could have called myself "Grand Master Cap'n S" or perhaps "Sharky Whiteface Killa" or even "Cap'n Crunk."

For those of you who may be interested, this is a photograph of my Baby mama from our wedding:

B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas
Cause we the backbone (of the hood)
I always knew that (that we could)
We can go anywhere, we can do anything
I know we can make it if we dream
And I think it should be a holiday
For single mothers, tryin' to make a way
But until then, here is your song
Show love to my....

This is the same woman who won American Idol, right? I mean, seriously - what the fuck were we thinking?

You know, it comes as
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
This goes out to all my baby mamas
B-A-B-Y M-A-M-A
This goes out to all my baby mamas
I got love for all my baby mamas

Not to minimize the plight of inner city Baby Mamas and the general opression of the masses by "The Man," generally referred to as that Sum-Bitch George Bush, but DAMN Fantasia, you could have done much better with your debut album. Now I'm depressed....

UnaCrapper

UnaCrapper: You dawg, yo ass done been called out. I'm throwin' out my first death card on yo' ass.

I now know that it was your sorry ass who crapped on both Charlene desk and my own desk. You thought you were slick, sitting up there in the ceiling crawlspace, eating stolen Cheetos and drinking cheap malt liquor and touching yourself. I almost had your punk ass the other day, but you caught me at a weak moment and got away. And to shove it in my face, you broke into the CEO's and CFO's office, and stole their bonus Cheetos that they were supposed to distribute out to staff but kept for themselves. But I punk'd yo' sorry ass. Thats right, I dilly-dally diseased yo' ass by poisoning the Cheetos you stole. And I know you ate the shit too, because I've been tracking you through the Hospital crawl spaces. You're feeling weak now, arent you? The constant cramping has kept you retching and shitting almost non-stop. Your insides are turning to mush as you read this, you nasty-ass little green midget. Your eyesight is getting fuzzy and you are hearing things. Blood is trickling out of your orifices, and you have jock itch. That botulism is some pretty nasty stuff, and unfortunately for you, this particular strain is not curable. So wherever you are in the deep recesses of the Hospital, will be your final resting place.

You must be wondering how I figured it all out, since the Hospital doesn't have the technology to perform DNA testing on poo. Well, the answer was simple. I needed an extremely powerful source of energy to create a reverse magnetic phosphodiesterase, so I pulled the dilethium crystals from Belinda Biatchs's vibrator, used the acid diethylamide from the remaining blotter acid that Luther Cobblebritches and I consumed last weekend, and after ingesting this nearly toxic substance, used a simple magnifying glass to determine that the corn in the poo sample you left on my desk was of the same consistency you left in the sample you left on Charlene's desk, and the same that you left in the crawlspaces within the Hospital.

I'd like to close by laughing uncontrollably like they do on the James Bond Movies or like they did in Wayne's World (Uh-wah-ha-ha-ha), but it doesnt sound quite as good on paper.

-Captain Sharky

El CEO es Loco....

Deer Mister Comply:

I em work you Hospital. CEO Jane, she no good. No bueno. Ms. Jane she go to bad place like tramp. She pick up mucho man and crack smoking. She dress like whore on weekend and take drug and make love mucho man. She have bambino for my man. She stealed from the Target I work on weekend and go jail.

Here picture I take with Funsaver.

She whore. You tell company. She not gud CEO, she like tramp.

My name Estella Guadalajara Santa Maria Sanchez-Fuentes Washington

M E M O R A N D U M

August 19, 2007

TO: Jane Smith, CEO

CC: Buckethead, CFO

FROM: Captain Sharky, Chief of Compliance

I understand that you have 2 positions posted in Human Resources, one for a Janitor and one for a Director of Human Resources. I believe that I have 2 contacts who are more than qualified for these positions.

Human Resources Director: I would like to recommend my friend Touchy-Feely Guy for this position. Touchy-Feely Guy has been in Human Resources for over 1 year and has held Director of Human Resources positions in over 12 organizations. I like the way he sometimes caresses me behind the ear, but that level of contact is not for everyone. But I'm not gay or anything. I like girls - ALOT. Sometimes it just feels good to be needed. I'm just human. But I'm not gay like that Russell guy I keep hearing about. He sometimes stands in my office doorway and just stares at me. He did it today, and I still had a fairly fresh pile of poo in the wastebasket from the attack upon my desk last evening. Russell just stood there and stared. I asked "Hey, Russell, smell something?" And he just stood there and smiled. I guess some people's freak flags fly high, and some not so high. But I'm not gay, mind you. I just want to be clear that I like girls, although they are typically girls of ill repute.

Janitor: Inigo Montoya can clean stuff. He has had recent tragedy in his life but now seems focused and on a mission.

I'm sure that both Touchy-Feely Guy and Inigo Montoya would be excellent additions to the Hospital World team.

On another note, I would like to request a day off on Monday. My friend Javier just muled over a solid kilo of columbian powder that will make steam blow out of your ears. I'm not like an addict or anything, and I'm not gay either.

Also, a death card is about to be laid upon a Hospital World employee's simple behind. Just thought you guys should know that you will be bathing in Cheetos again soon.

-Captain Sharky

OH NO HE DID-INT!!!!!!

Oh, hell no! In the short time it took me to post my blog update and eat a can of Vienna Sausages, I return back to my little janitors closet, and what the fuck do I find on my desk, but a hot, steamy pile of poo.

Who the hell do I file a complaint with? I'm the freaking Compliance Officer - you don't shit on the Compliance Officer's desk!

I have taken a photo of the poo with my Funsaver Camera, and will post it only upon request, as I'm sure that many of you have queasy stomachs. Nevertheless I will share this photo with Charlene to see if it resembles the poo that was left on her desk.

NOW I'M REALLY MAD!!

The Usual Suspects

Sharky here, coming out of deep cover at Hospital World to cash my unemployment check (yes, the great State of Texas still thinks I'm slumming..), buy some lottery tickets and smokes, and wash some clothes. Hopfully Charlene Crabass will read this. I'm fixin' to pop a death card on someone's ass, as I'm close to "cracking" this case.

I have several solid suspects, all of whom are stone cold street thugs and gangstas, so I'm going to have to be careful befo' the caps start poppin'. My plan is to shank his ass before he knows what hit him, but I must be certain that my target is the desk shitter. I feel like I should give this individual a sly criminal nickname, but since he or she has only shit on a desk one time, the only nickname I could come up with was the "Uno" Crapper. On second thought, thats a pretty bone-headed nickname.....

Back to my suspects. They are as follows:

Suspect #1. I set my computer's video camera to pick up movement and snap a photo, in case my target started rummaging through my things to see where I was in this investigation.






I'm not sure who this is or how he got into my office, but if you see a hairless rodent with Harry Potter glasses and wearing lots of bling-bling, please contact my office immediately.


Suspect #2 is Lola Poindexter. Lola is a sneaky one alright, but I'm currently of the opinion that she is being framed. It is certainly wierd, though. Lola is certainly NOT a movie buff, and yet while rummaging through her office (BTW - Buckethead, I hope you are reading this, although I'm not one to snitch: Lola has a STACK of patient accounts she hasn't billed since last year..), I found a note pad, upon which was written at least 100 times, "I fucking hate Charlene." In addition, I found this freshly hung poster on Lola's cubicle wall:








This is certainly no smoking gun (or smoking ass in this case), but its sort of ironic, don't you think?


Suspect #3 is Lumpy the Circus Elephant. After a careful examination of the said fecal matter which was so hastily deposited onto one Charlene's desk, I found that Lumpy's fecal matter is of the same consistency, texture and smell as the heretofore noted booty deposit. This is an older photo of Lumpy, but if you see anyone matching this photo, please notify me:

Now for those of you who are not trained to read or write in ching-chang, I will translate: "Ah, so.... Ah, rather laarge, ah, erefrant ah takie a poop ah. Oh, no, you too boo-koo. You #1 G.I. Me love you long time....."

Suspect #4. I found this little fucker crawling around in the ceiling the other night. I detained his slimy little green ass and after snapping this photo, the little bastard got away through a ventilation duct.



This dude gives me the fucking creeps. It looks like he's moving around in the ceiling quite a bit, and I found several (more than 20) empty Mickey Big Mouth Malt Liquor bottles, several empty bags of Cheetos, and an empty package of ex-lax in the ceiling area right above Charlene's desk. This dude clearly had Cheeto breath when I grabbed him. I'm fairly certain that this may be my guy, and if he is, I'm going to lay a serious Compliance Death Card on his ass.

Over and out,

Captain Sharky

...And the Game Begins.......................

Barely on the job one day, and already I can see that I am going to have to crack my knuckles up side some fool's head in my usual style of ensuring Compliance. I received this note this morning (names have been changed to protect the indigent):

Sharky,

[Person who shall remain nameless] here. Glad you got oriented. Now to work.

Someone crapped on my desk. I think it's [woman of song lore who was of ill repute]. I think [name of common fruit which I must keep confidential] is covering it up. I think [unnamed executive who must cover up bad hair with chicken container] is probably just laughing her ass off and doing nothing. Can you start an investigation?

PS: Someone defaced my kitty cat calendar too.

Don't look now, but if you find a "death card" laying on your desk, you might want to start putting your affairs in order.

Orientation

DAMN.... This orientation stuff is hard. Back when I signed on as a dive boat Captain, my orientation lasted a whole 5 minutes, 3 of which consisted of me watching the boat owner cough and hack up a lung while he smoked what I thought was probably going to be his last Marlboro. I'm so damned tired after only 1 day of orientation. But thats not the point. Check it out - I've been issued my own software. Hopefully there will be a computer somewhere to use it on. That Bill Gates is one smart mo-fo. He can package anything to sell, even in this Hospital located in the ghetto.

Fo' shizzle............

Dress for Success

OK - so tommorow is my big day. But before I "officially" start my new job, I need to think about what I will wear.

It is clear that after many, many months of being a dive boat captain, that I would actually have to wear clean clothes to work. This has been my primary task today. As I was at the washeteria trying to figure out how to no shrink or otherwise fuck up my clothing, I noticed an interesting thing on the tag of my shirt:

Unfortunately, I have no woman, and even the Italian-Vietnamese-Pentacostal Hooker has vanished, so I'm going to have to try to do the best I can.

Wish me luck, my bruthas!!

-Captain Sharky

Buckethead Revealed

After much rumor an innuendo among the tabloid press and the corporate office of a certain Hospital company (who shall remain nameless), it has come to my attention (as the new Director of Compliance) that we have a mole within our ranks at the Hospital, who I must now seek out and destroy.

The Corporate pigs have been trying to figure out who has been writing these irreverent and yet mostly true blogs, and are currently on the lookout for one who is called BucketheadCFO. However, they do not know who this individual is. Because of the hostile nature of the Corporate Gestapo, I have hidden BucketheadCFO true identity, so if you see this individual wandering around the Hospital, pay them no mind.

Mr./Ms. Mole: you can run, but you cant hide - I'll get your little rat-ass!

-Captain Sharky

Today I got so fucked up that I decided that I was a skittle. I made friends with Luther Cobblebritches after someone apparently cleaned him mamma's ass. He was so appreciative, that he brought over 3 full sheets of blotter acid and after about 5 hits I became (at least in my own mind) "skittle man" as you can see in the photograph below.

This wasn't just a crazy play session. I literally battled the likes of "Marathon John," "Sam Snickers," and those little fucking M&M's guys. I'm going to tell you (in case you didn't already know) - those are some crazy mother-fuckers. We beat them like the bitches they were, though. Anyway, while this photograph may look funny to some, I want to make clear that we were celebrating a victory over the once mighty Mike and Ike.......



It is not something I am proud of. I am certain that I have not been molested in any way, but all of my goldfish crackers and apple juice are missing (but my grits are still here). Maybe I should just leave well enough alone and act like nothing ever happened......

Too Who Concern

COMPLIANCE DEPARTMENT

TO: Jane Smith, CEO

CC: BucketheadCFO

RE: Patient Letter

I stopped by the Hospital this afternoon to see my office (which I now see is a converted janitors closet on a lockdown unit) and was handed this letter by a gentleman on the unit.

Happy Hiney Hospital
22222 Serosanguenous Avenue
Wherethefuckami, Texas

Too Who Concern:

I am post this letter you about may mamma who you patient. 324A by the bathroom.
My mamma stink. You not clean her ass 4 days. Nothing. Last night I catch nurse eating mamma goldfish crackers and drinking her apple juice, and going through her pockets. Nurse last week stole mamma’s pills. She old lady. Why you steal and let her stink?

At night, nurses play poker and smoke and drink and throw dice.

Let me finish by saying mamma don’t like grits.

I am made and will attorney if you don’t make mamma stop stink. Jim Adler tough smart make you pay.


Luther Cobblebritches
(My mamma name Ms. Naheem Cobblebritches – she in 324A by the bathroom)

Knowing that I was not yet generally oriented to the Hospital, I went into room 324A near the bathroom, and while I did not touch anything, I can confirm that his mamma's ass does indeed stink, and that there are poker chips under the nurses station desk.

I will be available to discuss in more detail after I have completed generatl orientation next week.

-Captain Sharky

Oh, Yeah, Fuck Over the New Guy.....

OK you jealous commie hospital bastards - who sent me this book in the mail today? It came postmarked from the Hospital. You bastards don't know who you're dealing with.

I Accept

Dear Ms. Jane:

I accept your kind offer of employment at Happy Hiney Hospital (where you're just happy that my ass is there!).

In the immortal words of JFK (spoken in my best Baaas-ten accent): "I choose to go to your Hospital. I choose to go to your Hospital in this week and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of my energies and skills, because that challenge is one that I am willing to accept, one I are unwilling to postpone, and one which I intend to win, and the others, too."

I'm not completely certain what the "and the other things" means exactly, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with having multiple mistresses.

At any rate, the lack of circulating cannabanoids and ether alcohol have allowed my dopinergic receptors to begin working in my brain again, and I was thinking that maybe the Compliance Department needs a motto of some sort. I'm thinking:

"NO MEANS NO"
-or-

COMPLY OR DIE

-or-

The Compliance Department (where we almost always qualify our statements)

...which sort of got me thinking: what is "compliance" anyway? I'm almost certain it has something to do with kicking somebody's ass, but I wasn't enterely sure, so I asked this nice young man who came to my door, offering literature about a Tower I was supposed to Watch, or something about Jesus. I asked him what compliance was, and he handed me this:

Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I've started working out again in hopes of racking some nuts and busting some heads for you.

I'll be in the office on Monday. Oh yeah last thing - dress code. Would it be OK for me to wear this until we gets our "COMPLY OR DIE" t-shirts made?
Thanks and I promise I won't let you down. I won't make you proud, but I definately won't let you down.....

-Captain Sharky

My Life - One Big Anticlimax.....

OK, so here's the deal. I've finally been offered a job by this Hospital - something called Compliance and Risk. I don't get it - maybe it's that I finally dried out, but this whole job thing is kinda scary. This is apparently some sort of Executive Position (or so I'm told), and it suddenly hit me that I know exactly "nothing" about Management. So I go to the bookstore and purchase the "Management for Dummies" and as I'm checkin out, the clerk asks me if I've read the newest bestseller entitled "Gung-Ho My Ass."

"Fuck it - I'll take it," I tell the clerk.

She tells me that it's a parody about management.

"Thats scandalous, dawg." I say, trying my best to act hip.

So I take it home and read it. She was right - the "Management for Dummies" book went right out the window. Here's the Cliffs Notes version of "Gung-Ho My Ass."

The Ten Rules of Management.

1. You as the Manager are always right, even when you are stupid.
2. The physical laws of time and space were meant to be broken – put unattainable goals on your subordinates backs, and watch them lose their families over it. Not THAT’S some funny shit.
3. Any problem that faces you as a Manager has nothing to do with a lack of resources – it has to do with a lack of meetings, conference calls, and action plans.
4. When in doubt, ask for status reports.
5. If you’re talking, you are communicating.
6. Low morale is caused by character flaws in your employees.
7. If ten people can complete the project in 10 days, then one person can complete the project in one day.
8. Teamwork is when others do your work for you, and you take all of the credit.
9. Employee illness and injury is a manifestation of laziness.
10. Abuse is a form of recognition. And recognition is what every employee wants.

I intend to use at least 3 of these important tenets on my first week on the job, which incidentally is next week.

Up with People!
-Captain Sharky

Pre-Employment Examination Response

Dear Ms. Human Resources-Type Person:



Forthwith whereupon, please circumspectually personify upon my evidential documentation in re: employment with your fine upstanding organizational enterprise. My evidential responstigations are italicized for your convenience. Whereupon you conjugate upon my prognostications, please supplant my abode with adequate domestication.

1. What is the structural formula for 1-chloro-1cyclobutyl-4, 4-diethylcycloheptane? 1-chloro-1cyclobutyl-4, 4-diethylcyclopheptane is obviously something that could really fuck up your shit if it was abused, and therefore I strongly recommend that drugs are bad. It structurally looks like delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol, or common maijuana, but it has an additional benzene ring that generally turns you into one fucked up individual.

2. What is the difference between vector and scalar quantities? Vectors require both magnitude and direction for complete definition, whereas scalar quantities can be measured using a definite scale and they require only magnitude for Vectors force displacement momentum acceleration scalars distance speed time mass. To put it in terms relative to the most common law of physics, "The angle of the dangle is directly proportional to the mass of the ass."

3. Is it OK for a vegetarian to eat animal crackers? No, you 'tardo. Those PETA people will fuck up your shit.

4. Would a fly without wings be called a "walk?" I knew you guys would throw in a trick question, and the answer is "no." A fly actually has no legs, but rather has 2 penises (or penii for you scientific folk).

5. After eating, do amphibians have to wait 1 hour before getting out of the water? Only if they eat a high fat meal.

6. Are you breaking the law if you drive past those signs that say "Do Not Pass?" I'm fairly certain that this would only apply in the State of Arkansas.

7. How can a stupid person be a smart-ass? Can you repeat the question?

8. What if the hokey-pokey really is what it's all about? One thing that I realized when I was in prison back in Texas was that as a prison-bitch, I could do the hokey-pokey without recourse.

9. Why is a bra singular and panties pleural? To take that one step further, why do they call them "nuts?" I mean, its not like theres more than one... Oh, yeah, never mind. I like panties. Occasionally I wear them.

I really need a job. Why are you guys waiting so long to hire me?

Captain Sharky

Dear EEOC

August 3, 2007

Equal Employment Opportunity Commission
207 S. Houston Street
Dallas Texas 75202

Dear Sir or Madam:

I have applied for employment at a local Hospital and have been sent a pre-employment examination that I must complete successfully before they will offer me employment. The questions are as follows:

1. What is the structural formula for 1-chloro-1cyclobutyl-4, 4-diethylcycloheptane?

2. What is the difference between vector and scalar quantities?

3. Is it OK for a vegetarian to eat animal crackers?

4. Would a fly without wings be called a "walk?"

5. After eating, do amphibians have to wait 1 hour before getting out of the water?

6. Are you breaking the law if you drive past those signs that say "Do Not Pass?"

7. How can a stupid person be a smart-ass?

8. What if the hokey-pokey really is what it's all about?

9. Why is a bra singular and panties pleural?


I have no problems answering organic chemistry or quantum mechanics questions, but I am certain that I am enduring emotional pain and suffering - the last question is clearly sexual harassment - how the hell did they know that I like to wear women's panties? Can I sue these people if they don't hire me and get something like disability, or food stamps or something? I really need a "Plan B."

Very Truly Yours,

Captain Sharky

I Am Not An Animal........

I Am Not An Animal........................... I.............AM.......................A.....................MAN!!!!



Ah, the immortal words of the Elephant Man. Just makes me feel all funny and fuzzy inside to see that the world is full or irony, regardless of the status of my particular inebreation (or today, at least, the lack thereof).



A funny thing has happened; for some reason I received a telephone call from the Employee Health Nurse at this Hospital I've applied to, telling me that I maybe I needed to set up an appointment with an Obstetritian, and that I need to clear this up before we can talk about a job. Figuring this to be some sort of bluff or negotiating tactic that these here big corporations are famous for, I stated that I needed to hear something from them soon in regards to a job offer, as I was currently entertaining serious offers to put my Captains license to work, Skippering a liveaboard dive boat in the Bahamas. And you know what, the lady said the damnest thing. She said, "I don't think you'll be doing much diving anytime soon in your motherly condition." Now what the hell is that supposed to mean? She could have just as easily have said "Gooney-Goo-Goo" and I would have at least have had a better understanding. Maybe she just speaks jive - I hear that this Hospital is somewhere in the ghetto.......



Anyhoo, the CEO's office called and asked me if I had a recent photograph that I could send. The CEO is apparently one of the "beautiful people" and thus wants to surround herself with such. I'm not much on photographs, but I was able to make a copy of the photograph on my Captain's License.

Dear Ms. Human Resources...

Dear Ms. Human Resources:

Upon further review of my consent for urine drug screening in anticipation of potential employment, I noticed that I may have mistakingly answered question 13-c incorrectly. As you are aware, question 13-c asks the applicant if he/she is taking any prescription or over-the counter medications on a regular basis, and if they are, to list those medications. I mistakingly answered "no," but in reality, the correct answer to this question is "yes."

I'm on at least 4 different psych meds. Depakote is a mood-stabilizer they are giving me because I go up-and-down and up-and-down due to bipolar disorder. Then there's Risperdal, which is an anti-psychotic for hearing voices and stuff. I have some unwanted thoughts. I'm on generic Prozac. I also take one milligram of Klonopin a night to help calm me down. Apparently, if I didn't take these meds, I'd be in trouble, and so would the Marble Slab Creamery. Risperdal helps me to not think in psychotic ways. Like ripping the lips off of a colleague when they do not shut the fuck up. I hope you guys are not upset with me. I'm not really going to kill anybody - you can go to hell for that, you know.... Last night, I had a "little" meltdown. I was watching The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show from September 12, 1965, on a DVD, and I was looking at John Lennon, and I just lost it. I was yelling, "You mother-fucker - you lip-syncing mother fucker!!!" I mean, where the hell did THAT come from? So I looked up to him in heaven and said, "John, please forgive me; I don't know where those thoughts come from." John is NOT a mother-fucker, and I love him dearly and I love The Beatles dearly. So, I apologize to John. I'm on other psych meds as well. Clozaril is another anti-depressant. I take both 50 and 100 milligram pills of it. I'm also on Topamax. This anti-psych drug is for my mania. Once, I was in the rec-room with a bottle of multi-colored sand, and I sat down with a nail file and started separating the grains of sand by color. They added the Topamax when the nurse caught me with the sand, and I jabbed a pencil in her ear. I should have had neither the nail file nor the pencil.....

I'm also on Lipitor, for my cholesterol.

Psychiatry is only a 100 year old science, and we're just starting to understand the brain. Call me deluded, but I think that things are just a little too new. I'm quite sure that I have been misdiagnosed, and I've told my Psythiatrist this on numerous occasions, only to have Trilpetal and Manecdal (I think they are mood stabilizers) add to my drug regimen.

As you can plainly see, my missing this important item on your questionaire is an obvious and honest mistake.

Thank you for your consideration,

Captain Sharky

The Prophet, and Other Reasons that Peyote Should be Outlawed (wow, and now I understand that it is outlawed!)

It all started innocently enough. Feeling gainful employment to be imminent, I decided that maybe it was time to dry out. I brought my English Bulldog, Jake, to the beach with me for use as a chick-magnet.

I met a homeless man who told me a sad and tragic saga of his pathetic and miserable life. I've come to know this man only as "the Prophet." He is wiser than I, despite the fact that he only has a third grade education. Jake and I eat peyote buttons with the prophet, and have visions like you wouldn't believe. Jake has tripped the fuck out and shit all over the fucking place, and the Prophet is singing a "No Doubt" tune, but his lips arent moving. He can do that, because he is the Prophet - I know because he told me so (and his lips weren't moving then, either). He was the guy who played "Jesus" in "Jesus Christ - Superstar" in the 70's. He fell on hard times when "Cats" hit it big in the early 80's, lost it all in a wild, drunken night in vegas at the craps table, then hitchhiked to Galveston with a group of runaway lesbian nuns. Now he begs on the streetcorners and spends his spare change on chocolate slimfast shakes and stale, cheap cans of Copenhagen dip.

I light up a Pal Mal for Jake and myself, and we listen to the Prophet rap. That's right - rap. About being a slimfast-head and representin' at the Galveston County Health District Methadone Clinic, and telling stories about a handfull of lustful liaisons with Mama Cass Elliott (of the Mamas and Papas fame) back in the early 70's - before she choked on the ham sandwich. Insane fucking shit. I poured Jake a drink from my flask, and he soon was asleep and snoring at the feet of the Prophet.

I dropped another tab of acid and woke up to the sound of the Manager of the Commodore Motel, banging on the door again. Jake is going nuts. I asked the Prophet to answer the door, and I realize that he was never there at all. What a fucking trip. The Motel room is a fucking mess; everything is broken.

.....I hope the folks at the Hospital don't catch wind of this unfortunate turn of events..........

FEED YOUR HEAD!!

One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask AliceWhen she's ten feet tall.......

That Grace Slick, she speaks to me through her lyrics. Then again a small rat and I discussed the general merits of Carbon Dioxide reduction in the Amazon Rainforest this morning as well.

And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
Recall Alice
When she was just small........

I know what you're thinking - Grace Slick is old as hell and has been rode hard and hung up wet. I don't care; I'd do her.

When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know........

Thinking of doing Grace Slick reminds me of the time I took too much blotter acid and swore I saw Jesus Christ in a big loogie I hacked up after smoking one too many Pal Mal's. Too many bad memories and barely enough Vodka and Valium to make it all just go away.....

When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's "off with her head!"
Remember what the dormouse said:
"FEED your head - FEED your head"

That's right, Grace - FEED YOUR HEAD. You are a rock goddess. An old, shriveled up rock goddess, but a rock goddess nonetheless.

Back to my reality and today's pre-employment drug test..... Fortunately for me, I was able to purchase a fine quantity of fresh, drug-free urine from a technician in the lab today, so I'm pretty certain that a paycheck is just around the corner. This is a good thing, because I only have 4 cigarettes left and no alcohol. I do still have a handfull of pills, but I have no idea what they are, and I'm sure you all know how scary THAT shit can be.....

Being Captain Sharky

I've come down off of a 4 day drunk to see if the world has changed, and I've found myself in the company of a Vietnamese hooker here on the Strand who claims to be an Italian Pentacostal Jew, keeps calling me "El Diablo" (which I understand to be Mexican sounding and meaning something to the effect of 'Large, Round Man'), and singing "Run Dabe at a Fine, Sleet Jesus." (I think this is something to the effect of "One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus, but how the hell should I know - I'm drunk.....). I'm not sure how I ended up in the company of this woman, but she has apparently been feeding me and washing my clothes, but all of my credit cards are missing and I suddenly have pierced nipples. I am somewhat ashamed at myself for letting this happen to me, but at the same time, she has found me employ at the local hospital - doing what, I don't know, because the last thing I remember, I was a captain on a dive boat..... Anyhoo, I'm kind of looking forward to this gig, as my vietnamese hooker-woman keeps talking about the financial executive at this hospital being into 8 balls. Any woman who can both count money and snort an 8 ball is allright with me.

I had the most bizarre dream sometime over the last 4 days - more like a hallucination. A thousand vultures with the faces of Brittney Spears (the one with the bad tattoo and bald head) were swooping down air-raid style on me as I lay naked in the bathtub of the Italian-Pentecostal-Jew-Vietnamese-Hooker. They would swoop down and try to shit on me, and I was shooting them double birds as they flew by, and was able to knock one of them out of the sky with a bottle of Tequila. As I looked into it's bloody humanoid face, I realized it was my own face, but an eyeball was missing. In a tree just outside her apartment here on the Strand (Postoffice Street to be exact), were two vultures, with the faces of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, and they were fighting, biting eagerly at each others tongues and eating the last of my eyeball. Maybe I should run this one past my Therapist - she's bound to know what the fuck that is all about, because it's freaking my shit out.

I'm feeling surprisingly well, considering the massive amount of toxic substances I have ingested over the past few days. In retrospect, this probably has not been the smartest thing, because I'm starting this new gig, and I'm sure they will be making me pee in a cup, if I'm able to escape the clutches of this hideous woman of ill repute. Perhaps I could purchase some urine from you?

I've started smoking again, apparently. I came to earlier today with a Pal Mal between my teeth, burning the filter. I nearly burned my hooker friend's apartment down, and she's kind of pissed, so I'd better get off her computer.