I just got back from the warehouse. Someone told Stewart Swain I hide from him in the bathroom. He sent me to work in the warehouse for awhile. It was easy work – at least he didn’t fire me.
I’m back on the press now. I missed the smell of all the paint and ink. Maybe I can put some pictures on his website. I was at a biker party last night. Whooah!
I got my motorcycle back finally. Jason said he would fill it up with gas if I loaned him my new ACDC CD. Stewart Swain is all bent out of shape because Hanna Montana is so popular. He’s been working on a novel called Montana Copy longer than she’s been around. We might have to change it to Dakota Copy. I said we should try Florida Copy. He wasn’t interested. I’m not sure what the book is about anyhow – crazy robots I think.
I went to hear a band last night, and on my way home I went off the road, like through a fence actually. No big deal because it was just a big corn field. Problem is, when I looked at my truck this morning the license plate was missing. I think it’s in the field. I’m going to wait until it gets dark and go look for it.
Stewart Swain had a company picnic this weekend. There was a lot of food and beer. Jason managed to drop the salad on the ground. We got a softball game together after everyone got good and relaxed. Jason’s brother Rick showed up without an invitation and started playing. He’s a little different. Anyhow, he hit a slammer during the 5th inning, and the ball went right through Stewart Swain’s windshield. We tried not to laugh out loud.
Jason ran my motorcycle out of gas and left it in a parking lot. I’ll get even with him later. I talked to Stewart Swain, and he was just worried I drink too much. He’s a good guy. Last night we stayed late at the shop, working on one of his books. Jason showed up with a case of beer. I woke up this morning sleeping on a graphics table. When I looked in the mirror, I had ISBN barcodes printed all over my face. Jason ran when he saw me.
I found my dog. He was running around on a golf course, digging holes in the greens. Jason has my motorcycle. I managed to avoid Stewart Swain. He left town on business. Fortunately, they leave us printers alone because they think we’re crazy anyhow. Breathing ink fumes all day, well, maybe it does burn up brain cells. I’m supposed to call him. Someone said he was concerned about my visit to the ER. I’m going to try to stay sober for awhile. I’ve got to get my motorcycle back from Jason. He just tries to see how fast it will go.
Stewart Swain stopped by today. Someone said he was looking for me. I hid in the bathroom a few times, standing on one of the toilets, so he wouldn’t see my feet. I don’t really think he was looking for me. These guys I work with are crazier than me.
I’m looking for my motorcycle and my dog. His name is OB, like out of bounds.
Stewart Swain told our web designer he never looks at the website, so he’ll never find my blog. I paid him $50 and a case of Michelob to add my blog. I might get fired, but I doubt it.
Like I said, I’m Leroy, and I run one of the presses at Stewart Swain Productions. I’m a little hung over, so try to ignore the random stuff. That rehab was some real crap. My friends sent me there as a joke. All you gotta do in this county is go to the magistrate with a good story and suddenly the cops are at your house waving papers in your face. I was taken to the ER for an evaluation, and well, I guess I went a little postal or something. They sedated me with some good drugs and restrained me to a bed. That was fine, but then they sent me to a hospital for nuts about 75 miles away. I’m still looking for Jason. I think it was his idea.
My name is Leroy. I work for Stewart Swain Productions. He writes books of some kind. I run one of the presses. I just got out of 2 weeks of rehab. I was admitted for a drug overdose. Someone said I was suicidal. It was just a party to me. I think they’re all wrong. I’m going to get a beer.
