At my locale we have a restaurant aptly named MF Sushi, with inside tips from friend-who-know-the owner that the MF stands for mother fucker. The Thai/sushi bit is a common theme actually.
As regards the anal warts in the OP, wouldn’t anal warts be on the actual anus? Do they actual spread elsewhere?
And a straw. You’re definitely going to need a straw.
Anyone see the “brown noise” South Park episode. It was on last night and everytime Yoko Ono spoke, I was picturing Autolycus’ boss.
“You terrible!”
“You most horrible recorder players!”
That was it exactly. The calculations, BTW, were for insurance risks.
Holy crap, Auto, you’re hilarious. I have to explain to my coworkers why I am laughing and I can’t tell the truth.
Yes, song good too.
Autolycus is what happens when you cross Sampiro with Euthanasiast.
Me laugh funny time.
Seriously, this joker needs to be writing for a living, you could earn more than $7/hr me thinks by just using your little fingers. The catch is you’d need some life experiences like this to write about.
I’d just like to brag that I’ve known Autolycus for years on other message boards.
Autolycus, we love you long time!
GET OUTTA MY HEAD!!! 
Heeeeeeey kids /binky-the-clown.
Thank you so much for the kind words. I’m an internet narcissist so you just made my ego grow three sizes ^^ Yes, that is an asian happy face. Yes, I sometimes use it. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.
But yeah, today was another happy-joy-fun-explosion at work. I chatted in Japanese with a cute Japanese customer and the boss yelled at me. “that not your job. you stay at bar ok, or you fired” IS. IS. ARE. HELPER VESRBS, USE THEM. Fucking cunt.
Then, I took off my hat because I clocked out, and the boss informed me that I “look like fucking shit” Greeeeeeat. Now I’m slow AND ugly. Fuck you with a rubber dildo you pusinallimous canker sore. If your soul was a drink, you would be anus butter. If my loathing was a dog, I would kick it extra hard. (I dont seriously kick dogs. only puppies. and babies)
On the plus side, I wrote a song about work. I’m going to sing it and upload it later, because I’m too lazy now. Dont like it, then fuck you. Or fuck me, either way… if you’re a girl. Ok sorry I’ll stop.
The song is to the tune of “Chip N’ Dales: Rescue Rangers”
Some times, some brimes
go jumping off the line
but this cool, sushi dude
is picking up the slack
There’s no fish too big, no fish too small
if you are hungry call!
sa-sa-sa-sa-Sushi Dude
Sushi Ranger!
sa-sa-sa-sa-Sushi Dude
He’s no stranger
to mixing raw fish inside rice
He is wasabi in your life!
Sa-sa-sa-sa-Sushi Dude!
I am working on the second verse still sorry 
Now, I gotta blow this popsicle stand, because I’m late for karaoke. Maybe I’ll even meet a girl and get to wipe the crust off my cock.
Which one? Dark Legion? Oh, probably Killing Ifrit? Well, I dont use the name Autolycus much on other boards, so perhaps you are mistaken? But in any case, tickle me flattered.
As a pick-up line, that’s pure gold, there.
:: swoons ::
Sometime, somewhere today, I promise to use this.
I laughed!
I cried!
I laughed long, long time. Inappropriately in staff meeting, too.
Autolycus - we love you long time! Please stay and post often. 
Top-notch rant, there, by the way.
You know, I *did * hear the boss’ voice inside my head as Khan. (Hank Hill’s neighbor…)
Sushi-Oke? No, the sushi is not OK
Welcome back to anyone still reading,
I’ve been sick the past two days with a cold that makes me suspect Satan took a shit in my lungs, so I dont have any new anecdotes to share; however, I did just remember one that might be worthy of posting. We’ll just have to find out together. But first, let’s go out to the lobby, and get ourself a snack.
Back yet? Ok, let’s begin. Well, as we all know by now, The Dude does not abide in my restaurant. If The City of Dis had a sushi restaurant, it would be this one. If there was a Hellmaw in Florida, my job would be squarely above it. If my loathing for this job was a fruit, it would be a pineapple, shoved firmly up my bosses ass.
If you are thinking right now, “stop complaining. why dont you quit?” then you can just stop reading right now. This rant is clearly not for you. Go make a blog or something.
So, anyway, when you cook sushi rice, (shari), it’s not like all willy-nilly. There are rules, damnit! There is also special equipment. We take our rice very seriously here follks! I have been yelled at umpteen times about wasting miniscule amounts of rice. But that is not the story we are looking for.
One of the most crucial elements in making the rice is the sushi-oke. Imagine a circular wooden cylinder. I guess circular was redudant there, wasn’t it? Oops. Anyway, imagine this cylinder is cut in half, and the wooden guts are then scooped out like a fugly Jack-O-lantern. Ok, that description sucked royal ass, which is why I posted a link to a picture.
The steps in making rice are three, no more and no less. Three is the number of steps, not to be exceeded beyond the number three. Two steps is out of the question, as it is smaller than three. Four will not do, as it is too many. Five is straight out.
So, the four… three steps in making sushi rice are:
Before cooking rice in the aptly-named rice cooker, it is placed within a rice cloth. The rice cloth is not made of rice, which always gets me pondering why rice paper isn’t made of rice either. Why the fuck call it rice paper, if there’s no god-damn connection to rice. Ooook, sorry… tangent. Yes, well the rice cloth is placed into the sushi-ok, and you flip it and the rice falls out.
Rice inevitably gets stuck to the cloth, and I curse the gods everyday for forcing me to waste precious bones of the Buddha. Sometimes I imagine the rice is mocking me: “You want to eat me? You cant eat me. You will never eat me, for I’m stuck to the cloth! Mwahahahaha”
So you add the rice vinegar, and the rice eventually cools. Mix it a few times, and wait. Wait some more. Have your boss yell at you a few times, and then mix it again. Cut some vegetables. Then go to the bathroom and cry a little bit. At that point, the rice should be done. Then you scoop it up, and place it inside the rice holder. The rice holder is ALSO not made of rice. Nevertheless, it does a good job so I’m not angry at it… not yet.
We are getting to the pit-worthy part soon, trust me. My job title is assistant sushi chef, but in small print I apparently missed the part about ‘part-time dishwasher.’ Usually I watch the gigantacular bowl of rice-laden destruction. One day, though, we were super duper uber ultra busy. We’re talking like our restaurant was the Old Folks home and Matlock was on. It was that bad.
So, my boss, in a rare act of mercy, tells me to tell the dishwasher to wash it for me. Duuuuh dum. Duuuuuh dum Dum dum… Cue the Jaws theme, for I already smelled my blood in the water at that point.
I take a deep breathe and go to the dishwasher. My nickname for the Dishwasher is “The Witch Doctor,” (as in, I go to the dish washer and ask him what to do. he say 'ooo eee ooo aaa aaa, ting tang, walla walla bing bang). The dishwasher is a young black man who speaks Gumbo. I mean Cajun. I mean he tries very hard to speak English, and I try to be understanding and kind to him, but I think when God made him he rolled a critical failure. This guy has -1/-1 to intelligence. We can leave it at that.
I tell him that today he will sadly have to wash the dish. To which he masterfully replies "Whata joo sayin. You be tellin me how to do my job? My job is to wash dish. I’m not da sushi chef like joo. You dont make your job my job do it ok now? "
… Does ANYONE speak normally around here? Again, I tell him not to blame the messenger, that if he has a problem he can talk to Ron. He mutters and grumbles in some bastardized French for Dummies, and then proceeds to walk away. Me, in my naivette, figure the issue is resolved.
The time ticks away like the clock on a timebomb of despair. Every thirty minutes or so, I go into the kitchen to get dishes. I notice every time that the sushi-oke is still dirty. I remind him a few times to please watch it. He says OK. I think he said OK. Maybe he said throatwarbler-mangrove and I’m just too dense to understand him.
The night closes like the bodice on a chunky prostitute, and lo and behold the bowl is not clean. I dont give a shit, so I clock out and start getting ready to go him.
Aou, Shiva, Destroyer of Worlds, and Queen of Putrescence, asks to speak with me. More accurately, she yells to speak with me so that she can yell at me some more.
“Why you not clean sushi pot? It your job. You dont do job, then you fire. You want to be fire!?” Between the stress from yelling and the massacred English, my brain crashes like Windows 95 trying to install OSX.
I reboot my OS and attempt to explain how Ron told the dishwasher to wash it for today only. Enter the Witch Doctor. Cue monkey dance and angry gorilla chest-beating. Literally, he started puffing up his chest and making strange motions with his feet. He launches into a tirade about I am trying to make him work too hard, that he doesnt have time, that he works very hard already, and yada yada yada…
Aou calls Ron, my direct boss and King of Cruel. They start jibbering in Thai, while me and the Witch Doctor have an evil glare contest. His soul is blacker than mine, so he won when I looked away. The Thai slowed down, and the crowd of waitresses that had all gathered around were peeing themselves in anticipation.
Ron’s judgment: “You had no time wash sushi dish? You so slow. Every day now on, you wash dish ok? Damn, why you so slow…”
…F.U.C.K you!
Thus ends the Sushi Saga, for now. Stay Tuned!
Just how many California rolls could you make if you butchered your boss and sliced him up for the filling?
Or would he work better as sashimi?
More than one and less than a thousand. I think he would taste terrible though!
Wonderful thread. The songs are beautiful and you have a way with imagery.
Another fabulous exposition!! Autolycus, I hope you put your writing skills to good use some day. . . . besides here, I mean.
This part is inspired.