Tomorrow morning at work, I have on my schedule a two-hour meeting to address "harrassment and discrimination" issues in the workplace. There's been a lot of grumbling about this by my co-workers--it's mandatory for everyone, and another is being held on Thursday for those who cannot attend tomorrow--but I think it's great.

Because I suck at these things. Really. I'm just terrible. I seriously have a lot to learn.

You should just see my try to harrass--it's pretty embarrassing. Take the other day, when one of the broads came into my office to ask me something . . . I don't know what. To be honest, I was checking out her gams. Then I realized she had stopped talking and was waiting for an answer. I stammered, "Hey, uh, boy, those go all the way up, huh?" She stared at me. "Your legs. I mean. Hey, are those nude hose you're wearing?" I mean, I was nervous, but I was trying. This harrassment stuff isn't as easy as TV makes it look. She didn't say anything, so I took another stab. "You're the kind of gal that I'd like to bang like a trailer door, is all I'm saying." Which I thought was pretty good! But wouldn't you know it, next thing I know, I'm screwing her in the room where we keep extra pens. I can't do anything right.

I'm no better with the guys, which is kind of weird too, since they're pretty stupid around here anyway. I told this one dude the other day, "Pretty gay shoes you've got there, Warren, but at least they distract from your weird beanie." Warren laughed and explained that the beanie was a yarmulke, and that made me laugh--I said, "Dude, you're confused. Yamaha makes bikes and lawnmowers." Well, he gave me chapter and verse on the whole beanie thing, and explained about the crazy holy holidays and stuff, and I was all like, "Holy Holidays? Holy cow!" Which I thought was pretty funny--funnier than that weird thing he talked about called "Overpass" or whatever . . . I guess those people really enjoy their transportation engineering.

Anyway, the whole point is, I was trying to discriminate like hell during the conversation, and it just wouldn't take. Later on after work he bought me some beers and we had a pretty good conversation about the immigrant hordes who want our American janitorial jobs and stuff, and wouldn't you know it? I ended up fucking that guy too. Jeez! I must have been pretty drunk . . . I didn't really remember much anyway, and I told him I'd never do that normally, and made him swear on his magic beanie that he wouldn't tell anyone.

Boy, that's all I need is for big-tit Luskaya to hear about that one. She'd broadcast it to the whole office! I think she's kind of possessive. A couple weeks ago, after I had tacked up a "Girls of the PBA" nudie bowling calendar in my office, she knobbed me but good in the bathroom that got boarded up in '87 for health reasons (you can totally still get in there, and the rats aren't that big). I told her afterwards that I couldn't ever be down with a lazy Russian broad, but she just slapped my cheeks lightly and exclaimed, "You silly, you! You are all mine, like discount bread from GUM." And I didn't say anything, because, man, those boobs. I told her, "Man . . . those boobs." And she just smiled.

You see? I try. And I just suck at this. I'm really hoping for some advice tomorrow. I could obviously use it.